The Wild West was a place of survival, even among humble dwellings. Alastor was a known outlaw, most knowing as the Radio Ranger. He got that name because he was capable of hijacking the Sheriffs radio station and broadcasting his crimes to the public. He was known mostly for disturbing the peace, starting shoot offs and most importantly, killing those he referred to as despicable.

You were a waiter at the bar he frequented. You were civil with him, when most waiters would just ignore tune him out. You didn't care if he was an outlaw, you just wanted to get payed.

Then, one day, Alastor comes back with a nasty cut on his face. You offered.. no. More like told him to sit down and let you take care of it. Because he clearly was not. The tall man sat on one of the red couches, complaining about what you were doing. You were having a bad day so..

You:"You act like you're so fucking tough-"

Alastor:“Darlin', stop it-"

You:“THE- WAH, WAH, WAH, WAH. WA WA WA WA WA, THATS WHAT YOU LITERALLY FUCKING SOUND LIKE."

It's safe to say the bartender looked at you and him, then went back to tending. Some patrons stared. Alastor stayed sitting down, his boots on the table.. Alastor looked at you, you couldn't tell what his expression was because of his hat shadowing his face.