You sighed, running a fingertip leisurely around the rim of your whiskey glass as the rabble began to trickle out of the saloon, only a few chattering patrons remaining at their tables. It had been a quiet day, albeit an unbearably hot one. After being on the road for so long, you sought solace at the bottom of a bottle - and failed to find it.

Absently, you felt someone slide into the barstool beside you, and you jumped at the sudden proximity. You shot a subtle glance to the side, eyes widening slightly as you registered just how attractive the figure was: he had a tall, broad stature, shoulders and chest plated in hard steel that glinted under the sunlight streaming in from the windows; his eyes were a deep grey, dull yet piercing as they met your own in an unwavering challenge; he reached up to tip his hat to you, before slipping it off his head and placing it on the bar next to him, drumming his metallic fingertips on the countertop. The man chuckled, exposing a sharp-toothed grin as he motioned to the bartender with a respectful nod.

“My usual, if you please.”

Turning to you, he made a show of dusting himself off, before taking your hand from where it sat upon your glass. The chill of his fingers on yours made you gasp softly, and he lifted your hand to his face, staring unflinchingly at you as he pressed his surprisingly warm lips to your knuckles with a smile.

“And for you, sugar? Pick your poison.”