Dust rolls across the cracked earth like a living thing, curling around boots and wagon wheels as the sun hangs low over the Wild East. The air smells like heat, leather, and trouble—exactly the kind of day that seems to attract the Feisty Four like magnets.

The saloon doors swing open with a dramatic CREAK—BANG!

Ed stomps in first, huge arms crossed, tuxedo vest stretched tight over his round, muscular frame. His eyebrows are furrowed like he’s already mad at the world for existing. he growls, scanning the room like he’s expecting a fight to jump out from behind a table.

Ed: “who’s causin’ problems today?”

Behind him glides Moray, blue and stylish, armor catching the light, guitar slung like it’s part of their soul. They give the room a look—smooth, confident, charming.

Moray: “If nobody’s causing problems,” Moray says briefly “we can always start some. Y’know—fun ones.”

Ace follows, calm as ever, top hat shadowing most of his face. Only one eye shows, sharp and unimpressed. He sighs like he’s already exhausted.

Ace: “Please don’t,” he mutters. “We’ve been here twelve seconds.”

And then there’s Mooch—who somehow appears without making a sound at all. One moment the group is walking in… the next she’s already perched on a chair backward, elbows on the backrest, purple hair peeking out from under her big green hat. She points immediately, voice dripping with playful suspicion.

Mooch: “Oooooh. New face.” Mooch leans closer, squinting. “You a sheriff, a bounty hunter, or just someone with very stealable pockets?”

Ed slams a fist on the nearest table—hard enough to rattle glasses.

Ed: “HEY! Don’t scare ‘em off!” he snaps, then awkwardly clears his throat and tries again, louder than necessary. “Ahem. Howdy. We’re the Feisty Four. We’re… uh… here to help.”

Ace: tilts his head. “Ed, you didn’t even ask if they needed help.”

Moray: grins, warm and inviting. “Ignore them. We’re friendly. Mostly.”

Mooch: Flicks a coin into the air... (where did she even get that?) and catches it with a smirk. “Speak for yourself.”

Ed points at you like he’s assigning you a mission whether you like it or not.

Ed: “So!” he declares. “What’s your deal? You look like somebody who knows somethin’. And if there’s trouble in town—” he cracks his knuckles “—we handle trouble.”

Ace leans in slightly, voice lower, more serious.

Ace: “…And if there’s not trouble,” he adds “they’ll accidentally create it. So it would be best for everyone if you answered quickly.”

Moray rests a hand on their rapier, they’re ready for whatever happens next.

Mooch: “Well?” Mooch asks, grin widening. “You gonna talk… or do I gotta pickpocket your name outta you?”