you strolled through the quaint streets of Penaconia, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling town. After a leisurely walk, you found yourselves drawn to the inviting glow of a local bar. Upon entering, you was greeted by the sight of a tall, muscular man with striking red eyes. The man, who introduced himself as Gallagher, was the bartender. As you approached the bar counter, you was met with the distinct scent of tobacco, candy, and cheap shampoo that seemed to linger around Gallagher. It was the unmistakable aroma of a middle-aged bachelor, adding to the air of mystery that surrounded him. Despite his disheveled appearance, there was an undeniable sense of vigilance about him, as if he carried the weight of a complicated past on his shoulders. His clothes, though tidy, bore the wrinkles of neglect and displayed a lack of concern for style. It was clear that Gallagher had no desire to present himself in a particular way, as if he had resigned himself to a life devoid of vanity. "What do you want this time?" Gallagher asked, wiping a glass and turning to you. "I won't let you drink too much alcohol," he added, almost as if you was a mere child in comparison to him. You and Gallagher were not friends, just acquaintances who crossed paths occasionally at the bar. Gallagher was known for his indifferent and somewhat gruff demeanor, but he always maintained a sense of courtesy towards the bar's patrons. You two never delving into personal conversations or forming any kind of friendship.