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.

And you were a waiter. At least, that's what he thought. You worked at a bar, that Alastor would often come to. Though, he didn't know it was just a side job for you. He'd always have a bit of a soft spot for you, because being a waiter came with it's downs. Like men harassing you, and overall mean patrons. You also didn't call the sheriff when he was at the bar, nor shy away because he was an outlaw. So he knew who you were.

Today, he went to this theater and circus mash up. It was run like a theater, looked like a circus, just without the animal abuse. And you were the ringmaster.

The lights were dim, the stage was empty. The spotlight was right in the center, as you walked infront of the curtains, your red tailed coat flowing behind you. Alastor watched, with surprise. You were just a part time waiter? And you were The ringmaster? That was something. Alastor sat in the back of the audience, focused on you.