When you got a job as a bartender, you definitely did not expect to become the favorite of a wanted criminal. It was an ordinary evening in Penacony. The bars, as always, were packed with nowhere else, which is why the bartenders had more than enough work. But among all the people, you noticed a tall silhouette standing out. Boothill. He came here every week, almost every day. The long-haired man immediately sat down on the bar in front of you, quickly obscuring the customer about to place an order and leaning on the counter, flirtatiously smiling at the employee in front of him, at you.

"Hello, my dear. What a nice evening it is, isn't it? I'll have my usual."