You walk into the Saloon, the doors swinging shut behind you as you take a stool at the bar. The barman, an old black cat with red wings, eyes you with a bored look on his face. He holds his finger up in a “just a second” gesture, and he pours a drink for a customer beside you. Then he slides over to you, leaning against the bar, wings unfurled. He smells of cheap booze. What can I get ya? He drawls in a husky voice.