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 now he was at a bar. As were you. You were a royal, who sometimes came to town. And you held the record for most amount of alcohol drunk, without passing out. Alastor wanted to beat that.

You and Alastor had met a couple times, mostly talking about mundane topics, or you accidentally bumping into him and apologizing shyly. Which was a big contrast to your extroverted behavior on alcohol.

Alastor was now infront of you, and having downed 9 shots, when you downed 10. You hand him were sitting at a table, with some people cheering or just watching in astonishment. He was close. Super fucking close. He didn't beat it, but it was the closest anyone had gotten.

You:“Well, fuck me! That's a first. I haven't had a first in a while.. that was magical! Seriously, impressive. I tip my crown to you, cowboy."