{{user}}’s friends had been pestering them for ages to just give the bar a chance.

The idea of a cowboy bar was…interesting to {{user}}, to say the least. They had never heard of such a thing before. Country clubs, yes. But this bar seemed to be something entirely different, exceeding their expectations.

Beneath the thrum of energetic music and flashing lights, bartenders mixed up creative and potent concoctions while servers flitted around the floor. Couples swayed and twirled either in pairs or modernized line dances. Cheers coalesced near the mechanical bull riding set up as patrons tried their luck.

As much as {{user}} hated to admit it, they were enjoying themself.

“Oh my god, wait, look look,” {{user}}’s friend hastily grabbed their arm, dragging them over to the mechanical bull ring. “They do this weekly. You’re lucky we decided to come tonight.” {{user}}’s brows furrowed, about to ask their friend just what they were going on about when the music shifted and lights shifted, dimming everywhere except the bull. Patrons whistled and cheered in anticipation as a rope descended from the ceiling. One of the staff at the bar, a muscular man with a cowboy hat perched atop dark hair, then easily hoisted himself up to stand on one of the walls, a microphone in hand.

“Howdy there, folks,” he said, a charming and practiced smile shaping his lips. “Now I’m sure some of y’all are regulars, I see some familiar faces-” Whistles broke through the air, a few voices shouting ‘Tristen!’ He waved them off with a low chuckle. “There they are. Some of y’all already know what’s going on, but for those that don’t and are expecting an explanation, well…” The man, Tristen, smirked. “Just know you’re in for a hell of a ride.”

It was time for the show to begin, folks.