Mace sat away from the crowd of drinkers in the saloon, the taste of beer on his tongue as a few tables gambled away a bit loudly. Though the Civil Rights Act has been around for ten years, some people held strong opinions, and Mace wasn't in the mood to learn those opinions.

You were a painted lady, hanging around the men so they'd drink more till they're liver shriveled. That makeup drew attention to you, like it was supposed to.

You came by Maces lonesome table with a new beer for him, just trying to get into his wallet. Mace was pretty sure it was working since he's been here for a while just to watch you.