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Owning a saloon wasn’t all it cracked up to be, Quackity decided as he cleaned out a glass at the bar. His two employees sat on opposite ends of the large spruce bar, keeping watch for anything suspicious or dangers.
There was Karl, his first hire, with his hat tipped up as he surveyed the tables of rough and tumble folk sipping their poison of choice. Quackity could pick out any person at any table and tell you their order, how many times they’d showed up at his saloon, and how close they were to getting kicked out.
That was the thing with running a saloon out in the middle of the sands. It was a no man’s land, a place without rules. Until, of course, you stepped into his place of business.
He’d just put in a place a no weapons rule. Blood was hell to get out of the flooring, and it was slightly less hassle to get every distrusting cowboy to put their guns into one of the staff’s hands.
Which drew his eyes to his second and final employee. Sapnap, leaning casually against the wall next to the swing doors with a cigarette in his mouth. It was all for show, some herbal mix that kept his powers in check.
Another rule. No powers in his saloon, anyone caught cheating their way into a free drink got their ass kicked and banned permanently.
Quackity himself was blessed with the power of luck, the gift given to him at birth saving his life more times than he cared to count. He didn’t openly admit that to anyone, preferring to hear the rumors that circulated about what he could possibly have under that sarcastic personality and scarred face.
He looked around, checking every table for any signs of discontent. So far so good, the card games he could see had gone peacefully. Quackity watched as one of the men snuck an ace from his sleeve, adding it seamlessly to his hand.
“When are we getting a new singer?” Sapnap’s voice startles him from his watch, hand grasping onto his crossbow instantly. The fire mage raised his hands in defense, giving a low whistle. “Gods, jumpy much?”
Quackity just rolls his eyes, pouring Sapnap a shot and sliding it across the wooden bartop into the other’s waiting hand.
“We’ll get a new singer when someone offers. Shit luck so far.” Quackity grumbles, casting his eyes to the empty stage with the sign Karl had made leaned up against the mic stand. ‘Entertainer Wanted! :)’. It was curled at the edges, browning slightly with how long it had been there. “Shit luck.”
“It’s never been like you to have bad luck.” Karl teases, scooting a few stools over to sit next to Sapnap, stealing the man’s shot when he’s not looking. Sapnap growls when he realizes, playfully pushing smoke out from behind his teeth when Quackity slams another shot glass onto the bar. Everything goes silent for a moment before the chatter starts up again, the saloon patrons used to the staff’s friendly bickering.
“It’s never been like the saloon to not have a singer.” Quackity says, still grumpy as he rests an elbow on the bar, his head dropping into his open palm. “It’s been months since Bad quit, and no one’s even came close to how well she used to sing.” There was one or two candidates, but no one wanted to get paid pocket change and a free room to sing for hours on end in front of grumpy, drunk cowboys. It was hell, especially on Quackity. He got bored too easily not to have someone up there.
“I miss Bad.” Sapnap bemoans, shooting back his shot with a cough of smoke and a burp of fire. “He was so good.”
“She was..” Karl agreed, pouting at Quackity like there was anything he could do.
“Both of you get back to work.” The bartender growled, rolling his eyes as annoyance set in to his skin.
It’s a few quiet hours after that. He gets started lighting the oil lamps, sending a warm glow across the saloon against the darkness of night outside.
His eyes flicker to the doors as someone walks through them, not used to his regulars coming in so late.
It’s not a regular. It’s some clown with curled horns and a tattered suit, walking in like he owns the place.
The stranger makes a beeline for Quackity as the male gets on his tiptoes to try and light the last lamp, giving a sleazy grin.
“Hey, sugar-”
“All weapons go to the man by the door.” Quackity doesn’t have time for flirting, nor does he give a shit about this mystery man.
“What?” The hybrid sounds incredulous, holding his gun against his hip like it’s the one thing he has to live for. From the looks of him, it might be.
“You heard me. All weapons go to the man by the door. Hand it over or get out.”
“That’s a weapon. Bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” Something about his voice sounds different as he points out the crossbow hanging at Quackity’s side, dangling loosely from a belt loop. Part of him, for a moment, agrees. It is hypocritical of him to have a weapon- that part of him gets snuffed out immediately. Quackity turns and glares, unhooking the weapon from his belt and jamming it against the new man’s chest. He knows it has to hurt, even without the wince.
“Weapons to the man by the door, unless you want me to take your heart out.”
“Jesus Christ… fine, fine.” The stranger sulks back over to Sapnap, handing over his gun and taking a seat at the main bar. Quackity looks at Sapnap and rolls his eyes at the childish display, lighting the last lamp and making his way to the bar to take the stranger’s order.
“What do you want?”
“Do I even get to know your name?”
Quackity stares down the man blankly, giving a sigh.
“Quackity.”
“Whiskey.”
“What?”
“You asked what I wanted, I want a whiskey.”
Quackity rolled his eyes, pouring out a small glass of whiskey.
“Three gold.”
“It’s amazing you’re still open with these prices.” The stranger grumbles, tossing three gold pieces onto the counter and snatching the glass. He’s silent, for a while, surveying the saloon with hooded eyes and vague interest. He stops dead at the sign on the stage, head tilting as he reads it.
“You’re looking for a singer?”
“Yeah. You looking to sign up?” Quackity is teasing, but hes surprised to see the man nod seriously.
“Sure.. what’s in it for me?”
The saloon owner can barely contain his surprise, his schooled expression turning into one of intrigue.
“Free room and board, and whatever you make in tips.”
“I’m in.”
Quackity sputters and shakes his head, equally amused and pissed by the man’s cocky demeanor.
“No, you aren’t. You haven’t even sang yet- hey-” But the stranger isn’t listening, already making his way towards the stage. He doesn’t even use the stairs, hopping onto the stage directly and grabbing the microphone. He taps it, face twisting as he realizes it isn’t on.
“Somebody get this shit on!”
Before Quackity can even object, Karl is racing into the back, the soft buzz of power being routed to the microphone looping through his ears.
“Hey, everybody.. Let’s give me a warm welcome, huh?” The stranger spreads his arms out like he’s the best thing in the world, not dissuaded by the dead silence mixed in with boos he gets in reaction. “Tough fuckin’ crowd.. Alright. Fine, let’s get this show on the road.”
He grabs hold of the microphone, turning his head to clear his throat before leaning in and starting to sing.
It’s as if an enchantment falls over the saloon, every table turning to look and enjoy the velvet tones of We’ll meet again that seep through the room. Quackity is certainly entranced, stationary with a glass and a rag in his hand as he watches with his mouth dropped open a little.
It’s the best thing he’s ever heard. The stranger’s voice is dark and rich, smooth like silk and it’s alluring, drawing him in until he hits the bar with his hip. He was actually leaning into the sound, his body subconsciously trying to get closer.
It breaks his trance, Quackity jamming his fingers into his ears as he rushes through the doors to the back room. He can’t risk removing his fingers, so he kicks off one of his shoes and uses his foot to unplug the power supply to the microphone. The reverberation from the speakers dies and Quackity hesitantly takes his fingers out of his ears.
There’s silence, thank god.
He steps back into the bar, meeting face to chest with the stranger as he walks off the stage. The tip jar, once empty, is full to bursting with coins, the gold and silver practically spilling out into his hands.
“Next round’s on me!” The stranger calls, receiving a healthy bout of cheering from the drunks at each table.
Quackity takes his place behind the bar, anger bubbling as he makes eye contact with Sapnap from across the bar. The fire mage moves instantly, trying to stop what’s about to happen before it does.He doesn’t make it.
“So, how about tha-” Quackity grabs the stranger by one of his horns as he sits down at the bar, slamming the man’s face into the flat top. “What the fuck?!”
“Rule number two,” Quackity states calmly, using a rag to wipe up the few drops of blood on his bar. “No powers.”
The stranger is holding his nose, glaring at Quackity.
“I didn’t use any powers.”
“Bullshit! I know what a siren sounds like.”
“You shouldn’t.” The stranger groans, readjusting his nose with a sickening crack that only affects Quackity with a slight ick. Served the man right.
“Do I get free room and board or not?” He grumbles out, grabbing a handful of coins out of his tip jar before pushing it towards Quackity. He’s about to say no when Karl darts in from the side of the bar, leaning on it as his bunny ears twitch and wiggle from underneath his hat.
“That was great! Q, you have to hire this guy.”
“He used a siren song.” Quackity scowls, arms crossing as that anger starts to bubble again. He really needs to get that under control before he takes this stranger and wipes him off the map.
“I can sing without it.”
“C’mon Quack, give him a chance.” It’s Sapnap now, playing devil’s advocate from the other side of the stranger. Quackity tries to focus on them, instead of the shitty grin he’s getting from the stranger like he’s already won.
Knowing he can’t deny his friends, especially not Karl’s wide eyes, Quackity guesses that he has.
“Fine.”