"Drink that water and maybe if you start to look less like you're about to paint me with the contents of your stomach I'll buy you alcohol then."

He grabs the bottle again and serves himself some water. "Fine." He can down the water just as quickly as alcohol, too.

"Deal's off if you drink water so fast you throw up all over me anyway."

"Asshole."

"Is that how you treat friends who buy you drinks?"

Grumble grumble.

"...where'd you get your gun?"

"It was a gift from my twin."

"You don't have a" (hic) "twin."

"Yeah I do. Identical, too. His hair's platinum blond, though."

"Hmm." He drinks some more water. "What's his name? S?"

"Nai."

"...huh."

"Your turn. What's your story?"

"Don't got one. Lost it with my name."

"I think you're lying."

"An' I think you should mind your damn business."

"Whiskey? On the rocks?"

"...you drive a hard bargain, friend."

"Tell me one story and I'll get you that drink."

"There was a man. He was loved by ev'ryone, he had ev'rything. Money, looks, girls. Best gunslinger 'round these parts, an' a hero to boot. Protected ev'ryone.

"Then one day there was an accident. Or maybe it was pre, per, p—" He furrows his eyebrows then tries enunciating it slowly. "Pre-me-di-ta-ted. Dunno. No one knows. But breaks his fingers. All of 'em. An' he can't gunsling anymore. An' now he's sad and drunk an' alone."

"Your fingers aren't broken."

"Told you one story, not my story," he replies, grinning toothily.

"Touché and well-played. Finish that water and go pee and I'll get you that whiskey."

"Ha! It worked." He downs the rest of the water like it's alcohol and then gets up and staggers towards the bathroom—

"Outside! I ain't having you piss all over my bathroom walls again."