Meanwhile, as this whole drama unfolded, a man cloaked in shadows stumbled in. The piano player, who had not existed up until this point, stopped his playing anyway, and the pub's occupants turned to eye up the latest offering from the street.
"Howdy," the man croaked, his stetson not entirely covering eyes that burned like liquid fire. Which i guess is magma. Either way, very burny, and very wet.
the silence continued to beat at his ears, deafening him from any noise that might actually exist, and he thought about this strange connundrum as he sidled up to the bar and ordered a Amaretto and Coke, no ice thank you, barkeep.
"you're not from round here are you?" The mentioned barkeep, a man in a red and white striped shirt with a name badge that said 'Sly' asked him, and before he could stop himself he added, "would you like fries with that?"
"Oh lovely, i'm starving," Kevichella grinned, unzipping his coat of shadows, and lifting his hat to survey the room. "It's filling up nicely now isn't it?"
"Yes, it's ticking along nicely," the fry wielding barman said, surveying the people in the pub/fast food restaurant with a fatherly pang of pride. "Do i have to be a KFC clerk?" he asked in a low voice.
"No, of course not," Kevichella laughed, showing him that it was all an illusion and was in fact still the same Shooting-Tooting Saloon it had always been, He pointed at a passing tumbleweed as if to prove his point. With his none-pointing hand, he lifted otherworldly fries to his mouth with frightening speed (and not bad accuracy either, getting three out of every five handfulls into his mouth)
"Anyone fancy a game of pool?" he asked, swivelling around to address anyone and everyone. The piano player quickly started playing some dinky number, and everyone else turned to someone and pretended to be engaged in a witty conversation.
"Suit yourselves," he said in a voice not totally devoid of hurt, and ambled over to the pool table, sipping his amaretto.