Who: Open When: Late 1800's Where: Effie's Saloon and Inn, Junction City What: General drinking stuff Rating: PG-13 (Bruce won't let things get out of hand) Notes: Now with an actual post because I'm an idiot who drops tags.
Effie smiled sweetly as she poured another beer, ignoring the fact her customer's attention was on her breasts and not the drink she was pouring. If the idea bothered her, she wouldn't be wearing a dress designed to show off certain...advantages. And drunk, horny men tended to pay well for their drinks. She slid the glass across the bar before moving on to the next man who needed a re-fill, humming along with the singer on the stage, bouncing slightly to the beat of the music.
Behind her, her bodyguard cum guardian cum roommate watched everything with a close eye as he dried off the glasses he had just washed in a boiling pot. She didn't know much about Doctor Banner, but she also knew enough about pain and heartache to recognize the signs. He was a good enough man that she didn't inquire too closely, hoping he found here in this town everything he was searching for.
Bruce moved closer to Effie as a man reached out to grab her arm, stopping only when Effie grabbed the man instead, twisting his arm from her and slamming it onto the counter. Effie kept smiling sweetly, even as she squeezed on the man's wrist, the bones grinding together. "Perhaps ya should try the brothel down the street, honey. I think that might be more up your street."
The man jerked his hand away, spitting on the counter. "Stupid Bostonian bitch," he said as he stood, heading for the door, holding his injured wrist.
Effie waited until he left before pouting, cleaning off the counter. "Someone's mama didn't teach them any manners," she muttered. The guy who had been sitting next to the first, ordered another round, trying to get the teen to smile again.