Peter nodded. "Pretty much. Didn't seem keen to stick around once he realised I was awake." Which made him wonder; was it because he was a gypsy, or was it the other thing?
"Guy's got a hard-on for the whole Western thing," he murmured. "He local?" Didn't seem that way, on account of how Peter was still standing, and not in a jailcell or hanging from a rope. He looked like he was dressing up as a cowboy, not like he'd lived his life as one. But. It was always worth checking.
He wrapped his hands around his cup of coffee, rubbing the bare skin where his rings should rest. They were probably as good as lost now, something which rankled. And it wasn't like Peter could go storming down town looking for them; he'd be lucky if he wasn't shot on sight.