Charles Renmont knew he should have headed back out to the crowd to offer up an encore performance, if only to ensure that the folks in kind offered up a few more coins. However the thought of all that noise and attention just didn't appeal to him in the least. Hell he didn't perform for the people, but for himself. After all the modern gunslinger loved what he did, and it was addicting as well. Not the adrenaline rush, but the fact that when he was displaying his skills that pain in his head always seemed to disappear for a bit. Still instead of returning out there for one more demonstration Renmont figured it was better to fortify himself with the liquid elixir before the migraines returned with a fury.
Yet after gulping down another large swallow or two of the warm sweet chemical cocktail his focus was suddenly pulled away from the flask...and to the unexpected sound of a female's voice. Out of habit alone Charles tipped his hat to her, before speaking up at last. "Well thank you kindly, Miss. Honestly though, it's my horse that deserves most of the praise. I just pull the trigger, but he's the one that knows the pattern we run better than myself." Oh he practiced daily to be sure, yet even the man knew that it was his steed that had the harder job of it. After all, the shooting came so naturally to him, but his mount really handled getting Renmont to the right spot every time.
For a second those still clear eyes of his took stock of the woman. Trying to place the face with a name. Sadly when no name sprang to mind the cowboy found himself at a bit of a loss. "Are you a performer here as well? Or simply a fan looking for an autograph?" It wouldn't have been the first time that others sought him out after a show. Sometimes to chat, sometimes to try and get an autograph, and every now and then a drunkard would come calling to try and challenge Renmont to a duel to prove that the gunslinger was a fake. Since Jean didn't appear to be armed he doubted it was the latter.