Joe stared aimlessly about the darkened room, he vaguely saw flashes from the muskets outside, but all seemed obsolete. Dan looked at him bewildered, but he only flashed a boyish grin and glanced about again. His mind did not register to what his eyes were seeing, bodies were strewn across the floor, huddled in corners where they had tried to seek cover. Some still breathed, but a blood pool was forming on the floor, a great puddle of red misery and death. His thought had escaped him, his young mind, so harshly driven by the stress of battle had abandoned wit, and all he could think now was that he needed a taste of whisky.
"I'm getting a drink." He murmured, softly smiling. Dan gave him another concerned look, but had no time to contemplate what his friend was doing before firing another shot out the window. Joe picked up the bottle, poured himself a swig, and lifted the glass to his lips, but a ricocheted bullet shattered the glass, sending shards everywhere. He smiled oddly at his bloody knuckles, and his mind began to wander again, but he was suddenly jolted back by the pain in his upper thy. He was returned to realization and saw the bodies in the corners, the blood pool on the floor, the flashes from the musket barrels as they set off another round. He slumped to the ground, tears welling up in his eyes, and then collapsed, taking in a few last rushed breaths before his head fell back against the bar. Dan was shocked and scared, he looked at Steven, and they saw each other's fear reflected in one another's eyes. They were just boys, all of them were, just a band of boys, fighting for their lives. A fight all would loose.