The curtain drew back and she was revealed. Her appearance was met with a din of whooping and shrill wolf whistles. Her mouth was already stretched into a dazzling grin as she watched her audience of vagabonds and misfits and the common day folk. This was a time of day when they could all gather and no one would give a damn whose shoulder their arm was slung around – not on this hour, not in this saloon. Not when it was Chelsea the Grand Granger's night to dance.

She stood with a hand on her hip and one leg jutting out, poised for the beginning of the routine. She waited a moment and then right on cue she heard the familiar sound of the piano. Out of the corner of her eye she could see a neat head of blonde hair bobbing below the stage. She struggled to contain a snort. That Will, he always has to start flashy.

She heard the piano notes go up in pitch as Will dragged his fingers across the ivory keys. And then the tune began. It was jaunty and undeniably catchy.

This was the moment she began to dance. With a sharp kick of her leg she launched herself into a series of spritely dance steps, her dress ruffles swirling with every movement. The occasional flash of undergarments here and there had the men cheering loudly. One man even called out a declaration of love. Chelsea laughed happily and made sure to give him an exaggerated wink in-between her spins.

Now the stage was not so empty. Two other girls had skipped into the limelight, raising their skirts high as they appeared. The cheers grew louder. The routine was in full swing and all spirits were on a high. Almost all spirits.

Over by the bar, she saw a man hunched over his drink with a disgruntled scowl upon his face. That certainly wouldn't do. Chelsea hated nothing more than a huffer on her Friday night shift.

So like always she decided to take the matter into her own hands and do something about it.

"Angela, Molly," she called to the girls beside her. They saw Chelsea jerk her head towards the brooding man and perform a spinning motion with her finger. Instantly they knew what she wanted to do. The two girls shared a tiny grin between themselves before following Chelsea's lead.

In one fluid motion the blue eyed dancer leapt from the stage onto the nearest table, triggering a stream of exuberant shouts from the surrounding men. She tapped her feat against the wood to the rhythm of the music as she flew from table to table, sparing a small jig for each stop. It was quite miraculous she didn't fall off considering how rickety the furniture was.

She finally reached her destination, finishing the journey with a small hop onto the floor. She was by the bar now, right next to the tetchy-looking man. She approached him without caution and tapped him on the shoulder. Nearby she saw her fellow workmates doing the same to some other gents.

"What's your name sir?" Chelsea asked genially.

He didn't look up from his position over the bar, nor did he reply. So Chelsea decided to tap him again. "Sir?"

"Vaughn," his deep voice reverberated in her ears.

"How about you dance with me Vaughn?" she said with a warm smile upon her face.

He answered flatly, remaining hunched lower over his drink. "I don't dance."

Chelsea latched onto his bicep and tugged at him excitedly. He still didn't look at her. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"I doubt that."

"This isn't an opportunity you'll get every day. It's a pretty exclusive thing. I don't often offer out dances you know."

"Yes, it's an honour to dance with the lady." Another man chimed in, grabbing his other arm, "Just get up and dance."

"By hook or crook, I'm getting you dancing sir."

"I said no." He ripped himself from the man and Chelsea's grip, stumbling a bit as he did so. He moved back and bumped into another man causing him to slosh whiskey all down his front.

He turned angrily on Vaughn and barked, "Watch it!"

He ignored the man, giving no apologies, and strode out of the Saloon. Chelsea was left stunned for a few seconds until she heard the bartender exclaimed angrily, "He hasn't paid!"

"Don't worry, I'll see to it he pays," Chelsea said hurriedly as she made for the doors. "Angela, Molly, keep dancing! I'll be back," she called over her shoulder.

Outside the night air was cool against the bare skin of her shoulders and the moon hung steadfast over the wooden buildings like a silent observer. She hugged herself from the cold while looking around. That man sure was fast.

She spotted his figure wandering down the dirt street. He was a couple of houses down, close to the inn. Maybe that was where he was going. It made sense. She'd never seen him around here in the little town of Virga before and, although she had only been around for one season, she was sure she would remember such a character. Perhaps he was visiting relatives, but she thought him much more likely to be the kind of man trailing, the kind to do a lot of moving around from town, to ranch, to town looking for cattle to drive. He had the look of a waddy, despite the unusualness of his seemingly solitary existence (for in recent years it seemed these men liked to congregate into small travelling parties). She had seen many a cowboy in her time and she knew their ilk well. Yes, she was rather sure of his occupation now.

"Hey! Hey there!" She scooped up her skirt and jogged after him. She saw him stop walking but he didn't turn around. She slowed to a halt behind him and placed her hands upon her hips. "Hey now, you didn't pay sir."

He was silent and he still didn't turn around. Chelsea was considering giving this man a good talking to, but he spoke before she could open her mouth. "Here," he grunted, throwing back a couple of coins.

Chelsea scrambled to catch them but only ended up grabbing one. She scowled at him as she stooped to pick up the fallen change. "Sir, that certainly was not necessary," she said as she marched around to plant herself firmly in front of him. She didn't like that he wasn't facing her. She liked to have eye contact with those she talked to.

She regretted that decision a little bit. He had a very cold stare. Icy, she would call it (and not to mention rather purple). Those were some strange eyes. Pretty though.

She straightened her back and puffed out her chest, before speaking in a solid tone, "I believe you owe someone an apology."

He raised an eyebrow. "What? You mean the drifter I knocked into?"

"No! Me. That gent would be far too blue to even care. He's out of it."

He stared at her for a few moments, looking almost exasperated, and then he pushed past her without uttering a single word.

She spun around and grabbed his sleeve. "Hey, hey, hey! That is not an apology."

She heard him heave an aggravated sigh, rubbing a hand over weary-looking eyes. He removed his hand and she was staring into two violet pools again. "And what exactly am I apologising for?"

"You know," she said, "being rude at the bar, running out without paying, throwing solid pieces of metal at me. That sort of stuff."

"I don't need to apologise for that."

"Wha-!"

"Look girl, last thing I wanted tonight was some sappy saloon dancer to stomp over and be causing skulduggery. That trouble was enough to have lost you an apology."

"Saloon dancer? No, no sir. I don't just dance, I sing too; sometimes we even put on little skits. Then not just that, I work a plot during the day. Think I'm sappy now? I'm an all-round entertainer, farmer, miner, fisherman and survivor. Can you beat that Poppet?"

Vaughn ground his teeth. "First off, don't be calling me Poppet. I don't care who I give a slogging to. Second, it's not hard to beat a plough chaser such as yourself. Bet you don't even know how to aim a gun."

"Well, naw... 'Course not. I've never tried to shoot before, but I'm a quick study. I'll bet if you gave me a talking-iron I'd be able to riddle anything with holes."

"Stupid…" he growled and took off down the road, muttering as he went, "I don't have time for this."

She ran after him. "Whoa—Wait, wait. How about tomorrow at noon then? You can see me shoot."

"Not here tomorrow." He continued to walk.

"What do you mean? You're leaving? I can't just let someone insult me and then get away without me amazing them."

"I've got work."

"When are you leaving then? I can show you early tomorrow."

"I'm leaving early tomorrow."

"Well what about right now? Give me than gun in your holster. I'll show you," she said enthusiastically as she reached for the weapon.

He slapped her hand away, doing his best to shrug her off. He was getting more agitated by the second. "I need my sleep and I certainly wouldn't trust you with my gun." He entered the inn.

She followed him in. "What about—"

"Stop pestering me!" he bellowed, his face contorted in downright ferocity.

Chelsea jumped back a little in shock but then regained her cool. She saw to her right the innkeeper ogling them with his mouth agape, frozen in the act of cleaning a lantern. She cringed and looked away from the bushy-moustached tenant.

Her expression morphed into one of a naughty child who knew they had crossed some sort of boundary that shouldn't be crossed. She had been rather startled by Vaughn's explosion and it seemed he had been too. His eyebrows furrowed together and his mouth dropped from its venomous snarl into a confused frown. He mumbled something to himself before walking off, yet again without another word. Not even a nod of the head.

"I'll see you around," she called weakly.

Naught. Zilch. Nil.

She received not a single ditty in reply. She hadn't really expected one. It did make her feel a bit putout though. Where was his common courtesy?

With a huff, she fixed the feather that had come askew in her hair and stomped out the door.

The Slang Saloon:

By hook or crook - By any means possible.

Blue - Drunk.

Plough chaser - A Farmer.

Talking-iron - A gun.