Author's Notes: Finally, something I can manage! Putting our boys back in time. Should I sing the Time Warp now? Let's do the time warp agaaaaaiiiinnnnn!

Tumblr's Sory Week: Day 4 – Time Period Sory

The Tale of Trouty the Kid

The saloon doors closed shut behind the tall man who just walked in. His boots clunked on the wooden floor and the metal on his belt and holster clinked with each step. His green eyes scanned the room for anyone he happened to know.

"Howdy there Miss Rachel," he said to one of waitresses, tipping his hat.

"Howdy there, Sam!" she replied with a big smile. She sat down at the table she was delivering a drink to and started flirting with the cowboy sitting there, Big Finn. He was a ladies' man, having been with most of the waitresses and dancing girls at the bar. The only one left was Miss Tina, a right nice girl dating a Chinaman. Nobody was quite sure if she was from China herself or one of them Japanese folk, but she was always bright and cheerful and ready to lend a hand tending to the horses.

Sitting off on the far side was Pole Eyed Puck, drunk as a skunk and passed out on the table. Rumor had it he had impregnated Miss Quinn out of wedlock and now her father was trying to get some gold out of him. They all called him Pole Eyed on account of him thinking with his pole with one eye.

"Howdy there Mr. Abrams," Sam said, taking off his hat and sitting at the bar. "Let me get one of them glasses of whiskey. Been a long day."

The bartender wasn't as short as he appeared to be. He had been in a horse riding accident when he was just a tyke and messed up both his legs. He sat on a stool that had – now get this – it had wheels! Big wheels on either side of it, and some on the front, too, for steerin'. Ole' Artie Abrams sure did manage right good behind that bar. His chair was up high enough to reach anything he needed, and most of the patrons were good friends with him.

"Sure thing, Trouty. Anything you wanna get offa your chest?" the bartender asked, wheeling around to get a glass and a bottle of whiskey.

"Naw, I'll be alright. Just tired, running off them hookers from ole' Jane Adams' clan. They're always stealing something or other from passers by, and let me tell you, ole Artie, when I see that goin' on I just gotta stop and help 'em."

"That's right good of you, there, Sam. That's why they call you Trouty the Kid, because you just a big kid lookin' out for the little man," Artie commented. Actually, the reason they called him Trouty the Kid was because he had a big mouth with full thick lips. Lots of the ladyfolk were trying to get a chance at kissing those big lips but Trouty didn't seem to have any interest in them.

Sam nodded to the bartender and turned around in his seat, observing the room. He noticed there was a new guy in the bar, fiddling with the piano. He had some sheet music he was leafing through and seemed real intent on what he was doing.

Sam watched him with interest, intrigued because he wasn't dressed like the cowboys. He had on some cheap looking pants held up by suspenders, some ragged looking shoes, and a green shirt. He had a hat on his head that looked different than any hat Sam had seen before.

"Hey Artie, who's the new kid?" Sam asked, nodding toward the piano.

"Aw, shucks, Sam, he's just the piano player. He ain't nothin' special. Talks funny and everything too," Artie replied, going back to washing glasses in the trough of water.

Sam nodded and turned back around, his eyes constantly wandering over toward the newcomer. Something about him seemed a little different than most people. He didn't look like a beggar, he looked more like a countryman, the hard working kind. Sam was still staring at his hat when the man fumbled with something on the piano, the lid slamming shut, startling the guy into dropping all his sheet music on the floor.

Something compelled Trouty to get off the stool and go help him out. He seemed frustrated and the rest of the bar was laughing at him. He didn't like to see anyone getting picked on, it just didn't seem right. Folk shouldn't be mocking each other, they should be kind to them, or at least keep their mouths shut.

He knelt down and picked up the sheets of music and looked up at the man, seeing his face for the first time. He was young! Younger than Trouty thought at first. He couldn't be no older than fifteen or sixteen. The second thing he noticed was that the boy had the brightest, bluest eyes he ever did see. Sam couldn't help but stare.

"C-can I have me sheet music back, please?" the kid stuttered, speaking in some strange way that sounded foreign, but Sam had never heard before.

Sam snapped out of his daze. "Uh yeah, sure. Here ya go," he said, handing the sheets back to the boy.

"T=thanks, mister. That's awfully kind of you," the young man said, not helping but staring into the blonde man's eyes.

Sam smiled. "Never seen you 'round here before. New in town?"

The kid looked at him, obviously nervous that this cowboy had not only helped him, but was still talking to him real friendly like. "Y-yes, sir. I'm one of them Irishmen that came over. Not a lot of us running around yet."

Trouty scratched his chin, thinking things over. "What's your name, kid?"

"Rory Flanagan, sir," the boy answered, gulping. He must have thought this cowboy was about to string him up by his feet in the town square or something. Instead, he stuck out his hand.

"Sam Evans, but everybody around here calls me Trouty the Kid. Nice to meet ya there Rory Flanagan," the tall cowboy said, shaking his hand. "Got any friend around here?"

Rory shook his head as a sad look crossed his features. "Nobody seems to wanna be friends with an Irishman. Only reason Mr. Abrams over there let me play was because I agreed to give him half the gold he made."

Sam smiled at him. "Well how 'bout this then Rory Flanagan, I'll be your friend. I like different folk, they're right more interesting than regular folk."

"Wow, that's great, sir!" Rory replied with a grin.

"Just one thing, kid. Quit callin' me sir. Friends don't call each other sir, they call each other by their names. You call me Sam or Trouty, got me?" Sam said, giving him a polite smile.

"O-okay. Sure thing," the young Irishman replied. "Uh… you wanna hear me play this piano?"

Sam grabbed himself a stool and sat down next to the nervous kid. "Sure do. Why you so nervous, kid?"

"All of them were laughing at me a minute ago."

"Don't you mind them. You just get to playin' and I bet they'll stop laughing and start clappin'. Maybe even get one of them there dancin' girls paying you some attention," Sam assured him.

Rory blushed at the mention of dancing girls. "But I don't want any dancing girls," he said all in a rush. When Sam said he didn't understand him, he repeated it.

"Oh, okay. So you one of them there guys who likes some dancing guys then, right?" Sam asked. Rory nervously nodded his head. "Y-yeah. Irishman and different like that. No wonder nobody wants to be my friend."

Sam out a hand on the boy's shoulder and got closer to his ear and whispered. "I tell you a secret there, Rory Flanagan. I like them there dancing guys, too. We can be friends and watch them dancing guys together."

Rory blushed a deeper shade of red. "R-really?"

"Really. So how about you get to playing that piano and get your applause and then I buy you one of them drinks over there. I happen to know that bartender keeps a jug of Irish whiskey behind that shelf over there. I bet if I give him an extra tip he might just let us have some," Sam said, sitting up straight again.

Rory grinned at him, his bright blue eyes sparkling. "T-thank you, Sam, er Trouty. Er Sam."

"Just you call me Sam. I like the way you say it in that Irishman voice of yours. Come on, hurry up so I can buy you that there drink," the cowboy urged. Rory smiled and turned to the piano and started to play.

Sam had been right. As soon as he got playing good, he started to sing as well, and the entire saloon of people started to dance along, clapping and having a right good time. They asked for more, and Rory, he played more, and sang some more, and Miss Rachel and Miss Quinn started dancing away, Big Finn even taking Miss Rachel by the hand and twirling her around.

"See, kid. You're a hit. I think everything will be just fine now. You stick with me and we'll have a right good time."

Trouty the Kid was right, and the Musical Irishman followed him all around the wild west, playing his piano and singing. They became such good friends, they were more than friends. In fact, one day they even became secret lovers, and everybody knew them as Trouty the Kid and his Musical Irishman.