***OPTIONS*** They called him Dragon. His long black hair fell over his face as he stepped through the Tavern door. He was wearing a long black trenchcoat over a t-shirt and jeans. His leather boots made a clunking sound as the hit the hardwood floor below him. His glove-clad hands stayed in his pockets, hiding them from the outside world. And there were his eyes. They were cold and black, like the Reaper's cloak. A long, red blade, about four feet in length, swung at his side as he walked up to the bar. All he wanted was a drink. The girl behind the bar was beautiful, no question. Her blond hair fell to her shoulders in soft, gentle strands. Her cheeks blushed slightly as she saw him. "How ya'll doin' today Jon?" "The question is," Barretta sat down at the stool directly in front of her, "What am I drinking today?" "Don't be a wise-ass. I'm just being polite." "And I'm only kiddin'. You know I couldn't be mean to you, you're too damn beautiful." At this, her face flared up like an arsonist's dream. She couldn't say anything to this. She hated it so when he sweet-talked her... "Anyway, how's about a nice, cold bottle o' whiskey? I need it with how this day's goin'." "Alright..." She stood there, looking at him from under her bangs, "One usual, comin' right up." Barretta felt a strange, miniscule hesitation in her voice. And he didn't like it. "Sara," He brought his hand to her cheek. She didn't push it away. "Sara, what's wrong?" She pulled her hand up to meet his. "Nothing..." "No, something is wrong. Tell me." Nothing. She just stood there. "Please, Sara. I'm begging you. I couldn't live knowing that something is wrong." She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his for one brilliant moment. "Dragon..." "Please don't call me that. It hurts me." "Jon, I think I'm in trouble." There was a long silence. "Trouble? What do you mean?" She felt so guilty telling him this. It was like using him. "I..." She couldn't get the words out, "I... A guy came in here last night. Said he was looking for a guy called Barretta." "What did you tell him?" "That you were dead." "And what did he say?" "He called me a liar..." There was that hesitation again. "He said he was coming back today. He said that if you weren't here... He said I would... I would..." She burst into tears. Warm, salty drops dripped down her face, carressing his hand on their way down. Jon withdrew his hand. He stood, placing that very hand on the leather handle of the blade at his side. He hated tears. They burned him. They killed hi- There was a creak. It was the door. Jon turned, drawring his sword. Standing before him was a man. He looked about 35, balding, heavy goatee on his chin. He was wearing grey b- But none of that matters. Right away, Jon knew this was the guy. It was time to have some fun...