The Trouble With Saloons

Hope glanced up at the sky and nodded to himself. It wasn't too late just yet, maybe an hour or two shy of sunset and he had some time to kill, and money to help him do it. His father had come to Midgar Town to pick up some things that couldn't be had easily back where they lived out West. Hope had tagged along with him for two reasons. First of all, the Farrons had come along too, Lightning and her sister, Serah. Serah ran a school back in Bodhum and there were things in Midgar Town, mostly books and the such, that she just couldn't get back in Bodhum. Second, he was dying for the chance to poke around some place he didn't already know like the back of his hand.

His father had given him a whole ten dollars and told him to look around town for a bit while he and the Farron sisters sorted out their own business. He'd been a little worried, but he wanted to show his father that he could take proper care of himself, that he wasn't just a boy anymore, but a man. Most of all though he wanted to impress Lightning. He was almost fifteen now and when he was old enough, he had plans to ask Lightning to take him on as her deputy.

Of course, he wasn't fool enough to think that Lightning would just say yes, at least, not right away. To her, he was still a kid. Sure, she might show him a thing or two about guns, but she wasn't about to trust him with a real one either. Still, he was growing fast and so was Bodhum and he knew it wouldn't be long now before she needed to take on a real deputy, instead of just relying on a couple of the town's men to pitch in when she needed an extra hand. And it wasn't just Hope that thought that way. Even Amodar, a retired marshal who lived in Bodhum, agreed that Lightning could use a proper deputy of her own.

Hope wanted to really make a good impression, so rather than just spending the money on whatever caught his fancy, he'd looked out for what he felt he really needed. His first purchase had been a new pair of boots, sized so that there was still plenty of growing room in them. After that, he'd picked out a proper hat for outdoor work, a fine Stetson that he could have sworn was just the same shade as Lightning's.

Still, the day had been pretty hot and he was starting to get mighty thirsty. Normally, he wouldn't even think of going into a saloon, but he was feeling pretty big in his new boots and all kinds of swanky in his new hat. He also had a powerful hankering for some soda pop and he figured that at this time of day, there probably wouldn't be too much trouble. Besides, the carriage to take them all back West was due in a little past sundown, so he had a bit more time to kill still.

He entered the saloon and braced himself, ready for just about anything. He'd heard all sorts of tall tales about saloons, and the last thing he wanted was to end up in one of them. But the saloon was pretty quiet, with only a couple of cowboys sipping whiskey, a bartender who looked to have seen better days, and a few lazy looking ranch hands dabbling at a game of poker. Not exactly the stuff of tall tales, but just the kind of thing he was looking for.

He sat down at the bar and put on what he hoped was a mature looking face. "A bottle of soda pop."

The bartender took one look at him and then turned away to yell into the back room. "Lebreau. Get out here. There's a brat that wants some soda pop."

Brat? Hope felt a flush of anger run through him, but held his tongue. The last thing he wanted to do was to end up in jail. That definitely wouldn't be a good look for a future deputy. A few moments later, a young woman came out from the back room. She had a frazzled look about her, but she was pretty too, with long black hair and eyes that were a kind of amber colour.

She shot the bartender a mean look – which he ignored – and then turned to Hope. "Soda pop, was it?"

Hope nodded. "A bottle of soda pop." He looked over at the bartender then back at the woman. "What was it he called you?"

She handed him his soda pop. "The name's Lebreau."

Hope took a gulp of his soda pop. Normally, he wouldn't have commented too much on appearances, but Lebreau had a lively air about her that seemed at odds with the downtrodden look of the saloon. "I hope you don't mind my saying so… but you don't exactly fit in here."

Lebreau smiled and ruffled Hope's hat. "Well, aren't you just the sweetest young man?" Hope blushed right down to his new boots and was glad that his new hat kept the worst of it from her. "Fact is I'm good friends with a couple of the stockmen that work round these parts. There's a group of us that have been together for a while that are thinking of moving out West to Bodhum. The land out there is supposed to be pretty good and a couple of them think they'll actually make decent farmers." She grinned. "Not me though. I plan to open a saloon in Bodhum. I've been up there and the place they've got now isn't fit to call itself one."

Hope fiddled with his bottle of soda pop. "Sounds like a good idea."

"What about you, kid?" Lebreau asked as she started to wipe down the bar with a damp cloth. "You don't exactly fit in here either."

"I'm Hope." He grimaced. "You've got me figured. I'm not normally the kind to go into saloons, but I've got some time to kill and I wanted some soda pop. This place seemed as good as any."

Lebreau nodded. "It's a fine place to kill time, although if you're looking to drown your sorrows while you're here, you'll need something a little stronger than that soda pop." She put a bottle of whiskey down in front of him and laughed as he pushed it back. "I'm just teasing you, Hope. Honestly, though, you seem pretty decent and the way I see it, decent folk are always welcome. Still, a kid like you needs to be careful. Today was payday down at the big ranch owned by that rich fellow Barthandelus."

"How's that trouble?" Hope asked.

Lebreau poured herself some whiskey and took a sip. "You must not run into stockmen or ranch hands too much, Hope. Thing is, they get their pay all at once at the end of the season, so they come into town with too much coin jangling in their pockets. Most of them don't know a thing about saving and look to live things up a little."

"They're trouble then?" Hope took another sip of his soda.

"Not exactly, but you give any man fifty dollars worth of whiskey, beer, or moonshine, and even a right decent fellow can get all kinds of rowdy." She sighed. "They'll blow in some time around sundown, so you'd best clear off before they get too loud."

"That's just fine with me," Hope said. "I've got a carriage to catch."

Lebreau nodded. "That's a good thing too. It'd be a shame if you spoiled that fine hat of yours in a fight."

Hope grinned. "It's not bad, is it?"

Hope spent the next hour or so just sipping lightly from his soda pop, nursing it really, and chatting with Lebreau. It made him all kinds of nervous. He wasn't good with girls, but he was really starting to take notice of them and it was nice to talk to one who didn't make fun of him just because he sometimes got a little tongue tied, or maybe blushed a bit much. However, he was careful to keep track of things, as little by little, the saloon began to fill.

"Hard day, Lebreau?"

He nearly jumped out of his seat as a big body slumped onto the stool beside him. He looked over as discretely as he could manage. The man beside him was plenty tall and built fair rugged too. He was dressed like a stockman and there was a lazy grin on his face that went well with his blonde hair and blue eyes. Those same eyes were filled with mirth as the big man watched Lebreau juggle close to a dozen orders.

"You looking for a fight, Snow Villiers, because you'll have one if you don't let me work in peace!" Lebreau snapped.

The big man, Snow, just laughed. "I'm not looking for a fight, but I am looking for a whiskey. I've got celebrating to do! I've finally got enough to buy up that plot I was eyeing just outside of Bodhum."

"That so?" Lebreau actually stopped what she was doing and glared ferociously at the men who complained at the lack of service. "And the rest of us?" She scowled. "Don't forget you and Gardot still owe me money after that last fiasco down south…"

Snow laughed. "Don't worry, Lebreau. I've got all that taken care of. We can all move, the lot of us. The place I got picked out is more than big enough for all of us, even though it might be rough the first few years."

Lebreau sniffed. "Rough? Maybe for you men, but I've a plan to start a good and proper saloon in town. I've had enough of dusty roads and sleeping on bed rolls." She looked over at Hope. "And speaking of Bodhum, this fellow here, Hope, seems to know a thing or two."

"Really?" Snow extended one hand. "Nice to meet you then, Hope. I'm Snow."

The two of them shook hands and Hope was more than glad that Snow had the decency not to crush his hand too much.

"So, you know a thing or two about Bodhum, Hope?" Snow accepted a bottle of whiskey from Lebreau with a nod and poured a little into a glass. "You know anything about that sheriff they got up there?"

There was a slightly worried look in Snow's eyes that Hope didn't quite understand. "You mean Lightning?"

"That's the one," Snow said.

Hope looked at Snow more closely. The worried look he'd seen had taken on something not all that dissimilar to actual fear, which was odd because Snow looked tough enough to deal with just about anything. Maybe Snow had trouble with the law? That would explain why he seemed so worried. As big as Snow was, Hope would still have laid every cent he had on Lightning in any sort of fight between the two.

"I guess you could say I know her," Hope said carefully. "Any reason you're asking?"

Snow shivered. "Just asking. I met her once. She's… quite a lady. Toughest one I've ever met."

Hope nodded. "That's Lightning, all right."

Snow grinned and took a long swig of his whiskey. "So tell me, Hope, is there this school teacher over there in Bodhum that goes by the name of Serah?"

The two of them talked close to another hour. Hope was actually a little surprised by how easy it was to talk to Snow. Despite the way he'd seemed at the start, Snow was actually a pretty easy-going guy, and real nice too. He didn't treat Hope too shabbily and even bought him another soda pop when he'd finished his. The only strange thing was how much he kept asking about Bodhum, and not about the land around there or anything else either. No, almost all of his questions seemed to be about Lightning or Serah.

Hope looked out the window. It was just about sundown. "Well, it's been nice talking to you, Snow, but I've got to get going."

Snow smiled and clapped Hope over the back, nearly knocking him over. "That's a pity, Hope, you're pretty decent company. Get running then, and make sure you say hello to Ms Farron for me – that's Serah Farron, not Lightning!"

Hope winced and rubbed his back. Maybe that whiskey was finally starting to affect Snow. "I'll be sure to do that." He got off his stool. "Look after yourself." He turned –

And ran straight into a stockman carrying several bottles of whiskey. The stockman tripped and fell and the bottles smashed onto the ground, spilling whiskey everywhere. There was dead silence as the stockman first gaped at the ruined bottles and then stood to face Hope.

"You just lost me all my whiskey!" the stockman yelled as he grabbed Hope by the shirt.

"Hey, you let go of him!" Hope nearly wept with relief as Snow pulled the stockman's hands off him. "You should have been looking where you were going."

"Push off!" the stockman growled. "This isn't your business."

Hope winced as Snow pushed past him. "It's my business now."

"Is that so?" The stockman's fists were clenched.

"Yeah." Snow grinned. "It is." And then he punched the stockman in the face.

It was a good solid punch that landed flush on the jaw and the stockman spun once, in a lazy circle, before he slumped to the ground. That wasn't the end of things, however, as the stockman hadn't come to the saloon alone. He'd brought friends, a fair number of them too, and they weren't happy.

"You should get out of here, kid," Snow said. "Now."

Hope look at the semi-circle of half drunk stockmen that were closing in. "I really wish I could see how." Already his dreams of making a good impression on his father and Lightning were fading fast. "But somehow, I don't think they're just going to let me go."

And that was when the melee started.

One of the stockmen darted forward and lunged at Hope, but Snow was there to grab him about the waist and hurl him away. He landed in the middle of a group of ranch hands playing poker. The table they were playing on broke and cards and money went flying everywhere. Needless to say, they turned on the stockmen and from there it was only second before every man in the bar turned to the person he liked the least and gave them a piece of their mind – or rather a taste of their fists.

As for Hope, he did his best to try to get to the door unnoticed, but that was easier said than done. There was a yell, a crash, and suddenly he had to duck as an unconscious ranch hand sailed over him and smashed into the wall. Another time, he had to duck as two cowboys exchanged a hail of missiles, mostly bottles of whiskey and anything else they could get their hands on.

He was almost to the door when someone spotted him.

"Hey! It's that damn kid. Someone get him!"

Hope eye's widened as one of the stockmen who'd been there at the very start of the fight lunged for him. He scrambled back and under a table before shooting out the other side as the crazed stockman went after him.

"Damn it, kid, stand still!" the stockman yelled.

All of sudden, Hope found himself backed up against the bar and before he could even think of diving over it, the stockman threw a great big haymaker of a punch. Hope ducked and backpedalled only to stumble over a half-broken stool. As the stockman loomed over him with murder in his eyes, Hope did the only thing he could thing of. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey on the floor beside him and threw it at the stockman.

The bottle of whiskey connected just right with the stockman's head and burst in a shower of glass and alcohol. The stockman's eyes rolled back and then he thudded to the floor. Hope winced and then screamed as strong hands yanked him to his feet.

"Not bad, kid."

Hope turned and saw that it was Snow who'd yanked him to his feet. The big man had a bruise on his chin and another over his right eye, but there was a small mountain of unconscious people around him that seemed to have fared worse.

"Stop gawking, kid, and take this." Snow handed Hope the remains of a chair.

"What do I do with this?" Hope asked.

Snow grinned. "Use it to hit anyone who tries to hit you."

Hope laughed nervously. "I'm not sure that I can do that. I mean that thing with the whiskey bottle was just an acci –" He ducked as a stockman swung for his head with what looked to be the leg of a chair. Without even thinking, he hit back with his own broken chair and the man went down with a gurgle.

"That's it!" Snow shouted. "Just keep doing that and you'll be fine."

"I don't really think that this is a good idea…" Hope was still desperately looking for a way back toward the door and he glanced back, thinking that maybe Lebreau might be able to help him. He shouldn't have bothered.

Lebreau was standing on top of one corner of the bar wielding a bar stool like a club. Someone lunged at her with a punch and she dropped the man with a kick to the chin that must've rattled his teeth something fierce. Another leapt onto the bar and she nailed him the stool, sending him crashing back to the ground. Shouting something that sounded a great deal like "This is all your fault Snow!" she put another man in a chokehold and then flung him into the others behind him.

Realising that there was little else he could do for the time being, Hope did the only thing he could. He hit someone else with a chair and when that didn't do the job, he used a bottle of whiskey too. And when the next person lunged at him, he repeated the process. Yep, he was going to make a right fine deputy.

How long this went on he wasn't sure, but he was definitely sure about the moment when things turned from a simple brawl to something worse. He might not know too much about fisticuffs, but even he knew it wasn't decent to pull a gun during a bar room brawl, especially not when no one else had pulled a gun. Still, that was exactly what one of the stockmen was doing, perhaps a little too drunk, either on alcohol or punches, to see sense.

"Watch out Snow!" Hope yelled, already knowing that the big man would never be able to move in time. He closed his eyes.

BANG!

Everyone in the bar froze, many of them mid-punch, at the sound of the shot and Hope forced his eyes to open again. Only, Snow wasn't hurt. In fact, as far as he could tell, no one had been shot. And the reason was simple. The stockman no longer held his gun because someone had shot it out of his hand, a pink haired someone who stood at the doors of the saloon with an icy glare that promised death to anyone who so much as breathed funny.

"Gunplay in a brawl hardly seems proper," Lightning drawled. The sheriff's star on her coat was hard to miss. "Although in a place like this, I shouldn't be surprised." She eyed the downed men, broken furniture, and spilt alcohol with distaste. She smiled coldly. "Now would any of you folks mind telling me who started this?"

Hope suddenly found himself the centre of attention.

"Hope Estheim, are you responsible for this mess?" Lightning ground out. "And think carefully before you answer."

Hope swallowed. "Well… sort of… I mean…" He fumbled wildly for something, anything to explain the disaster. He looked at Snow. "I might have… but Snow threw the first punch!" He pointed at Snow. As Lightning's gaze narrowed and locked onto Snow, Hope decided that yes, discretion was definitely the better part of valour. Besides, a good deputy should be able to think on his feet.

"So, it looks like we meet again, Mr Villiers."

Snow flinched as Lightning bit off each syllable of his surname, her finger slowly tightening on the trigger. "Umm…. Hi?"

Lightning smiled. "Why don't we take a walk together, Mr Villiers?" Her gaze flicked to Hope. "And you… you'd best get going, the carriage should be here soon."

That night, Hope went to sleep with a bruise on his chin and his ears still ringing from the tongue lashings he'd gotten from first his father and then Lightning. It hadn't helped either, that he'd turned up to both still clutching a broken bottle in one hand.

As for Snow, he spent the night in Midgar Town's smallest jail cell. It took Lebreau until noon the next day to bail him out.

And Lightning? By all accounts, she slept just fine knowing that a certain blonde stockman was nowhere near her sister. In fact, Serah said she even woke up smiling.

X X X

Authors Notes

First of all, I neither own Final Fantasy, nor am I making any money off this.

I thought it would be a good idea to introduce Snow to Hope and when I was shopping for rum today (and before you ask, the rum wasn't for me), this idea popped into my head. The idea of Hope breaking a chair or bottle over someone's head is something that I find indescribably funny. The last part with Lightning was my way of working her into the chapter and giving her a chance to deal, at least temporarily, with the danger that she thinks Snow represents. Note, however, that Snow does have enough to settle out near Bodhum now, so Lightning's solution isn't nearly as permanent as she thinks it is. I had also considered bringing Fang and Vanille into things, but a bar fight involving that many members of the cast would be completely out of control although I won't rule out doing one at some future date. Honestly, Lightning and Fang would make an awesome bar room brawl tag team.

As always, I appreciate, your feedback. Reviews and comments are welcome.