Evenin' Sheriff

Chp.8: Daisy Bell

FOR ONCE in his entire stay in the sad little town of Widow's Return, the bar countertops were booming with the clanking of beer glasses. Consumers joined in multiple groups, rowdy with celebration. What they were celebrating, Tord didn't know, but it sure as hell brought in business. He reckoned the entire town was bustling within his bar.
All except Sheriff Thompson, that is.

Tord couldn't believe it. His star costumer, didn't show on the very day where Tord had gotten his big break. He thought about brushing it off. He imagined the sheriff had to stay on duty, whatever that meant.

Though, even if the saloon was full of life with the cheering of widows and newlyweds and the harmony of the piano in the corner gliding through the air, Tord still felt lonely. Watching everyone celebrate amongst themselves only seemed to make it worse. He did miss the company of the sheriff, but at least he was making money.

-

The party did eventually pass as the crowd thinned out, leaving only few patrons to waste away around the bar.
Most had found quiet places at tables to chat or nap silently. Even the pianist, who'd been hammering the keys of the piano cathartically just mere hours prior, now pressed gentle lullabies into the night.

Tord knew he'd have to close soon. It was getting awfully late for him and the bar. But something urged Tord to stay, even for just the littlest while longer. Waiting for him.

The saloon doors opened almost on que. The figure etched out of the moonlight stepped inside, looking in that moment exactly as he did all those years ago.
As the sheriff neared closer to the bar, Tord perked up and started to show the most expression he had shown that entire night.

"Well, well, well; look what the draft dragged in." Sheriff Thompson sat down on a stool across from Tord. "Took you long enough. Don't tell me you're people shy." The sheriff tilted his head, his blue eye catching all the light that was present as he gazed up at Tord with a smirk on his face. "And don't tell me you were waiting on this old drunkard the busiest night of your bartending career." Tord's face flushed red, amusing Thompson. "A whiskey, please."

Embarrassed, Tord poured the sheriff his drink. He'd be more careful about his joking. Thomas took a refreshing dose of his beverage, slouching over the counter. "I hate crowds..." He grumbled into his glass, "I'm more fond of the quieter nights." Yeah, no kidding; Tord would comment on it in his head.
The sheriff turned his head up to look at Tord again, getting more relaxed in the barstool. "But you seem to thrive in them huh? Quite the gathering here tonight." Tord shrugged, "More of a nuisance really. But I don't mind if it's what brings the coins in."

Tord found his cleaning rag hidden behind the counter; following that action up by picking one of the three glasses he hadn't cleaned yet and got to work.
Or at least tried to.

In that time, he and Thomas talked like they always had. Of course, with every new conversation that carried on, another drink was drained into the sheriff's stomach.
All that liquid seemed to going to his head by that point.

The pianist started to pick up a melody. It climbed until it was the only thing in the bar left to hear now that every soul inside had gone silent.
It was a song that Tord knew all too well; it was practically his favorite.

The tune of Daisy Bell continued just as Tord began to sway to it. He couldn't help a good toe tapper.
Tord lost sight of cleaning the shot glass in his grasp. He got caught in the past, when things were better. Why couldn't they be better now?

Tord knew why. But he couldn't care to think about it all now. He couldn't ruin just this singular moment for himself. Not again.

It was maybe midway through the song when a chuckle from the opposite side of the counter took Tord away from his dance. "Quite the moves you got there, Daisy Bell." The bartender froze in his tracks at the nickname he hadn't heard in so long.

Tord quickly realized how awkwardly he was standing and turned to find a spot near the counter. He leaned up against the bartop casually, only now realizing that the cup he was cleaning was far beyond clean. He did not find me out now, Tord thought. "Ah, well," Tord reached for another glass to clean, but none remained. He faced the drunken man again, "I haven't really danced in a while, I gues-" Sheriff Thompson interrupted Tord once more when he broke out into a small fit of hiccups and giggles.

"You know what, you remind me of an old friend of mine."

Tord smiled almost subconsciously and replied, "Oh really? care to tell me how, Mister I-had-friends?" He tapped his foot lightly on the wood floor; his mood uplifted immediately.

Thomas rolled his eye jokingly sipping more whiskey from his shot glass, "I don't know what it is exactly, but your presence just mimics him almost. Not to mention the obnoxious attitude."
Tord playfully punched the barely sober Sheriff's shoulder, making Thomas chuckle at his actions.

"Yeah he was annoying, petty, and very smug at times. But he was an excellent partner in crime." He swigged the liquid in his hands sighing, "And I'll never forget the way his face looked in the moonlight, sparkling. His smile was the one thing I knew out shined the stars, that bastard."

Tord was speechless, surely Sheriff Thompson wasn't talking admirably about he himself, right?
"A-and who, if I may ask, is this man of mysterious wonders giving you more energy than usual?"

Thomas' face was shockingly unreadable all of a sudden, completely colorless; until he looked at Tord, piercing his soul with a killer expression shooting with it.
"The same man, who took my eye."