Thirst. Hunger. Tigers. Lions. Explosives. Action.

These are all words.

Bachelor was only one of them, thirst. He needed something to drink and quickly, but the giant horse standing in front of him was proving much harder to move than he had anticipated; why was there even a horse at all? Who would park such a creature right outside his door? This was as scandalous as it was infuriating. 

"Out of the way, Mare! GET OUT!!! This is not your home!"

Yet they would not budge, and this only made him even more upset than before. Why was he being punished? What karma had he wrought upon himself? His thirst went to pure depravity as the hours went along. Licking some condensation that had grown outside of his window, that's when it hit him. The window! Wriggling himself on through, he had finally made it to freedom.

After a quick pump of the fist towards the air, the party was over -- time to find a place to drink.

The Drunken Patriot

Opening the door he stepped inside, his chest glistening thanks to the new oil he had been applying to himself every single night to maintain a powerful look. He made his way to where he had assumed the bar owner would be and set a couple of dollars onto the counter, giving off his signature wink and smile, he began to speak. 

"Give me three bottles of your finest."

He wasn't sure what that meant, but it was worth a try. Maybe it'd yield him some good results.

Senorita stepped inside the door of The Drunken Patriot. She had had a rough day filled with allergies, ruined coats and cats. She needed a drink. Maybe a couple of them. Looking around for a place to sit, she decided on sitting at the bar. It was after all the best place for someone who was on their own to have a seat. She took in the ambiance of the place as she walked over to an empty stool. She set her purse on the bar and slid onto the stool. As she waited for the bartender, she pulled out a cigarette and lighter. She stuck the cigarette between her lips and lit it, inhaling deeply. A few drags later, the bartender walked over.

"I believe that I will start with a couple of shots of tequila, amigo. And a whiskey, neat. That will be all for now."

When the bartender set the shots in front of her, she grabbed one and threw it back. She wasn't sure if it was all those late nights in poker tournament back rooms or just because of her heritage, but tequila was like candy to her. It went down smooth and never left a bitter taste in her mouth. She always had a good chuckle at the gringos who had to use salt and lime with their tequila. Amateurs. She took a drink from her whiskey glass. Whiskey was another story, no matter how smooth, it still left that burn as it went down her throat. But she had been counting on that. The edge was slowly beginning to wear off. She finished her cigarette and ground it out into the ashtray in front of her. Holding the whiskey in her hand, she turned around in her stool and watched the other patrons as she finished off the drink. When it was gone, she turned back around and grabbed her second tequila shot. Throwing it back, she slid her hand into her purse. As she set the shot glass on the bar, she pulled enough money out of purse to cover the drinks and a very generous tip. Then she grabbed her purse and headed back out. She had business to take care of.