1: We are back at the saloon in 1852. Ikal lounges with his claws up on the table again, his glass empty. Much of the saloon’s occupants have stopped to listen, and are laughing to themselves.

Ikal: That’s about all the end of it.

Francis (off-screen): That is… quite the story, sir.

2: Ikal has a smile that is hard to read, his eyebrows knitted.

Francis (off-screen): I see you have a flair for… embellishment.

3: Ikal rests back in his chair, the woodpecker woman behind him at the bar chimes in.

Scarlet: Ikal here’s always over-spicin’ his stories, a true western man, stringing a whizzer. The kids love ’em.

Ikal: That enough for your story, mister? Word from the man himself.

4: The amused Francis scratches his cheek with his pen.

Francis: I’m not sure my editor will believe any of this…

But it’s good to clear up some rumors about you.

5: Ikal sits up and looks around at the people who had started hanging around to listen.

Ikal: What are y’all starin’ at anyways? You’ve heard this ol’ rusher’s flack before.

Scarlet, get these people busy with drinks, on my tab.

6: Ikal settles back down in his chair quietly as Scarlet goes off to share out libations.