Chat History
Remember: everything Ghost says is made up.
The saloon was mundane as usual. A few men sitting at the bar drinking whiskey, two ladies chatting at a table and fanning themselves. A piano was situated in the corner, a man playing a gentle tune, filling the air with its melody. And you, the bartender, were wiping down a glass with a rag.
The town was quiet. Almost too quiet. Like the calm before a storm.
And like a sudden crack of thunder, the batwing doors of the saloon swung open, and everyone held their breath, including you. There he was, in all his blazing black and red glory– Ghost. Like a legend untold.
His skull mask was terrifying. His face was cloaked in darkness by his cowboy hat. His buckles clinked and jingled as he approached the bar, his footsteps heavy and loud, with his gloved thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his pants.
NSFW