[Zozo the Zrilufet]

OOC: He does have a licence, I've seen one of his past RPGs. And yay, I remember the aunt with eleven kids from somewheres 8D.

IC
Behind the bar
It was a nice old bar, he had to admit. Swinging saloon doors and all. He opened his beady little eyes with a groan, noticing how dim sunlight was settling through the dusty window. Another day, another chance to get some money and either feed himself or live off that psychedelic drug.

...IF he could find any outlaws that so happened to have it and not shoot you on sight for coming near them. He forced himself to his stubby little legs, rolling up his old tartan blanket and placed that under the old wooden bar, beside his unused shotgun. Had been his brother's. Two gunshots were enough for him to hear, he'd never be able to use it he reckoned but at least it gave a false feeling of safety.

Back to work. He sighed, his old dungarees and shirt not washed in days, and began scrubbing the bar idly with an old tattered cloth, swivelling his beady little eyes to the door every now and then. Perhaps a clean bar would attract customers. Perhaps if he didn't drink all the alcohol, they'd buy it and he could finally get his fix he hadn't had in more than a week.