[Zozo the Zrilufet]

The Bittersweet Opple
The capped wolvark frowned and flicked the grey TV's button, making an unimpressed face as its screen lit up in a flash and died. He muttered and whacked the back of it with its old-fashioned metally ariel, perking up a bit as the dusty little thing finally came on. Though its screen was still blurred and black and white, he could make out the crowd clapping on the Larry Flinger Show, and two seemingly-tranny vykkers yelling at eachother (You could never be sure with vykkers. They all sounded a little like squeaky ugly highschool girls). He let out a hearty laugh, adjusting the arial on the old Tv until it was just visible, the shrieking sound of high-pitched vykker voices piercing the speaker. He left the Tv on the bar and resumed scrubbing away at a wall, waiting for that...Green vykker thing or anyone to take their order.

He sighed a little as Sheamus spoke up. He'd want more beers, no doubt.
"Heh, I done forgot everyone else knows you as the new guy. They'll think you learned about my usual a-right pretty quick. An' sure thing, I'll be your bodyguard. Don't know much about fightin but I reckon I could swing a barstool well enough. Get me another drink wills ya Wolvie, I reckon I's gonna be in here for quite the long awhile."
"Sure thang, sure thang..." He replied, swiping the black liquor from the shelf. Whilst as potent as vodka, it had an awfully bitter taste to it. Perhaps that'd put him off before he could get smashed. If he saw someone getting smashed, no doubt he'd want to join in and get smashed himself.

He smiled innocently and pushed the large wine glass of black alcohol to him.
"'ere ya go, somethin' heavy for you." He laughed a bit, shaking his head a little.
"Now that's crazy-talk, a stool is no good against them outlaws, they got guns..." He peered at a framed window near the saloon doors in thought.
"Need someone big an' strong, who c'n use a gun..." Before he could think to snap his fingers and make an offer, the saloon doors burst open and three shrieking chippunks charged/bounced in. He groaned and facepalmed hard against his short muzzle, picking up his broom with a determined face.

"Rowdy lil' bastards...One moment guys, jus' git yer own beers while I...Deal with...This." He smiled dumbly, feeling the Chill pills take its toll. His pupils widened as he hummed happily, walking after the darting animals and swinging the broom in what could look like feigned slow motion.
"Out yous goooo...Baaad lil' critturs..."

The ground
The sleepy woman opened her beady eyes, coughing and screwing her face up as some dust got in her face. She rubbed her little eyes frantically, getting up and brushing dust off her tattered brown dungarees. She began folding up her old blanket, stuffing the thick, folded material into a bulgy pocket. She eyed the glukkon and fellow wolvark with a tired smile, twirling and staggering closer. It felt fun to fall over on something soft, or just to...Fall around.
"G'daaaay, persons..." She yawned, poking her big toe through her worn black boot. She twiddled her her tooth, feather and bottlecap necklace, peering up at Whyte Urp. He looked a little peculiar. Was he a vykker or the Sheriff...? Wilma 'Weirdy' forgot a lot.