"Bleeding mother of all that is unholy... another wasteland?"

Silence.

"Again?"

Silence.

"Seriously?"

Silence.

Well, not complete silence. Now he could hear the sounds of life. Not the kind of life one would find in the wilderness or even a desolate wasteland but an actual pub. Sure enough the smell of liquor and other unsavory things followed. So why couldn't he see it?

The old man was a miserable thing, sitting on his diminished rump and legs splayed with a rather awkward and unintended use of his cane lying between said legs pretending to be a third. Even his floppy hat with a three inch wide brim didn't want anything to do with his balding palette - instead opting to cover the barren ground to his left.

Barren and destroyed. Whatever this place was, only ghosts and skeletons remained. Figuratively for the former but quite literal as far as the latter were concerned.

If he had to guess which was a better motivator for his attempt to get himself off the ground, he would be hard-pressed to choose between the promise of alcohol and the number of skeletons voicelessly promising his immediate future. Regardless, his attempts did pay off - just not the way he wanted.

Gas out of the way, the old man tried to rise to his dignity again and this time succeeded with much cursing and unstable reliance on a seemingly flimsy cane.

The excruciating exercise over with, it took him a few moments to regain his bearings. Somewhere, somewhere nearby, there was a brew just waiting for him. But where?

"Where?"

Apparently, not content with the thought alone, he felt that asking it aloud might yield results - which did exactly nothing, as should be reasonably expected.

Scratching in two places at the same time, one hand at his somewhat still round cranium and the other - the one holding the cane - at his anything but round behind - doing two things at the same time was a feat in itself for him but he managed a third - perhaps again, at the promise of alcohol, as his feet shuffled and turned his body in a circle.

"There..."

This whole ordeal would have been a little less embarrassing had any onlookers been present to begin with, if he simply had arrived facing the bar - the Double B Bar as was boldly claimed.

"Eh," now a hand moved to scratch a short scraggly beard, "at least it isn't a D."

That was really the last thought he had as all his senses propelled him on towards the search for his elixir. His cure. His love. His friend. His god. Steps be damned.

Unfortunately for the old timer, steps cannot simply be damned away into non-existence. Fortunately, either they weren't there or he was so entranced that he just didn't give a litter of kittens.

All he knew was that when those doors opened, a chorus of angels would lift him of his feet and take him and his dusty brown colored attire at the most comfortable table and whiskey will be sent his way in endless rounds by silent attendants. Except the doors did open and well, it pretty much seemed like an ordinary bar and he looked just like an ordinary old bum standing in the middle of the doorway about to beg for a free drink or leftovers. Or both.

All the way through drunkenness?  That was impossible!  These men were full of it.  West was feeling fine!  Well maybe a little tipsy, but no doubt that was because of the whiskey those two buffoons forced down his throat.

"I think I get the game here," West said with a wry smile, looking the barkeeper right in the eye.  "You knock em out with whatever the hell you put in that drink, then force a bottle of whisky down their throat."  His voice was slurred, and every so often he would stutter for a moment to collect his thoughts. 

"How much was all that stuff.  Forty bucks, fifty... maybe even 100?"  West turned around.  He didn't remember all these people walking in.  He didn't care.  Let them see this scene.  Hell, it might even result in some fun.  "You don't scare me.  I want another mug of that Manslaughter stuff, and it better be a big one."  He shrugged.  "And if I dissolve into a mountain of green goo... well then I guess you'll just have to get one of them idiots to clean it up."  He spat out the word 'idiots' with particular vile.

[[OOC: Hope you guys don't mind if I jump in head first here too.]]

Zeal was lost. That much was for certain, now. Checking the small piece of paper with a barely legible map scribbled on it, a scowl spread over her face. This was not right at all. This was not Vegas- this was a desert. A lonely, parched, horrible dry desert.

This was NOT right at ALL.

Crumbling the piece of paper she let it go, watching it blow away in the breeze that seemed to just make the dryness worse.

"Well this was a complete waste of my time."

She stated for no one in particular, hoping that her comrade was getting his fill of laughs, women and drink while he could... Sweat gathered on her forehead, and she reached up with a gloved hand and wiped it away. It was too hot for plans of revenge, no matter how sweet they would be. Instead she resumed her walk; trudging along for a couple hundred more feet till she was at the base of a cactus and sitting down under the sparse shade. Why had she taken that truckers advice? He had said this road would go straight into Vegas... of course, that was nearly a week ago. Thank the Gods she did not need water or food to survive, but that did not stop the gaping hole in her stomach, or the weakness that spread through her limbs. Raising an arm she looked up at the sun, wondering to herself how best to put it out of her misery when she saw a slight glimmer in the distance. Pushing herself up she squinted at it-

"No. It couldn't be. Out here?"

Yet it could be and it was.
A smile broke onto her face as she got up all the way, dusted off her pinstriped pants and began to stride towards the big, beautiful, dark and slightly ominous bar. Making it to the door she made her way in, and slumped into the nearest chair.

"Thank the GODS for this place." She mumbled, stretching out and looking around the bar. There were actually people here... and cats. She blinked and frowned to herself, trying not to stare. Cats.  'I hate cats.'