Old Dog, Older Tricks

Squealing Hog 
#1
The worn down boots he wore scuffed at both ground and and soon flooring as he pushed open the door, the lights overhead dim and unnatural. He had been living in Red Rock for as long as he could remember but only now. Only now was the animal inside straining. Longing for something to call home. He had a home though but this pull was different. A fierce want for a connection. A band of his own. He had tried to shrug it off as long as he could. He wasn't made to be a people person. His father hadn't raised him that way and his mother barely said a word when his father was around.

He slid himself into a booth, signaling for the waitress to bring him a drink. Pretty young thing. Barely out of her mid twenties. Likely she'd be stuck working here for the rest of her life. Landing herself as used up as the seats and boots that roamed here. "Budweiser." The full toothed smile he got was answer enough. She was used to this and he should have been too.

A few minutes later the bottle was set in front of him, droplets falling down the side as he leaned back, raising the drink to his lips as he glanced over the menu situated in front of him. There was a gruff hum, fingertips tapping against the almost soggy pamphlet before he pushed it forward. "Rack of ribs. Smother the damned thing in sauce." She never even wrote down his order but the coyote behind his eyes was pacing. Watching her walk away. Thankfully at the hour he was here, there wasn't a lot of traffic or need for crowd control which suited him just fine.

He leaned back into the booth once more, content for the time being to merely exist.
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#2
His nose had twitched the moment the man had entered the Squealing Hog. It was a smell he both recognized and did not. Coyote, but none of the ones he had met, which made him curious to know if this fellow followed Alex or was a rogue he ought to let her know about.

"Kansas-style sauce is mighty fine," Remy commented from his seat two stools down. There was an empty plate in front of him that barely contained even a lick of said sauce from his own rack of ribs. In his hand was a glass of whiskey on the rocks that had been ordered with a beer back, which he slid down the counter as he shuffled over and extended his right hand toward the older man.

"Name's Remy. Live around here do you?"
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#3
He had hoped to avoid conversation tonight and yet it seemed to have found him in the form of a rat. Quite literally. The scent of fur and another animal had his own yapping against his skull. With a grimace, he pushed it down with a large swig of his beer. They were made to be hunted. A chase. Not here though. Not now. The yote within quieted some yet he could feel the pacing. He could feel the way it's ears would perk forward and narrow back.

Eyes followed the hand down before he grunted, not taking it. Not yet, anyway. "Suppose it is." His body leaned forward some, giving the air a quick sniff before he spotted his waitress, carrying out a large plate. The feast was set before him and he dug in. Chewing, swallowing and finally responding. "There gonna be a problem if I say yes?" The other, Remy, was being nice. Too nice and he didn't like it. No one was that friendly. Never had been, never would be unless they had an angle.
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#4
The proffered hand was drawn back with total nonchalance and found a comfortable rest on the bar. This feller was not the first to leave his hand hanging; a well-meaning gesture looked down upon. Remington was reminded of Levka, the most recent offender, but this man did not have the same presence that Levka had. Not by far.

He swirled the whiskey in his glass. "You going to be disappointed if I say I ain't looking for one?" Remy winked with an accompanying click of his tongue, and had a generous swig of his drink. "When a man won't shake another man's hand..." He shook his head. Once. Had another drink. "Makes a feller think he's come across a hard ticket." It was too bad he had sunflower seeds in his pocket instead of peanuts. He would offered the guy some nuts just to test a theory. "So, what's your name, friend?" Maybe he'd try the seeds, later, once the guy had eaten his dinner.

Chewing an ice cube, Remy angled himself to face the old dog, leaning back on an arm on the counter and grinning broadly as Remy does.
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#5
He just wouldn't go away, would he? He wouldn't let Ivo enjoy his meal in silence. No, he had to be after a conversation.. No. No, he was digging for information and he had to wonder to what angle. He sighed, taking another bite. Maybe he could simply tune him out. Pretend he wasn't there, finish his meal and leave. "Nope." More chewing, swallowing and finally, almost half the rack was gone. He sure ate fast. Another swig of beer to wash the sauce down.

He finally looked up and across to the man called Remy, leveling his gaze. He still wasn't leaving. Jesus H. Christ. "Ivo. You done digging for information now? Because it seems mighty suspicious that you'd talk to me out of all the other folks you got in here. Now it may just be due to nature. You being what you are.. Or maybe you're sniffing things out for someone else."

He leaned forward some, keeping a tight grip on the dog within. "But I don't fuckin' like all the questions from someone I don't know."
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