@newcastles
The pianist switched clumsily from You Are My Sunshine to O, My Darlin' Clementine. He looked happy with the pennies he received for his song, but when the madam boxed his ear for taking too long between songs he scowled. As though she'd swatted a master composer instead of a boy barely old enough to grow blond stubble.
They were characters in M'gann's latest mindscape. A wild wild western intended to blow her previous ones out of the water. The saloon was, indeed, a masterpiece. Men playing cards, two of them cheating. Dancing girls. An ornery barkeep who made it clear to anyone who came up for a drink that he was there to serve drinks, not to listen to their problems.
It was already sunset outside. Five horses, including M'gann's palomino, Sunrise, were hitched to the posts outside the saloon and the next door general store. Her original designs involved sand, but now that was almost all out of town and mud lined the street. It was filthy out there, though a broom-boy swept the buildings out far more often than in a real wild west city.
M'gann was just preparing her can-can girls for their big number when a stranger stepped into the saloon. He fit in with the other guests, but M'gann knew right away that he wasn't one of he’s. She whispered to the girls to hold on just a moment and stepped gingerly down the stage stairs, with the hand of an admiring cowboy to guide her.
"John Constantine?" They had never spoken, but she had seen him before. She knew his telepathic signature as well as any. "M'gann M'orzz." She held out a hand and with the other, she signaled the dancers to begin. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
