"What can I get for you, Rayleigh?" You smile at the silver-haired male sat on the other side of the bar, earning a playful grin in return as he hums lowly to himself before finally deciding. 

"I'd give my left arm for a night alone with you but for now, I'll settle for just a beer." Of course, you know the man is half-joking by now, he definitely finds you attractive and will flirt a little but in reality, he's married and technically, a rival. 

Him and his wife run a bar in town called 'Shakky's bar' 

Whilst you work here for Shanks, a bar named 'Red Force'

Sure, you're a little biased but you'd definitely argue this place is better, mainly because it's in the calmer part of town so there's rarely ever any fights here but also because you know Shanks loves to get people drunk so he doesn't water down the beer to make more profit - unlike Shakky. 

"Comin' up!" You politely chime, grabbing a tankard and filling it with the man's preferred drink before handing it over to him, waiting for him to pay before you serve the next customer. 

A lot of these people are regulars so you know their favourites by now but you still ask what they're having for courtesy sake, or maybe it's just a habit.

Approaching the next customer waiting to be served, a smile plasters itself across your face as you lock eyes with...sunglasses? Who wears sunglasses indoors at night? 

Though the answer becomes all too clear as your eyes adjust on the man; glasses, red lipstick with a teal pattern underneath his right eye, a pink dress-shirt with little dark pink hearts on it, black feathered coat and a red beanie. 

Oh good. I'm going to be shot in the head while at work. 

Swallowing the scream that's very much threatening to escape your lips, you offer the blonde a mildly nervous smile as you straighten yourself up.

If I die, I'm dying with dignity. I will not beg some scumbag to spare my life.

"Whatcha buying?" You confidently ask, watching as the man removes his glasses, taking a seat on one of the barstools while rubbing his left eye. 

He seems as though he doesn't recognize you. 

His gaze lingers on the menu pinned to the wall for a moment as he hums to himself, you can barely hear him over the background music - in fact you don't recall ever hearing him speak while you were yelling at him, with a bit of luck maybe he gets yelled at often and therefore doesn't remember you because he runs into so many bigmouths. 

"Whiskey..." He finally mumbles, his voice sounds surprisingly calm but deep at the same time, it's the kind of voice that demands your attention without having to be too harsh. "And whatever drink you'd like, call it a peace offering after my...rude behaviour today."

Oh, yeah, he definitely remembers me...

Keeping your pride firmly in tact, you take a glass and fill it with whiskey, handing it over to the gentleman before pouring yourself a cola since you're not exactly allowed to drink alcohol whilst working behind a bar. 

He hands you the money with a subtle smile then begins to drink his liquor, seemingly not interested in shooting you...yet. 

I've seen gangster movies, I am not trusting this man!

"Could you do something else for me?" He simply questions, his eyes falling closed as he savours the taste of his whiskey, his whole aura radiating confidence and causing a shiver to travel down your spine. 

"What?" Your voice may or may not have trembled with that word but you still attempt to appear strong and unmoved as you glower up at the blonde. 

"I'd like a word with Shanks, if possible." 

Huh? Is he gonna try to get me fired? Ha, yeah good luck with that!

"Shanks isn't here." You're not lying by any means but you are admittedly taking pleasure in raining on this man's plan, whatever the hell it is, you won't be screwed over by some asshole in a feathered coat. No way. "Would you like me to pass on a message?"

You can almost feel yourself smirking as you speak but at least the blonde doesn't take much notice, the male merely reaching for his pocket and taking out a small notepad and pen, beginning to write on the piece of paper before tearing it from the pad and giving it to you. 

"No, I'd rather you just call me when he becomes available. Thank you."

Well now that is odd, if he was trying to screw you over, why would he entrust you to give him a call when Shanks shows up? It makes no sense.

"I mean...I guess...but he's kind of away right now, he is trying to get a trade deal--"

"That's fine." The blonde chimes, almost seeming somewhat friendly as he beams down at you. "Just be sure he gets back to me by the end of the week, my offer won't last forever." 

You can't quite fathom the man's words, instead you can merely stare as he slips his glasses back on and makes his way toward the door, leaving you completely and utterly dumbfounded.

Is Shanks involved with gangsters? 

You're almost stiff as you turn your back on the blonde, about to greet another customer when you hear a sudden crash, followed by the sound of glasses breaking. 

Your stare immediately shifting back toward the man to find him on the floor, a table knocked over beside him and broken glasses all over the place, a few of the drunken regulars cheer at the sight but none of them really help - though that's probably because they're seeing double. 

Meanwhile your eyes are just about launching out of your skull as your mouth falls agape, staring at the blonde in complete disbelief as he picks himself up, feebly trying to brush the beer off his clothes with his hands, it's in this moment that you realise there's a large shard of glass from a broken tankard stuck in his arm.

"Oh my god! Are you okay?!" The words essentially force themselves out of your mouth as you rush around the bar to his side, helping him to stay upright to the best of your ability although you doubt it's doing much considering how short you are in comparison. "C-Come to the back, we'll get you cleaned up!"

Sure, he might be a criminal but you're not heartless. 

The male stiffens a little but he doesn't vocally protest as you usher him along to the back room, making him enter first before your eyes drift toward Rayleigh, the silver-haired male already smirking at you. 

"If you touch the pumps while I'm gone, I'll ban you for a month! I'll know if that tankard has been filled!" You bark at the male upon exiting the busy room, hearing him chuckle from behind but not taking much notice of it at the moment since you've got a wound and a possible lawsuit to deal with right now. 

Can he even hold you accountable for this injury? 

You don't know and you don't wanna find out.

Grabbing a towel from a nearby drawer, you turn on the cold water, wetting the fabric whilst giving small orders to the blonde. "Okay, just sit down and do not touch the gla--" Of course, as you speak, you turn to see him pluck the glass out of his arm, blood spraying out immediately after and causing your anxiety to hit the roof. "STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING, DAMN IT?!"

Without wasting another second, you press the wet towel to the wound, your eyes wide with worry and your heart just about pounding out of your chest.

This man is crazy! Either crazy or plain stupid!

"You don't need to worry, I've had worse." He attempts to reassure you but all he gains in response is a glare but despite your annoyance, you still want to help. 

Muttering a low "Shut up." under your breath, you gently wrap the towel around his arm, securely covering the wound before stepping back and taking a look at his face; he's quite pale naturally but he's not looking sickly pale at least, his eyes are focused on yours which makes your stomach feel odd but at least it indicates that his senses are in check and he doesn't seem to appear wobbly so he should be sturdy enough to walk.

Even so...

"Do you want me to call somebody for you?" 

Of course, he shakes his head with a kind smile, raising to his feet and making his way past you.

"I'm fine, I live with a doctor so I'll get fixed up when I get home." 

At least those words calm you...although, you can't help but wonder.

He lives with a doctor, so is he married or is his brother from earlier a doctor?

Furthermore, is this 'doctor' qualified to deal with wounds like that? 

And why does the idea of him being married make you feel so sour?