Ronnie the Raccoon

A lone figure stepped out of the horse-drawn carriage. He had a tall and fairly slim frame. His steely grey fur was thick and soft looking. There were dark patches around his eyes, almost like a mask. More black fur covered his hands like gloves. And lastly, a black and grey-ringed puffy tail hung an inch or two over the floor. His outfit consisted of faded jeans, brown boots, a black button-up, and a rusty red vest. On top of his long black hair sat a black bowler hat. He pulled on his vest to adjust it and was about to move on when the carriage driver called out.

“Hey! You forgot to pay!”

The stranger looked back at the driver, an older cat, with a frown. “I already paid you. What are you talking about?”

The driver scratched the back of his head. “No, I’m pretty sure you haven’t.”

“Well, I’m a hundred percent sure I did! Are you trying to scam me or something!”

The stranger raised his voice slightly, just loud enough to catch the attention of a few people passing by. The driver’s eyes darted around before he shrugged. “Er, now that you mention, I think you did.”

The driver didn’t waste any time before he whipped the reigns on his horses and hurried away. The stranger watched him leave with a small smile.

“What an idiot,” he muttered his breath before he began observing his surroundings with his dull grey eyes.

The town of Gold Springs was just a little too big to be called a backwater outpost, but not quite big enough to be a decent-sized town. The perfect place to lie low while the heat died down in the city. And who knows… maybe there was some money to be made here while he was here. He would do the name Ronnie Rictor shame if he wasted an opportunity to make some money.

But first, he needed information. He had been dropped off in the middle of the town in some kind of shopping district. But right now he could use some information. He walked towards a young mouse woman.

“Excuse me, darling, but I was hoping you could point me in the direction where I could get something to wet my whistle. It’s been a long journey and I could use some refreshment,” he said with a small bow.

“Oh, no trouble at all,” she said. “We have two bars, actually. There’s the Whiskey Well. That’s one not too far from here. Just go up and take a right and keep going until you see it. You can’t miss it.”

“And the other bar?”

The mouse’s face soured immediately. “Oh, that one. That would be Squashed Weasel.”

Ronnie raised an eyebrow. “The Squashed Weasel? That’s an odd name for a bar.”

“Don’t get me started on that pigsty. The owner used to be a bandit until she retired. I don’t know how, but she managed to get off with just a slap on the wrist. She calls it that because the sheriff is a weasel and… well… I know the sheriff tries her best, bless her heart, but she does end up getting squashed by the bandits ‘round here. A lot.”

“Oh my, that sounds dreadful,” Ronnies said, barely managing to keep a straight face.

“She always manages to bounce back though and arrest those criminals in the end. But, I don’t know why, they always end up right back on the street again. Just about every outlaw drinks there. All of us decent folk give that place a wide berth.”

“Thanks for the advice. And one more thing, you mind telling me where this Squashed Weasel is? Just so I can make sure to avoid it?”

“Sure, mister. Oh, you haven’t told me your name yet?”

“The name’s Ricardo Montague,” he said with a smile.

~Line Break~~~

Calling the Squashed Weasel a pigsty would be a compliment. The stench of cheap booze and stale sweat was thick in the air. The floors were covered in dirt and old stains. No amount of scrubbing would penetrate the thick layer of grime. The chairs and tables were rickety and old. And the clients matched the atmosphere.

Rats in dingy clothing drank together in packs. Large, burly bears watched the other patrons looking for a fight. An elephant was chugging down bottle after bottle. It was a miracle the tiny chair she was balancing on stayed in one piece. Ronnie could feel every eye on him as he entered. They whispered among each other, but they were too quiet to understand. He ignored them all and made his way to the bar. Surprisingly, the counter was somewhat clean. A behemoth of a cow stood behind the counter. She was leaning on the counter, but even then she must have been twice his height, and ten times as heavy. Her breasts alone were in a completely different weight class than him. And her rear looked like it could demolish just about anything with one cheek alone. Her red dress looked like it was a deep breath away from ripping apart. Her fur was copper brown and a large pair of horns sprung from the side of her head. Her browning red hair reached just past her shoulders. A pair of braids framed her face. Her brown eyes watched him as he sat down on a stool between a black cat and a bunny.

“Hello there, barkeep,” he said calmly and with a wave. “Watcha got to drink this fine afternoon?”

The cow continued to stare at him, unimpressed. “The name's Annabelle. We don’t get too many of you city boys around here. Especially not in this bar. And don't try to deny it. It's written all over your face. I don’t think we have anything you’ll like here.”

Ronnie leaned closer over the bar, close enough to smell her through the thick miasma of the bar. Surprisingly, she smelled like pleasant perfume. “You’d be surprised. This town doesn’t seem like much, but I reckon there’s a pretty penny to be made if you know where to look. And I think this place is the perfect place to start.”

"I see. Well, if you're that confident, I think I can fix something up for you. But don't come crying to me if you can't take it. Do you know what we do to people who can't handle it around here? We chew them up and spit them out," Annabelle said as she ducked under the counter.

Ronnie could hear glasses clinking and the sound of various liquids being poured. It didn't take very long before Annabelle stood up again. She smirked at him as she placed a single shot full of black liquid in front of him. It bubbled slightly, but other than that, it seemed completely normal.

"This is a house special around here. I call it the Black Out. Last chance to back out, city boy. Because if you can't take it… well, let's just say you'll wish you never set foot in this town."

Ronnie looked her dead in the eye as he took and shot and swallowed it with one gulp.

Now, the question is, can Ronnie handle his booze?