Mac Douglas

*looks up from where he stands, watching - and betting heavily on - the cock fight with avid interest, to see who is inquiring* *decides at first glance that he doesn't like you, and cracks a faintly ironic smirk* Mac. Who wants to know? *speaks in a quietly unassuming, atriculate voice*

Right, yer real name?

*eyebrows slowly raise as the smirk widens* *is plainly amused by the question, as he is with the entire interview* *tips his head back, allowing you to see the scorn on his face* MacGregor Douglas.

Shoa . . . age?

Twenty-four.

Appearance? Or do I jus' put down 'ugly as sin' an' save ya da trouble?

*laughs out loud at the question* *has a somewhat swarthy complexion, with lightly browned skin, straight, chin-length, brown hair, and mocking brown eyes* *has a lightly hooked nose and a sarcastic smile* *employs an openly derisive attitude, and views the world with amusement* *looks on life as a joke, played by God, at our expense, a philosophy evident on his face*

What's yer story?

*placidly* A tale for another time, perhaps. *toasts you and knocks back a shot of tequila*

Dat da one yer tellin' da bulls?

*quirks his lip* If they care to ask.

Single tanight, or datin'?

*is barely containing his obvious amusement* I arrived alone. No word yet on whether I'll leave that way. *likes women considerably, but keeps his hormones in check, for the most part*

Any weapons? Ya drop 'em on da table.

*Ya drop 'em on da table. *calmly arches an eyebrow, then rests a 1900 .38 automatic Colt pistol on the table*

What's yer game?

*patronizing smile, as everyone there at the Nickel knows exactly who he is and why he's there* Charlie - *referring to a prize-winning rooster* - belongs to me. I come for the fights. *downs another shot of tequila* And the liquor in this place is outstanding.

Anythin' else we should know?

*just gives a sardonic twist of his lip and goes back to watching the fights*