[With all his focus going into understanding Gale over the din of the saloon, Arthur doesn't take much notice of his appearance. In fact, the words issue forth from more of a Gale-shaped swirl than anything.]
Ahh, nice enough folks here, you just gotta-- [Whatever he has to do is lost the moment Arthur hears "nickel."]
A nickel? [It sounds as if Gale may as well have spit on Arthur's boot.] Who taught you how to gamble, the pope? [He shakes Gale by the shoulders for emphasis.] Five dollars, professor, says I hit that bottle clean. Don't cover your eyes this time if you wanna get a good look.
[Gale startles slightly before furrowing his brow in question, keeping his balance by clasping Arthur's forearm as he finds himself soundly shaken, looking between the bottle and the man before him a few times before making his rebuttal.]
I was under the impression that a nickel would buy you a solid drink, at least! Truly, is the bottle worth more than that?
[He pauses for a moment before clearing his throat softly, expression turning mildly sheepish.]
Ah— five dollars? How many pounds is that? Sounds rather steep for a starting bet, if you ask me.
[Arthur can't help but laugh when Gale suggests a nickel will cover a beer.]
If that's the case, we are truly in the wrong establishment. [As for the bottle--] Bottle ain't worth shit. It's about the skill. [He frowns when Gale continues to hem and haw about the wager.]
Look, I don't know why you're bringin' weight into it, I ain't askin' for gold. [An hour ago, he may have been joking. Now? Unclear.] But three dollars, then.
[American money. He certainly understands why the colonies had insisted upon their independence, but what was so wrong with their currency that it had to be done away with entirely? Honestly.
Is he— is he joking?]
Pounds? As in—
[He pauses, narrowing his gaze before giving a shake of his head. No, no. He ought not let himself get baited further.]
Three dollars it is, then— show me this skill of yours, Mr. Morgan.
[Arthur pats Gale's back harder than he realizes, then starts waving off people who have stepped between him and the bottle.]
Outta the way, now--
[Once everyone catches wind of what was going on, a few people crane their necks to see, but Arthur pays them no mind. Just as everything faded away when he focused solely on Gale's words, the entire saloon becomes distant background noise when he settles his eyes on the empty bottle. He pulls the knife back over his shoulder, then pitches it forward in a swift arc. The glass bursts into dozens of pieces as the blade pierces it, then embeds itself in the wall with a dull thud.]
[The doctor jerks forward unexpectedly when Arthur pats him on the back, clearing his throat as he rights himself. These outlaws never seem to know their own strength...
As directed, he stands back, unknowingly holding his breath as he watches Arthur pull back and set his aim for the shot. Almost as soon as the knife leaves his hand, it hits the bottle across the room precisely as predicted, sending bits of glass skittering about as the wall brings an end to its flight. A brief moment of silence follows before Gale begins to clap steadily, both brows raised.]
Well, I see you are as good as your word, Mr. Morgan!
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Ahh, nice enough folks here, you just gotta-- [Whatever he has to do is lost the moment Arthur hears "nickel."]
A nickel? [It sounds as if Gale may as well have spit on Arthur's boot.] Who taught you how to gamble, the pope? [He shakes Gale by the shoulders for emphasis.] Five dollars, professor, says I hit that bottle clean. Don't cover your eyes this time if you wanna get a good look.
no subject
I was under the impression that a nickel would buy you a solid drink, at least! Truly, is the bottle worth more than that?
[He pauses for a moment before clearing his throat softly, expression turning mildly sheepish.]
Ah— five dollars? How many pounds is that? Sounds rather steep for a starting bet, if you ask me.
no subject
If that's the case, we are truly in the wrong establishment. [As for the bottle--] Bottle ain't worth shit. It's about the skill. [He frowns when Gale continues to hem and haw about the wager.]
Look, I don't know why you're bringin' weight into it, I ain't askin' for gold. [An hour ago, he may have been joking. Now? Unclear.] But three dollars, then.
no subject
Is he— is he joking?]
Pounds? As in—
[He pauses, narrowing his gaze before giving a shake of his head. No, no. He ought not let himself get baited further.]
Three dollars it is, then— show me this skill of yours, Mr. Morgan.
no subject
[Arthur pats Gale's back harder than he realizes, then starts waving off people who have stepped between him and the bottle.]
Outta the way, now--
[Once everyone catches wind of what was going on, a few people crane their necks to see, but Arthur pays them no mind. Just as everything faded away when he focused solely on Gale's words, the entire saloon becomes distant background noise when he settles his eyes on the empty bottle. He pulls the knife back over his shoulder, then pitches it forward in a swift arc. The glass bursts into dozens of pieces as the blade pierces it, then embeds itself in the wall with a dull thud.]
no subject
As directed, he stands back, unknowingly holding his breath as he watches Arthur pull back and set his aim for the shot. Almost as soon as the knife leaves his hand, it hits the bottle across the room precisely as predicted, sending bits of glass skittering about as the wall brings an end to its flight. A brief moment of silence follows before Gale begins to clap steadily, both brows raised.]
Well, I see you are as good as your word, Mr. Morgan!