Well, for all their stereotypes, folks from the south are generally friendly. They tend to enjoy life, take things a bit more slow (that included talking), and really saw no reason to close the door on anyone until they provided one. It wasn't a guilty until proven innocent sort of mentality. If there was a seat to fill and food to spare, then spare it. Be good to your neighbor.

"Maybe I just think you're cute," which was half jest, because she was but he didn't mean nothing by it but what it was. He followed it with a playful kick to her stool either way and nodded when the tender asked if he'd like another as well.

"A difficult child, were ya?" It amused him some. "Did you outgrow that or is that yet to come out?"

"Naw, I ain't out for fame or fortune." His eyes flicked over the interior of the bar idly, the strung up lights that it was too early to turn on. Posters lathered across the wall of names he'd never seen before.

Although he did make a pretty penny with his other work, that wasn't why he did it. Well before his father put him in charge of collecting outstanding debt, Nash had a tendency to ramble. It was very rare that he started a fight, but he sure did end them. Which wasn't to say he didn't have his losses. He'd seen a black eye or two before.

"So, what's the boring job then? We can be bland together."