Howell: "Melton gonna give you a beltin'!!" Howell looked up to see a man entering the bar, holding up his hands in a boxing jest and taking swings at the air. He met eyes with Howell and walked over. "That's ya, right? Melton? Boy, ya gave 'im a wallopin' like ah ain't ever seen!" Howell nodded and took a sip of his whiskey. It wasn't uncommon for him to be recognized around Denver, as he'd made quite a name for himself fighting for fame & fortune in the past couple weeks. "Where'd ya learn ta brush like that?" asked the man. Howell turned to the stranger and gave him a stern look. "Look, I'm gracious to your kind words, but I'd like to drink alone if ya don't mind..." The man looked taken aback. "What, ya too daisy to tawk to a feller like me?" He was clearly drunk and looking to pick a fight. "Do I look daisy to you?"

Howell asked in a very serious tone. "Didn't I just beat Mad Bull Bart in the middle of that ring not two hours ago? All I'm askin' for is a well-earned rest, from folk and fists." Howell turned back to the bar. "So scram, before I put you down too." The man looked around, as if to notion 'Did he just say that to me?'

All eyes were on the two of them. "Hah! Put me down? Put ME down?" The man snatched a bottle off the bar and raised it high, readying to strike down with the fury of a drunken fool. "Ah'll show ya, ya son of a-" In a quick motion, Howell grabbed his raised arm and lifted him over his head, flipping him onto the wooden floor, HARD. He landed with a thump that sounded like a bag of potatoes hitting the dirt. He was out cold before the bottle hit the floor, and shattered into pieces. Howell looked up and saw that the entire place had fell silent. He frowned and turned to the bartender. "Sorry about that... he would've fought some sap eventually, and they may not have fared as well. Better that I lay him out now." The bartender mustered a smile and nodded. He heard the saloon doors swing open and he turned to see Gabriel Prior standing at the entrance. Gabe looked down at the man on the floor, and then back up at Howell. Howell smiled, grabbed his his glass of whiskey and raised it towards him. "Right on time, preacher."

Gabriel: Gabe shakes his head, prodding the downed man with his boot. "I told you, you don't have to call me that anymore." he steps over the snoring lump. "I don't suppose you have a contingency in place for when one of your new friends hits the ground and doesn't come back up do you?" Gabe pulls a couple of crumpled bills out of his jacket pocket and places them on the bar. "I apologise for the trouble. There's some extra there for your broken bottle. I think it's best if Mr Melton and I take our drinks to go."

H: "Pray tell, what should I call you then?" Howell waved around his glass and his free hand in a mocking gesture. "'Oh Holy One'? 'Herald of Heaven'? 'Man with the Golden Voice'?" He turned to Gabe, took a sip of whiskey and smirked. "Or would ya prefer 'The Man Who Tricked God'?"

G: Gabe raises an eyebrow. "Gabriel will do just fine." He frowns and sighs, "Look I'm not here to fight, however so inclined you may be towards the act. You're in over your head here and you haven't even realized it." "I've started hearing your name all over town. Howlin' Howell Melton. Beltin' Melton the Wild Man. Drunkards with a chip on their shoulder are only going to be the beginning. These fights may just be a quick buck for you, but the sort of men who run these things are dangerous" "Trust me, the rules aren't the same in the city as they are in a town like Coldwater. I was raised around these unsavory elements I know how they operate. If you go on like this, you're liable to be found dead in an ally. These men don't have your sense of honor. I guarantee it"

H: Howell raised a hand in a settling motion. "Look, I can take care of myself. Sense o' honor or not, these men have what I need: information." He finished his drink and set the glass down on the bar, looking at it for a short moment. "And to get it, I'll be needing your help." He turned and leaned in closer to Gabe. "I want you to become my fight handler. Manage and move me up the 'chain', as they say. Like ya said, you were raised around these folk an' know how they do things. I need that know-how to find dirt about these 'Sisters' that got my Ludie.

G: Gabe takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. After a moment, he sighs grabs the last of Howell's whisky and downs it. "Alright. If we're going to do this let's do it proper. First thing we're going to need to do is decide on just one nickname. And I get 40%. Fine fine 10%"

H: Howell let out a chuckle, and nodded. "I've never been much on names... but 'Howlin' Howell' is catchy enough." He put his hand on Gabe's shoulder and smiled. "Thank you, Gabriel." He turned to the bar and raised his hand. "Barkeep, another bottle for me and my manager here!"