College, what a blast!

My name was never important, most just called me rattler, I guess it’s because I give warning before the death strike. I never told anyone my real name, I couldn’t give that away. Then they’d all know my secret. They knew when that thief came, now they don’t talk to me anymore, if I ever see that no-good-rotten-best-friend-thief again I would shoot him and carve his heart out myself.
But that is irrelevant now, I’ll never see them again, they don’t loot this part of the west, and I’m sure that Billy, and that good-for-nothing’ Jesse James wouldn’t remember a tavern girl.
That’s what they refer to me as, a tavern girl. I live in the saloon, and I dress up to serve the drunks their liquor, as they grab at me and grope things that they have no business groping. If you want to give me that a name tavern girl would probably be the most fitting.
I’m educated, thanks to Will, the bars’ keep, he’s twenty, and I think he likes me. He is very handsome, his dark hair and eyes, but he just isn’t for me, and I don’t think any man is.
I’m nearly seventeen years old, and I think I’ll be called a tavern girl for life, never an outlaw again. Not that what I’m doing now is exactly lawful.
“Doll, come back from wherever you were just now, table four is askin’ for the pretty young’un.” Marry told me. She is a strict woman, she runs the tavern girls. She used to be very pretty, but now she’s just old. Though her heart and hands are leathery, her smile as kind as her eyes.
Glaring I headed toward the tabling in the back, picking up the tray on the way. My glare transformed into a flirtatious smile I had perfected over the few short years.
“Gentlemen.” I greeted them. They were all just as disgusting as always. That chew’s rotting their teeth, the dirt caked to their skin. Disgusting was too light a word.
“Here are your drinks.” It is always the same old men in here, just once could a nice lookin’ young boy come in? “I heard y’all were askin’ fer me?” I said in my sweetest tone, though I want to puke. My soft features usually called men to me. My hair is chocolate brown and I have soft brown eyes that are green at the middle. And my lips were perfect little Cupid’s bow’s, I have no freckles, my face is porcelain perfect, or so I’ve been told.
“Yes ma’am.” Said one of the more disgusting men, his face was pox marked and he had only three teeth by the look of it.
“That’s mighty sweet of you gentlemen.” I told them flirtatiously, bending forward slightly. It was a move one of the older ladies taught her, the more chances the man got to see your, or in this case my, chest, the higher they tipped. As I said; disgusting.
Soon enough they were drunk, even more so then they were when they came in, it makes a gal wonder if men are ever sober. Not in this town, it’s sad really, the sheriff is the drunkest of them all. More so then when, my oldest friend was still my friend.
The doors opened and in walked something I have never seen before. Chinamen, I had heard that they were hired to work on the rail road, which had decided to come though our town, but I had yet to see one.
They were oddly intriguing, their faces were round and their eyes slanted, but they were still beautiful.
And they were, seemingly, sober. That all by itself made me want to talk to them.
They walked in speaking in their language; I couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but it was wonderful.
They headed to one of the back tables, in my serving area. I sauntered over to the table and stood at the edge. I didn’t speak until one of the looked at me expectantly.
“What can I get y’all fine gentlemen?” I asked they didn’t seem to understand at first, a younger looking one spoke in broken English.
“What- you have?” he asked, the switch of language gave him a sweet accent.