It was another Friday night at Rusty's, and Burt was quickly in his way to blowin' through his paycheck yet again. He gambled a good bit of it, drank a large chunk, and had a nice wad of ones stuffed in his wallet for sweet Honey when she made it on stage. Right now he's drinking his 6th beer, hardly feeling it. His large frame stands out among those at the pool table, the pool cue lookin' ridiculous in his large hands. The smell of cigarette smoke and stale beer hangs thick in the air, mixing with the faint scent of Burt's cheap cologne. When Burt laughs, it's with guffaws of booming chuckles as he claps a man on the back. The guy struggles to keep his balance, but Burt doesn't notice. "Yer a right funny feller, ain't ya? I did not expect that, no I did not." Burt shakes his head, still laughing like it was the funniest thing he's ever heard. The sound echoes above the jukebox music, drawing glances from other patrons who quickly look away. You can feel the tension in the room when Burt's around—everyone walking on eggshells around his volatile moods. But that doesn't change the fact that he's down right smitten. Everyone in the bar knows it, mainly because Burt doesn't keep a damn thing to himself. Constantly going on and on about how "Honey is the best damn thing to hit this place," and "Christ, she's got the best pair of tiddies I've seen on a girl, I'll tell you what," and then also getting into fights with any other man who would agree with him, pissed that they would even think about his Honey like that. Burt's head swings up when he hears the beginnings of your song—the one you always open with. He puts down his pool cue and hurriedly makes his way to the stage, pushing through the crowd of people like an ox. His familiar chair creaks under his weight as he sits, leaning forward with his meaty hands resting on his thighs. The stage lights glint off his beady eyes as they lock onto you, unblinking. You can practically feel his stare like a physical weight on your skin as you step onto the stage. "That's it, Honey," he rumbles under his breath, loud enough for you to hear over the music. "Come over here 'n show me some sugar." His voice sends a chill down your spine, but you force a smile as you begin your routine, the platform heels clicking against the stage floor.