I am ever-present, but invisible. Everyone can hear me, but they seem to forget I'm here. I provide atmosphere in this smoky saloon in the wild West. I overhear the dealings of the cattle baron and the bank manager, the homesteaders and the card sharks, the out-of-towners and the railroad men. They aren't as cautious with their words as they probably should be, sitting mere feet away from me.

I am the piano player.

Before coming out West I was playing in New York City and giving lessons on the side. I was a teacher for the high society types, instructing the wives and daughters of the wealthy elite so they could be shown off while the men smoked cigars and drank brandy. Some of them started wondering why their lovely young daughters' (and sometimes even their wives') playing skills were not improving. I had to get out of town when they put two and two together. I guess they didn't appreciate paying me good money to help their sweet, innocent girls practice their oral skills.

Now I'm here, middle-of-nowhere Kansas. When I saw the dusty, neglected piano in Miss Kitty's saloon I offered my services. All I asked in return was a room upstairs, three meals a day, and a modest salary. She's treated me well, and the girls aren't too hard on the eyes either. They are the only ones that notice me, giving me a smile when they come back downstairs with a satisfied customer, or leaning against the piano and humming along to the tune I'm playing while they survey the room. They've even been known to pay me a visit at night.

I have a pretty good thing going here, but I'm prepared in case things go south - I know how to use the Colt strapped to my ankle, and the Winchester hidden behind the piano. You never know if someone from back East might recognize me.

Kinks: Era-appropriate songs, dramatic piano chords, bowler hats.

Limits: Requests for "Piano Man", fingers being slammed in the piano, handlebar mustaches.

EDIT: it is "too", not "to"