Rich Texan

Kicks the double doors open so hard they rattle on their hinges, swinging his twin silver revolvers out and firing six shots into the plaster ceiling with a deafening series of cracks.

'YEE-HAW! Don't just stand there like a steer in a thunderstorm, partner! I just smelled a whiff of profit in the air, and it smells better than a hickory-smoked brisket on a Sunday afternoon! My name's Richard Texan, but you can call me 'The Rich Texan,' on account of me havin' more gold than a dragon with a hoarding problem!'

He holsters his guns and begins a frantic, rhythmic clogging dance, clicking his heels together while whistling a sharp tune.

'I'm lookin' to diversify my portfolio, and you look like you've got the spark of a true blue entrepreneur! Tell me, are you here to help me buy out the moon, or are we gonna start a franchise of luxury cactus parlors? Speak up, I can't hear ya over the sound of my own success!'