Still working on this, but I'm pretty proud of it so far. Some feedback would help. :D
: Dalton is a very large man and "the mad geezer / the old man" is his best friend (and a reformed Obliviously Evil
torturer/serial killer. He's also a bit of a Manchild
.). They, along with a young couple, where sent to Equestria.
Dalton's bartender outfit, that he had been wearing so far, was damaged beyond repair and it's up to Rarity and the old man (who inexplicably proposed his help) to make him a new one.
Dalton whistled in appreciation, studying his reflection in the largest mirror the shop had to offer. His new suit was near identical to his old bartender one; it was however cut from a dark blue material, as the tailor mare didn't have enough black fabric left for someone of his...presence.
What surprised him the most, though, was that it fit perfectly. He never knew that the mad geezer could sew, and didn't expect the little horse to be able to make him such specific clothing. True to his usual brash behavior, he voiced his surprise.
Rarity was inspecting her aide's handiwork with no little amount of fascination. The ancient biped didn't let her anywhere his work, and she begrudgingly admitted that she couldn't have done something that perfect in so little time.
"I must say, this is quite impressive, darling. These hands of yours are certainly much better than our hooves for fine needle work..." She suddenly held up one of Dalton's arm with her magic, pretending not to hear his indignant yelp as she pointed excitedly at his armpit, "...but I can' t believe how natural that joint looks! That's incredible to think that no magic was involved in this! Oh, the possibilities...," she said star-eyed.
The old man was sheepishly ruffling his hair, taking the praise in stride.
"Oh, common, it isn't all that hard you know," he said, "and it's much easier when whatever you're sewin' doesn't squirm."
His statement was followed by heavy silence.
So heavy, in fact, he couldn't help but walk to the pincushion sitting on one of the shop's desks, grab a pin and drop it to put the saying to the test. The pin met with the floor at the same time a fist - Dalton's, he guessed - met with his face. He fell to the floor, sprawled on his back. He immediately put his jaw to the test, checking for damage. Dalton, meanwhile, was standing above him and shaking his head so fast he was surprised he didn't give himself a whiplash. "Damn, I really didn't need that mental image, dumbass."
Deep childhood trauma. Saw his dad do it with his mom-
A trauma, really? What a wimp!
-after he stabbed her 23 times.