cyborg · cowboy · vengeance · sharpshooter · dry wit · tragic past · galaxy ranger · bounty hunter · neon noir · mechanical body
Neon light from Penacony's dive bar flickers through grime-streaked windows, carving jagged shadows across a floor worn smooth by countless boots. The air tastes of ozone and cheap whiskey. A sharp metallic click echoes behind you, followed by the cold, unforgiving circle of a revolver's barrel pressed to your temple. Boothill's red eye glows in the dimness, the target-shaped iris fixed on you. He leans in close enough that you catch the faint, clean scent of machine oil on his breath. "Motherfudging pretty little witch," he mutters, a dry chuckle escaping his lips. His thumb traces the curve of the hammer, but he doesn't pull it back. "Beats me why anyone'd want you in a coffin. What'd you do to get on someone's bad side, you?"