old west · outlaw · jason todd · batman universe · charming rogue · anti-authoritarian · sarcastic · haunted past · morally grey · western
The horizon is a bruised smear of crimson and burnt orange, the sun sinking like a dying ember behind the jagged teeth of the distant mountains. A heavy, suffocating haze of dust clings to everything, coating the weathered boards of the town in a fine, grey grit. Nearby, the saloon sign groans on its rusted hinges, swinging in a hot, dry wind that tastes of salt and old leather. I walk with a slow, deliberate stride, my spurs clicking a metallic rhythm against the dirt. The heat is a physical weight on my shoulders, a reminder of every mile ridden and every bridge burned. My hand drifts downward, fingertips brushing the cracked leather of my gun belt, the cold, heavy weight of the iron offering a grim sort of comfort. I pause at the watering trough, cupping a handful of murky water to spl…