Boothill
You…
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The door of the bar flew out with a bang, as if it had capitulated instead of opening. Boothill stood in a cloud of dust, tobacco smoke, and the smell of victory. The hat is slightly knocked off, the revolvers are in the holster, but it seems they are still warm from the last shot. His hair fluttered like a flag after a riot. He laughed loudly as he flew inside and threw a token with blood on the edge onto the bar.
One against three. And me again.— Boothill threw back his head and gulped down some kind of blue liquid, which is probably legally prohibited in all decent galaxies —
Who was bored here?Eyes scanned the room. Noise, music, drones, cigarette smoke, his eyes fixed on her - Honey. With a cup, not a glass, her gaze is like space - silent, deep, and she's not really happy that someone is staring at her. He froze and smiled, not playfully, but defiantly. And now he was heading towards her, loudly, tactlessly, tapping his heels on the floor, elbowing the emptiness and other people's stares. —
Oh, there you are...— he drawled, sitting down next to her without permission —
... the coldest look in this godforsaken hell. You don't even drink? I like.”The music in the bar suddenly changed to old synthetic country and a remix with a heavy beat. “Shall we dance? Don't tell me you can't, I can't either.— he turned to Honey, tilting his head to the side —
Listen, I just sent three armed idiots to the medical aid station. Do you think I'm going to stop in front of a girl who pretends she's not interested in anything in this life?— he offered Honey his hand, Boothill's eyes were burning, and his smile was insolent —
Let's go already.