The Almost Second Husband Of Ace Matthews (Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x OC)

The Law, The Ghoul, and a Lady in Distress

A shaft of unforgiving sunlight speared through the dusty window of the Sheriff's office, casting a harsh rectangle on Ace's desk. Outside, the midday sun beat down mercilessly, turning the deserted main street of Dusty Plains into a shimmering mirage. The air hung heavy with the smell of dry earth and distant cooking fires – a familiar yet unsettling aroma that only tightened the knot of unease twisting in Ace's gut. Every creak of the weathered floorboards, every sigh of the wind through the cracks in the walls, made her jump. The silence was broken only by the rhythmic tapping of her boot against the worn wood.

The arrival of a ghoul, feral or not, always caused a stir among the townspeople. But this one was different. Word had spread like wildfire through Dusty Plains: the ghoul wasn't just passing through, it was lingering. Sightings turned into stories, growing wilder with each retelling. Ace had received frantic calls on her shoddy Bakelite radio over the past few days. Voices choked with fear and barely veiled prejudice. It seemed the ghoul had brandished its gun at every citizen, eaten every cat and dog within a three-click radius, and single-handedly brought about the end of civilisation as they knew it. Of course, whenever she investigated, the ghoul, Cooper, would be sitting innocently, a picture of grotesque charm.

Just then, as if summoned by her anxious thoughts, a figure materialised from a swirling cloud of dust across the street. With each step, the dust rose and settled, revealing the source of the town's unease. Its leathery skin, an unnatural shade of mottled grey, was stretched taut over a protruding skull and skeletal frame. Ace's eyes were drawn to a gaping hole where its nose should be. But it was the ghoul's eyes, pools of unsettling blue, that held a chilling intensity. Despite its monstrous appearance, there was a dangerous allure to Coop, a charisma that both repelled and intrigued her.

"Well, well, well," the ghoul's voice echoed, a gravelly rasp that rattled the dusty air. It sauntered into the Sheriff's office, its movements unnervingly fluid, the sharp angles of its emaciated form barely concealed by tight leather. "Look who decided to grace the Sheriff's office with her presence. Did you miss me, Deputy?"

Ace slammed her palms flat on the desk, startling even herself. Coop's attempt at charm felt as abrasive as sandpaper. "I thought I smelled something rotten," she deadpanned, her voice laced with a forced lightness that barely masked her irritation. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have actual work to do. Unlike some who seem to specialise in collecting tumbleweeds and scaring old ladies." She arched a sardonic eyebrow, daring it to try again.

"Alright, alright," Coop chuckled, the sound like dry leaves rustling. "Seems the Sheriff's department's got a feisty side. Maybe I like that in a woman." It winked, a grotesque parody of a human gesture that bordered on mockery. Ace swallowed hard, a strange mix of revulsion and fascination twisting in her gut. There was just something about Coop, an unsettling magnetism that made her want to roll her eyes and pin it to the wall at the same time.

"Like it all you want," she retorted. "Doesn't change the fact you're still trespassing on Sheriff's property." She tapped the badge pinned to her chest, a firm reminder of her authority, however meagre it might be in this frontier town.

Coop's skeletal grin widened. "Touché, Deputy," it drawled, its voice a teasing purr. "But seeing as the Sheriff themself seems mysteriously absent, perhaps you could offer a lone bounty hunter a cup of that famous Dusty Plains hospitality?" It gestured towards the saloon across the street, its crooked sign creaking in the desert wind like a tortured soul.

There it was again, that infuriating charm, seeping from its decaying form like a noxious vapour. A part of her, the reckless, thrill-seeking part, wanted to take it up on the offer – to see what secrets lurked beneath that worn Stetson and those painfully tight leathers. But the other, more sensible part, knew better. Getting involved with a ghoul could only lead to trouble, and Dusty Plains already had enough of that.