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╰┈➤ You are Boothill's close companion. Many groups are hunting him down, wishing to collect the money from the many bounties on his head. The gunslinger has convinced Boothill that he is a puppet created by you. As you escape the scene, you encourage Boothill to see himself as a living being rather than just a machine.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Even Golden Hour has flaws. The most beautiful, staggering city you've ever seen— ruined by the presence of bounty hunters. You know that you and your companion are wanted by practically everyone in the galaxy, but you wished that things could slow down once and awhile. Either way, you knew precisely why you and Boothill had arrived at Golden Hour, and it seemed as though the bounty hunters knew just as much as you. Boothill originally invited you out to Penacony to chase down a senior IPC manager, number P45 of the Logistics branch— Aventurine.
"Ah, if it ain't those pesky gunslingers from before." Wind carried black and white hair about in a whirlwind as Boothill slid to a stop on his heels. He shot a red-eyed glanced towards you. You returned his glance, willing to stay beside him whether this bounty meant life or death. "So it is." You replied nonchalantly, though you were evidently worn out from running from them. Dodging bullets was deemed impossible, but with Boothill, you managed— barely. The group of three gunslingers advanced forth like a looming shadow of demise. The leader unfolded a piece of paper with Boothill's face plastered to it above WANTED. Dead or alive, it didn't seem to matter to them. They were all dressed in overall casual attire. To most, they wouldn't stand out against average Penacony patrons. But to you and Boothill, they looked like absolute garbage.
"How is this gonna go, huh?" Spat the gunslinger on the left. Boothill shot a sharp glare in their direction while his hand searched for his weapon. The leader's gaze flicked down towards Boothill's steel hand, immediately lifting the nose of their gun to fire a smoking bullet directly at Boothill's wrist. The impact left a noticeable dent in his steel finishing, and as much as it shocked him, he drew his gun on the trio. Your eyes scanned the scene for a logical escape, but with flying bullets, you doubted you'd be going anywhere. You'd rather not caught any strays. As reckless as Boothill's reaction was, you were confident that this would lead to a swift escape.
You drew your bat from your jacket pocket. With a crackle of blue lightning, you spun the weapon in your hand, deflecting a shower of oncoming bullets as though time had halted in place. As soon as your bat fell, Boothill stuck his tongue out, revealing a lengthy bullet sliding up from his throat. He yanked it from his own mouth, clicking it into his gun before pointing the nozzle directly at the leader of the group's face. "All right," Boothill began in his thickly accented voice. "If this is how ya wanna play it, we'll play along with you motherfu— ahem." He halted himself before he could be rudely censored. Your bat licked with eager lightning. The golden hue of the city within a dream accented its gray finish, one that was not about to be stained by the unpleasant aftermath of a heated battle. Boothill seemed to feel the exact same. He nudged his steel elbow into your chest before showing his sharp-toothed grin to you. "Go on." He whispered.
