cowboy's got business

AS  I  WALK  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH  I  SHALL  FEAR  NO  EVIL  FOR  I  AM  THE  MEANEST  MOTHERFUCKER  IN  THE  VALLEY 

𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐄.   𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄.   𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄.  𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋.  of  honkai  star  rail  #aguilareye. as  lock  &  loaded  by  silver  shrimpy  ( she/her ,  21+,  EST ) a canon  divergent  &  heavily  headcanon  based  off  original  lore portrayal for a cyborg cowboy out for revenge.  mature/dark  themes  with  mentions  of  gun  violence,  alcoholism,  and  tobacco  smoking.  sporadic  to  very  low  activity.

NAVIGATION:  CARRD.  PROMPT.  HEADCANON. TRACKER.

WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE:  ccaptain. predvestnik. warmarshall. ioronta. spurhill. sevenwxshes. acr3ss-the-cosmos.  odyniros.

a study in . . . one bullet one soul. transformation. new dawns. metal. bullets. spirit of an eagle. body of a nightmare. family. lost but not forgotten. reckoning. justice. vaqueros. outlaws. bounties. drifter. hunter. on the war path. revenge. blood debt. a promise . . .

Boothill's  laugh  comes  first.  Low,  warm,  and  utterly  unrepentant;  spilling  from  beneath  the  brim  of  his  hat  as  though  Anaxa  delivered  a  punchline.

"Yeah,  yeah,"  the  cowboy  drawls,  taking  one  last,  lingering  drag  from  his  cigarette  before  dropping  it  and  stomping  out  the  embers. 

"My  'pologies  that  yer  aim  is  dog  shit."

There  isn't  an  ounce  of  malice  behind  the words.  The  playful  insult  lands  with  the  same  casual  affection  another  man  might  reserve  for  teasing  a friend.  Boothill  has  lived  his  whole  life  with  a  firearm  in  hand,  spent  half  of  it  watching  bullets  fly  back  in  his  direction,  and  somewhere  along  the  trail  he'd  earned  the  right  to  be  cocky  about  it.

Earlier,  he'd  made  the  mistake,  or  perhaps  the  calculated  decision,  of  offering  a  running  commentary  on  every  shot  Anaxa  fired  which  prompted  such  a  snap  of  attitude  from  the  professor.  Naturally,  Boothill  interpreted  that  as  an  invitation.

“Quit  glarin'  at  me  like  yer  fixin'  t'publish  a  paper  on  homicide.  Lemme  give  you  a  lesson  instead,  professor.  Here,  I’m  gonna  show  you.” 

Boothill  advises  before  metal  fingers  settle  lightly  against  Anaxa's  elbow,  surprisingly  careful  despite  their  steel  construction.  Boothill  guides  the  arm  downward  by  barely  an  inch  and  another  touch  follows  at  Anaxa's  shoulder,  rotating  him  just  enough  that  his  body  squares  naturally  against  the  recoil  instead  of  fighting  against  it.   

Boothill  circles  behind  Anaxa's  stance,  nodding  his  head  with  approval  of  the  position  of  the  scholar's  feet.  He  has  good  balance.  Anaxa's  stature  is  smaller  and  thinner  in  comparison  to  the  long  barrel  of  his  gun  and  the  force  of  the  recoil  is  for  sure  going  to  push  him  back,  but  Anaxa's  firm stance  will  keep  him  on  his  feet.  Boothill  moves  close  enough  that  his  voice  falls  beside  Anaxa's  ear. 

“Folks  think  shootin'  starts  with  the  hands.  Nah,  baby.  Y'feel  it  down  there  in  yer  gut.  You  standin'  here  to  watch  sumthin'  die  way  o'ver  there.” 

"Forgive me, Ranger. You're asking would Lightning Lord listen to you simply for having its scroll in your possession?" Jing Yuan clarifies with a slight chuckle, the corners of his eyes softening. Boothill flashes Jing Yuan a grin full of pointed teeth. “I mean,” He shrugs. "Has anyone tried it before?” "You wish to test that theory?" “Abso-forkin-lutely, General.”

A  bottle  of  Xianzhou  wine  rested  between  them,  balanced  in  the  grass  where  neither  had  bothered  to  reclaim  it  after  the  last  sip.  They  had  slipped  into  that  rare,  comfortable  silence  reserved  for  those  who  knew  words  could  never  soften  tomorrow's  farewell.  Above  them,  the  stars  spilled  across  the  heavens  in  quiet  abundance.  Boothill  sat  with  his  legs  stretched  out,  hat  tipped  back  just  enough  to  watch  Jing  Yuan  from  the  corner  of  his  eye.  // @ioronta

He  could  tell  something  mischievous  was  unfurling  in  the  general's  mind  with  how  he's  caught  Jing  Yuan  looking  more  than  once  at  him  that  evening.  Perhaps,  awaiting  the  perfect  opportunity  to  unleash  his  ploy.  Those  sneaking  glances  made  something  impossibly  warm  settle  beneath  metal  ribs.

"Hold  still."

The  request  came  so  softly  Boothill  obeyed  before  he  had  the  chance  to  tease  Jing  Yuan  for  it.  Jing  Yuan  hand  reached  for  Boothill's  face  and  the  cowboy  settled  quietly,  eyes  already  slipping  half-shut  in  feeling  warm  fingers  brush  along  his  cheek  with  all  the  tenderness  of  someone  handling  something  irreplaceable.  Jing  Yuan's  palm  held  Boothill's  jaw,  thumb  sweeping  lazily  near  the  corner  of  his  mouth  as  though  searching  for  some  imagined  imperfection.  Boothill  watched  Jing  Yuan  through  half-lidded  eyes.

Jing  Yuan  was  close  enough  now  that  Boothill  could  feel  the  warmth  radiating  from  him,  could  catch  the  faint  fragrance  of  sandalwood  and  bergamot;  could  catch  the  faint  fragrance  of  the  wine  lingering  on  his  breath.  Jing  Yuan  smiled  down  at  him  with  such  quiet  affection  that  it  felt  like  the  sun  had  come  out  despite  the  late  hour. 

Oh,  fuck  …  Skybow… 

The  thought  drifted  lazily  through  Boothill's  mind.

He's  so  damn  beautiful.

Boothill's  own  hand  rose  almost  absentmindedly,  fingertips  brushing  against  silver  strands  before  gently  sweeping  Jing  Yuan's  long  bangs  away  from  his  right  eye.  He  lingered  there  for  a  heartbeat,  wanting  nothing  more  than  to  see  both  of  those  golden  eyes  unobstructed;  bright  as  dawn,  warm  as  home.

A  crooked  smile  tugged  at  Boothill's  lips.

“Ain't  nothin'  on  my  face,  sweetheart.  You's  just  bad  at  this.”  Boothill  huffed  a  laugh  through  his  nose  and  his  grin  softened  into  something  quieter. 

Relaxed-Avoidant (Dismissive): Individuals in this quadrant often take a dim view of others, preferring to keep their distance and guard against invasions of their autonomy and privacy. Relaxed-Avoidant personalities tend to have a strong belief that others are too different from them for truly intimate relations to be worthwhile. They may have a spouse and family, and even be solidly anchored in a stable network of friends and acquaintances, but at the end of the day, they tend to avoid entering into relations where emotional interdependence and intimacy are required. Unlike individuals who fall in the On Edge-Avoidant quadrant, Dismissive personalities tend to be quite content keeping their deepest feelings and views to themselves, and they often have a deeply-held belief that the opinions of others are mildly irrelevant or even second-rate. Consequently, many Dismissive types are often quite good at dissimulating, that is, appearing to share their innermost thoughts, while in reality, they are simply appeasing others without ever letting them come close.

Independent and proud of it, these individuals can typically achieve remarkable feats of social manipulation and self-restraint, but on the downside, they may have trouble kicking bad habits (such as drinking or smoking) which they can enjoy in solitude and use to comfort themselves, independently of the company of others. They can frequently be unmotivated or lazy with regard to the duties that others expect of them, but on the other hand, they are often very original (since they are not hindered by concerns about having to conform to the expectations of the group). Finally, they also tend to be intelligent risk-takers, since they are at heart relaxed and cool under fire.

【Lan looks favourably upon you and thusly, you have within your disposal the strength to pursue your quarry but-】

They loom ever closer.

【Do you have the endurance? The certainty that one chance is all you need to go against the Preservation's follower?】

Boothill  doesn't  move. Not  at  first.

The  Aeon's  divine  radiance  spills  across  THEM  like  a  halo,  illuminating  the  darkness  of  the  cosmos,  and  countless  hands  fold  in  impossible  grace,  countless  eyes  opening  one  after  another  until  it  feels  less  like  being  watched  and  more  like  being  dissected.  Any  other  ordinary  person  would've  fallen  to  their  knees.  Maybe  prayed.  Maybe  fled. 

The  cowboy  merely  hooks  both  metal  thumbs  beneath  his  belt  and  tips  his  head  back  to  meet  every  last  one  of  those  blooming  eyes.  He's  not  afraid  for  his  first  divine  encounter,  only  confused.  Why  would  the  enemy  of  The  Reignbow  Arbiter  spare  even  a  passing  glance  towards  one  insignificant  Galaxy  Ranger?

Boothill  imagines  he'd  be  the  last  thing  The  Abundance  would  ever  care  to  behold.  There  is  little  left  of  him  worth  cultivating.  He  is  made  of  metal  and  screws,  carbon  fibers  and  iron,  his  own  heartbeat  traded  away  for  pistons  and  circuitry.  Boothill  is  artificial  and  dead.  Everything  far  from  Yaoshi's  path.  Yet,  The  Plagues  Author  turn  THEIR  head  to  him  and  speak  about  …  gunpowder  and  loss.

The  words  settle  heavier  than  lead.

"Well..."  Boothill's  voice  rasps  like  leather  dragged  over  stone.   

"Guess  y'got  a  sharp  nose  there  er,  Sanctus  Medicus." 

Boothill's  mechanical  fingers  twitch  once  against  where  his  revolver  hangs  by  his  hip.  A  faint  tension  settles  across  his  shoulders  at  the  mention  of  The  Reignbow  Arbiter,  like  hearing  the  name  of  a  commander. 

Lan  looks  favorably  upon  you  … 

Boothill  gives  a  small  shake  of  his  head.  That  is  far  from  the  truth  when  The  Xianzhou  Generals  are  far  more  blessed  and  skilled  for  The  Hunt. 

Enough  is  enough  and  Boothill  takes  one  step  forward. 

"Now  that's  one  helluva  exaggeration.  Yer  gonna  hafta  forgive  me  cause  I  ain't  got  the  time  to  jaw  with  ya.  You  ain't  my  fight,  but  I  will  tell  you  this,  it  ain't  'bout  endurance  or  whether  I  can  finish  what  I  started."

The  cowboy  falls  quiet  for  a  heartbeat  and  Boothill  gaze  hardens,  not  with  anger,  but  with  the  cold  certainty  of  a  marksman  settling  into  the  final  breath  before  squeezing  the  trigger.

"They  took  my  home.  They  took  my  family.  They  took  the  one  thing  I  loved  most  in  this  whole  mud-forsaken  universe."

A  flicker  passes  behind  his  eyes.  Not  weakness.  A  memory.  A  baby  girl  wrapped  in  a  red  blanket. 

“It's  a'ready  certain.  I'm  gonna  stand  over  Oswaldo  Schneider  an'  shoot  the  motherfucker  between  the  eyes.  I  don't  give  a  fuck  if  fate,  or  you,  or  any  other  motherfuckin'  Aeon  says  otherwise.  I  just  need  one  clean  shot  an'  I  ain't  gonna  miss.  I  will  destroy  the  IPC  or  die  in  the  attempt.  That's  the  real  fuckin'  certainty." 

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ( * hear me out on anaxahill ...... )

The  alchemy  laboratory  has  surrendered  to  the  evening.

Candles  burning  beside  glass  beakers  and  bottles,  strange  crystals  floating  in  jars  of  azure  solution,  and  half-finished  equations  sprawled  across  the  enormous  chalkboard  in  elegant,  practiced  strokes.  The  room  smelled  faintly  of  parchment,  herbs,  and  ozone;  scents  Boothill  had  come  to  associate  entirely  with  Anaxa's  work  space. 

There  was  a  time  Boothill  had  found  such  a  place  a  bore  to  stand  in,  not  much  a  mind  to  entertain  knowledge  and  theroies,  but  now  …  a  curiosity  has  caught  the  ranger's  attention. 

The  professor  stands  before  the  chalkboard  in  quiet  concentration,  chalk  gliding  across  the  slate  in  neat,  meticulous  strokes.  Without  his  capelet  draped  over  his  shoulders,  the  pale  expanse  of  his  shoulders  and  back  lay  bare  to  the  warmth  of  the  laboratory,  his  attire  sacrificed  in  favor  of  comfort  while  he  worked. 

Anaxa  looks  too  absorbed  to  notice  the  cowboy  drawing  near;  like  a  hare  intent  upon  grazing  while  the  coyote  stalked  through  the  tall  grass.  Either  way,  Boothill  finds  the  challenge  downright  irresistible.

“Y'look  busy,  teach.”  Boothill  remarks  and  the  only  answer  he  earns  was  a  distracted  hum,  barely  more  than  a  vibration  in  the  professor's  throat. 

A  crooked  grin  tugs  at  the  cowboy's  lips  as  he  crosses  the  room  with  leisurely  confidence,  each  measured  step  accompanied  by  the  soft  jingle  of  his  spurs.  Boothill  stops  just  behind  Anaxa,  close  enough  to  catch  the  faint  scent  sage  and  black  currant.  It  fills  Boothill's  artificial  lungs  with  the  longing  he's  felt  throughout  his  long  travels. 

"That's  all  I  get?"  Boothill  drawls,  amusement  warm  in  his  voice.  “Not  even  a  ‘howdy,’?  Hell,  I  figured  I'd  at  least  earn  myself  an  ‘I  missed  ya.’  ” 

Boothill's  hand  settles  comfortably  around  Anaxa's  hips,  fingers  curling  against  the  fabric  of  his  robes.  Boothill  leans  closer,  his  voice  lowering  into  something  warm  enough  to  rival  the  flickering  candles. 

"You  really  gonna  ignore  me?" 

His  other  hand  reaches  upward,  catching  Anaxa's  wrist  before  the  chalk  could  touch  stone  again.  He  guides  the  professor's  arm  gently  back  down,  holding  it  for  now.  Pinned.  Not  forcefully,  but  undeniably,  to  take  hold  of  Anaxa's  attention.  Whatever  he  is  working  on  can  wait  just  a  moment. 

Boothill's  smile  softens.  His  lips  brush  the  curve  of  Anaxa's  exposed  shoulder  with  featherlight  affection,  lingering  only  a  moment  before  drifting  higher.  Another  quiet  kiss  rested  near  the  base  of  Anaxa's  neck.  Then  another  along  his  jaw,  each  one  unhurried,  patient,  and  almost  reverent  despite  the  teasing  glint  in  the  cowboy's  eyes. 

⠀⠀────  ✶  ❛  you're  making  me  lose  focus  .  ❜

"Darlin',"  Boothill  murmurs  against  porcelain  skin,  a  grin  tugging  at  every  word,  “I've  been  competing  with  that  chalkboard  all  evenin'  if  I'm  finally  winnin',  I'd  say  your  focus  wasn't  all  that  loyal  to  begin  with.”

I fear this is another Hunt thing to do, acts of (violence) service when in debited to someone because let's look at Boothill back in 2.6, he tells Micah to settle his tab at the bar and he'll handle all the crazies of the slumbernana fan club, he also tells him he rather be shot then betray a friend. I always take Boothill's words as the truth, I don't think this is cowboy hodgepodge, this is his word, he rather die then ever betray a friend. I go back and forth whether this is a loyalty towards a friend or loyalty towards doing the right thing, maybe they go hand in hand, but is such a hard extreme, taking a bullet rather then betray a friend and or breaking them out of prison, killing any who stands in way.

Perhaps, this is on par very Galaxy Ranger behavior, but the concept is still very much conveyed by the Xianzhou too in their own way, albeit less extreme and violent. Jing Yuan bestow the Abacus of Allying Oath to the Astral Express for their efforts during the Stellaron Crisis on the Loufu and while this isn’t an extreme measure of violence, the implication of being able to summon a Xianzhou ship at any time any where whenever you need them is pretty powerful and extreme, enough so to be warned that only to use it in dire circumstances, to be marveled by Boothill as he mentions it takes a lot to summon Cloud Knights, telling Dan Heng to keep his ‘treasure’ and save it for a real reason, and it still hasn’t been used it yet!!! Even during the Irontomb fight which was apparently the most catastrophic thing to happen to the cosmos, but since the Xianzhou Alliance was already there it seems kinda silly to use then, but my point still stands.

Not everybody here follows my Lan/Reignbow Arbiter muse blog but I found I have unconsciously been writing THEM that way too. THEY always offer to Akivilis if Lan can kill the clown (Aha) for blowing up the Astral Express, which is a bit comedic, but Lan is dead serious every time THEY offer it.