fierce demon bang

Taller and taller towers cut into the starry sky above--shimmering with speckled lights from window to window, a reflection of the glitz and glamour shining off billboards and advertisements hung across opposite streets. A golden maze illuminated in the endless night life--so full of promises and fun, but maybe for someone else. Still, the indulgence of the dream gave him pause to at least imagine someone even desiring to live in such opulence day in and day out. No sunrise to sort things out, no reprieve from the drinks and dancing; an ignorant bliss twenty-four blessed hours of the night-day. 

The thinking-about-it part of all that put him in a sour mood. What was it about this place that got him all up and down? Bucked his emotions wilder than a stubborn stallion. This unreal-real place made the thin film between memory and fiction a little thinner. Great if you’re an old timer looking to make up an idea of “better days” and live them out, but not so hot on all the funny instruments in his head. 

A beeping chorus of horn snapped him out of things as he realized he’d paused in the middle of the road. A drunken dreamer waved at him from the car’s wheel, hollering something about joining for the ride instead of standing in the way. 

At least they didn’t run him over this time. 

Boothill picked up a pace at a quick clip and crossed the road, unable to help himself grinning as he waved the joyous driver and his company along when they continued to drive a snake down the street. More vehicles followed behind and down the road he could see far enough when they got into a pile up accident--riders flung from their vehicles but all landed unharmed a safe distance away. The better-boozed of the bunch could even be heard laughing off the trouble with their run-in mates. 

Another night in the dream. 

Back on track now, Boothill made way down the sidewalks, dodging advertisements and partiers to get to his goal--one of the streets lined with drinking joints of all sorts. Themed fronts, faux seedy speakeasies, glamorous lounges suited for the rich and famous--all down the same street ping ponged across from one another side to side from the road way. Tucking his hat lower on his head, Boothill charged on, gaze bouncing window to window to take in the sights. One of these would do. Surely one of them would do.

But he knew himself. And he knew they wouldn’t. He paused before the golden and glorious windows of the bar and lounge in marble theming--pillars stark white and upright through the halls, plush sofas entwined with the vines of a plant long extinct but blooming in golden shimmering leaves across its length. People partied with no purpose, only joviality and the mindlessness afforded by good drink--one could feel it through the window. Somehow, he’d found himself with one metallic hand pressed to the glass like some kind of longing child ruminating over how much of his allowance the shiny things within must cost. 

None of that though. The ranger took a step back and caught himself, back straight as and steady as the pillars holding that bar up now. There was a non-zero chance somebody in these glitzy places would have themselves a fit if a wanted man like himself just waltzed on in. Really, he should leave, but after all that work in the deeper parts of the dream, he earned a drink, didn’t he? 

Then it hit him. Those Nameless bunch had their own airship in the sky. He just had to get himself back up there. If they were in charge, they probably couldn’t raise a fuss about him. Not after all that back breaking work he put in! So off he was--one more drink in this place before taking off for good! 

Making another trip onto that airship made itself no trouble after a first so this time he could really relax and make himself at home. From the entry near the poolside he lingered, watching the lights of the night dance along the water’s surface. How good would it feel to crash into the water back first and sink to the bottom of the pool--he mused idly. His body had been assembled to be plenty waterproof so he could and yet he hadn’t helped himself to that sort of freedom in a while. A fall backwards put a lot of trust into the landing zone after all and a pool wasn’t quite the same as a big pile of hay. 

Musings mused, he cut around the side of the pool, minding pool chairs and umbrellas to get toward the inner parts of the ship. He sort of recalled his way around this place even if it felt bigger every time he visited. Some trick of the eye--or maybe a real prank on his sensors. No telling what that creepy doll girl could have left behind after all. 

Spurs clicked along with each boot as the ranger made way toward the bar nestled into the more forward portion of the airship--the lights within lower than he remembered them being the previous time. Things were quiet--just a few employees minding the bar and some guests closer to the stage managing what seemed like friendly chatter between a business deal or something important based on their garb. The stage itself held only a Dreamtroupe of living instruments bent on playing very low key jazz that evening and, Boothill had to guess, they did most evenings. No skin off his nose though--music real or fake would do to fill the space between thoughts and drinks. 

Approaching the bar, Boothill led with one metallic hand to pull up a stool a little closer, hiking himself up into the seat as one did when time to order came. The bartender blinked at him, his posture straightened as he realized he had a customer--or he recognized the outlaw. Either way, he seemed to be on best behavior. 

“Evening. What can I get for you? Lots of customization on deck here,” the bartender offered with a cool and friendly tone but it did sound like he hadn’t said it much today. Maybe things were slow. 

“Nothing better than [                               ]. Got that in there?” Boothill asked in return, carefully resting one elbow to the bar top. 

The bartender wore a puzzled face. “I’m…sorry. A what now? I didn’t hear you.” 

“You know, [                 ]. Every bar worth a lick’s got it in. You gonna tell me you ain’t got [                                     ]?” 

The bartender looked to the other barkeeper restocking a shelf on the other side of the bar with lemons. The lemon bartender nervously glanced between coworker and customer. “Uh…could you be a little more specific, sir?”

“Oh fork me, it’s [                                                                                   ]!” He stopped after that, putting a hand to his mouth. “...That ain’t coming out right at all… Son of a nice lady, I JUST got this thing cleared and fixed!” 

Puzzled bartenders traded looks once more, brows raised before looking back to Boothill in unison. Almost too well timed. “Well sir, maybe you would like some SoulGlad? Maybe you need a Trash Sparkling Water?” 

“Maybe just plain water…High quality water of course!” 

Boothill could only lower his head toward his awaiting hand--the movement rapid enough to nearly dislodge his hat. The two kept making very non-alcoholic suggestions but he hardly heard them as he tried to sort out what was wrong with his mouth again. That singing girl had definitely cleaned him up, but was it too clean? Did some kind of bug sneak in there under all the banana sundae business? 

He was going to have to talk to a doc, wasn’t he? The bartenders were probably expecting an answer and all the ranger gave them was a few groans and curses translated to the usual. It wasn’t until there was movement at his right that he raised his head. 

“I believe the good gentleman was trying to ask for malt juice--Asdana’s White Oak,” the newcomer suggested as he took a seat at the stool beside Boothill’s. 

In a moment their eyes met, Boothill holding tight to his hat as it threatened to fall off his head. Sitting up straight he could look directly into the awaiting smile of the knight who knew his order so easily. Had he ordered so many last time they were at this place? A thousand things flood his thoughts but only so much can make it out the mouth. 

“Yeah, that’s the stuff. Better put them on the fast drink--I’m gonna need ‘em.” 

To the agreement Argenti only smiled brighter, nearly glowing in a halo of positivity. With a gentle armored hand, he helped set Boothill’s hat right and patted his shoulder--as if the additional help and affirmation would solve the trouble. And it did, sort of. 

“Asdana’s White Oak,” Boothill repeated after a minor adjustment to Argenti’s hat fix. “Wonder how that got stuck…not even a replacement. Nothing at all.” 

The two bartenders took this as a sign to get back to business as usual and went about making the drink--even still served with the bullet garnished in the glass as he’d recommended to the crew back then. Argenti politely requested a glass of the same and in a moment the matching drinks hit the bar. 

Boothill knocked his back like a thirsting desert wanderer while Argenti sipped and contemplated. Neither seemed sure what to say at first. 

“Do I hope you are taking care of your health, my silver cowboy. Irregularities can be a matter of overworking and stress. One must take some time for himself,” spoke the knight with a softening smile the cowboy’s way. Even when he wasn’t beaming, the light overwhelmed. 

Boothill chewed briefly on the bullet from the glass, the cylinder clenched between sharpened teeth. With a roll of his tongue it was gone. “I’m taking a time out right now, ain’t I?” 

“Not to call attention to a particular look, but while it is beautiful in a way, you’ve the look of a fiery star--shooting far and a glory to witness. Of course, the light fades eventually. That is to say… tired. And I cannot say I’ve seen anyone look like they’ve been put to the sword to drink, like you are perhaps under duress. If you are in such danger you can say so with confidence,” Argenti prattled on, as he tended to. Despite the deluge of words, Boothill followed his madness, mostly. 

A “you look tired” would never do from a Knight of Beauty. At least not this nutso. 

A second drink arrived in time for Boothill to grasp this one between his fingertips from above, as if lifting only to test the weight. The bullet rolled a few centimeters in the glass. “Finished a big job. That’s all there is to it. I’ll take the night to recharge and probably hit the trail.” 

Despite the ever present smile, Argenti’s tone changed--lower, careful. Was he stepping on eggshells with him or always so soft? 

“Then we’ll be sure you rest and recharge well. I think it will do you best to take your rest outside this beautiful dream--as lovely as it is to be here with you. I imagine your work has kept you inside for some time?” he asked with earnest curiosity, one elbow to the counter, his hand neatly framing his face as it held his head aloft. Red locks pooled around over his shoulder at the movement, the bullet in his glass quietly turning in the round. So far he hadn’t drank very much. Boothill could tell it probably wasn’t to his taste, but Argenti never seemed the type to complain about much. Or anything really. 

In a way, he couldn’t stand him. For as much as the knight went on and on about the beauty of everything else, he didn’t play himself much by tongue. Maybe it was obvious and he didn’t need to. Hair soft and silky, so long and well cared for. His face, really the only skin visible on him, could be felt almost by eye--smooth and warm. It was either a product of daily attention or a much kinder god put this man to the universe as he was. Neither actually pleased Boothill at the moment. 

A silence had filled the space in between his thoughts and lack of answer. Eventually the ranger downed the second drink, chewing on the bullet garnish at the side of his mouth. He could chew and reply. “Do you really rest any better in or out?” 

At this, Argenti perked up, poised to blather. “Actually, if you have been here for a time, it’s good to get used to usual sleep and daylight. Although I suppose the hotel doesn’t provide much of the latter. I can’t deny the fun of the dream, nor its ability to show us more about ourselves. But we must step away and drink in all we’ve experienced from time to time. 

Boothill waged a careful war on the ammo in his teeth, driving it up and down at the end with his jaw. “Yeah? Don’t seem like the introspective type. Did you learn about yourself here?”

Glass raised almost in a cheer, Argenti beams. “I have learned you and I are both good at fake bomb location in a pinch! We all made quite a team on this airship, didn’t we?” 

The memory almost immediately summoned a headache. Boothill gestured for a third drink from the bartenders and only then let himself think on that. “That was one hell of a show at the end, I can’t argue with that. We’re lucky that all turned out. But that’s everything in this place--a stroke of luck here and there. S’not lost on me this is just a big forkin’ casino.” 

At this Argenti chuckled politely into his armored fist. “So it is.” 

A third glass clicked gently before Boothill on the bar before the knight went on. “Much of the mortal struggle is a battle with one’s own destiny but also with the fickle roll of the dice--agreed or not. This dream has a way of amplifying that to its utmost. People come here betting everything on the chance to chase their happiness and dreams. However you end up here, you must face a gamble or two eventually. Even I have had to put my spear to the chance--fail in obscurity or bring further glory to Idrila.” 

As always, he spoke with such conviction. It was hard to believe he really believed he gambled at that moment--Argenti seemed too sure to take gambling for anything more than superstition. He would simply win. 

“You’ve been exploring the dream, helping people out, right? I feel like last we met you said something like that,” Boothill said, if only to give the man some direction.

“This is true, my dear friend.” Argenti gestured high to the ceiling of the bar, his white armor shimmering in the dim lights. “I cut through the space which would hold a lesser man back--I could sense the disruption in the make up of this place and could hardly leave it be. Several souls have passed me their thanks and I hope they carry on with knowledge and appreciation of Idrila’s works and love in their hearts.” 

On one hand, the knight painted an almost silly picture--a man so beautiful saying he simply forced his way beyond the boundaries of the dream at his own whim--and yet it couldn’t be denied that he had truly done such a thing. That was one feat that Boothill wasn’t sure any of the architects of this place could handle, even on a good day. As the ranger pondered this, the knight remained in his ‘spotlight,’ seemingly content to be studied so. 

“You’re a real piece of work. But you apparently know your stuff. I’ll leave the dream after this drink. Maybe go have a real one in the lobby.” 

“Would you like to meet up there?” Argenti offered, somehow already back in his chair. 

Boothill’s gaze darted down the opposite end of the bar and then back at Argenti a few times. Was someone watching? This wasn’t a trick or something to lure him out, right? After some self-assurance, he settled back down, only sipping from his glass now. 

“Uhh, well, I can’t say I’m against it exactly.” 

“It is a yes or no question, my silver cowboy.” 

Direct and smiling Argenti definitely scared him more than the chatterbox shining version. Perhaps he foresaw attempts to get out of this. Boothill wasn’t exactly the most social creature these days. It wasn’t good to walk around wearing all your cards on your sleeves like some kind of easy mark. Something to work on. 

“...Sure. We’ll meet a quarter after,” he said. Best to give in against powers no one could understand. And he was pretty sure he could never understand Argenti. 

Sparkling, joyous even, Argenti unleashed a smile that could knock out a row of fans in an instant. Luckily, Boothill was a grown man and only needed to hold the bar with one hand for stability. “Marvelous! I have preparations to make! I will see you soon!” With that, the knight drank down the last dregs of his beverage and when it came to the bullet garnish, he held it out between two fingers for Boothill to take it he liked. 

Not one to waste ammo, Boothill leaned forward and clamped his teeth onto the finger-free end of the bullet and swiped it into his mouth. “See ya,” was all that followed. Because he had no clue what to say after that. 

For a brief moment, the warm cheeks of the knight looked a little warmer. Perhaps a side effect of being red-headed, Boothill assumed. 

They parted ways and before he knew it, he was going to have to exit to be on time. It’s a crawl, but Boothill brought himself back to reality, metal body feeling extra heavy as he dragged himself out of the dreamscape bed. One hand at the rim after another, knees almost rusty under him. Maybe he had been in there too long…

Considering he couldn’t really spruce up anything in this state, he arrived at the lobby bar looking more tired than before. The trip over caught up with him pretty quick. Did he really need a charge after being in rest that long? The thoughts buzzed in his skull around the usual warnings about this and that and only departed when Argenti leaned into his vision. 

“Ah, not a moment late even, silver cowboy. I needed a moment to stretch after such a long ‘rest’ myself,” he explained, gesturing to the missing minutes on the bar clock. With that same hand he gestured to the barkeep, requesting two of the very same drinks they’d enjoyed in the dream just moments earlier. “Let’s have a seat somewhere more comfortable in the lounge, shall we?” he suggested as the bartender got to work.

A trailing finger pointed to the plush sofas and considering the state of his joints, that did sound nice, so Boothill agreed with a gruff sound and a nod. Two finished drinks--sans bullets here of course--hit the counter and before Boothill could take his, Argenti raised it gently into the ranger’s grasp. Metallic fingers met awkwardly in the trade off, yet Boothill managed to wrangle the damn thing well enough to walk behind his partner. 

Fluffed cushions summoned him into a seated position, back stretching out, head tilted back, arms across the back of the sofa and of course, long legs out as far as possible. A tall figure like his rarely fit any seat properly so a deep one like this took the load off. He wasn’t sure if Argenti just knew or perhaps he struggled similarly--they weren’t that far apart for height. The knight settled in near Boothill’s side with a plausible deniability between them.

Sensors in his eyes strained briefly in the orange glow of the lounge. Usual checks dimmed in the calm--less a need for heightened beyond the peripheral watch, the movement awareness--but at least his forward gaze could focus a moment to admire the clarity of reality. In a way, the dream felt like that at times. A foggy haze over his vision--where systems rattled against the human nature of the subconscious thought. For him, it felt like being a little drunk and like he forgot to plug something in after a check up. 

Temporary was ever the nature of dreams, no matter how long Penacony’s drunkenly stumbled along those midnight curves. And yet. They lingered in the morning hours.

Between a drink and the peach fuzz over his vision, he found his mind wandering--ever so briefly recalling a warm breeze over his cheeks, the fluttering of laundry, the shouting of children at play. And the plains, stretching far as the eyes could see--beautiful and golden, swept with patches of green and brown mellowed by a setting sun washing them all in a stroke of comforting hues. Fresh as it was in that instant, it played over Boothill’s mind, a transport to another time and place. 

A firm hand on his knee brought him back to the lounge, a few long blinks clearing his eyes. 

“That whole forkin’ mess really got into my bits after all. I gotta get some work done. This thing’s clearly on the fritz,” he said, as if to dismiss the clear worry in Argenti’s eyes.

The knight retracted his hand from Boothill’s knee, leaning in closer however to get a better look at his face. “It sounds like you had yourself a rather pressing venture. I don’t suppose maintenance is especially regular for you, is it?” 

Before such a genuine gaze of concern he was a hopelessly open book. “Something like that. But yeah, should only need a touch up now and then, updates here and there. Has been a good tick though… Last thing I wanna see is some quack again.” 

Argenti’s lashes fluttered. “Again?”

He gestured lazily at his own face with one free pointer finger. “This thing ain’t just bootscootin’ into an IPC certified shop.” 

“Ah, that’s very understandable. Well, my One and Only is open to you should you need a lift here or there.” 

At this the cowboy perked up from his sloppy sitting against the couch. “You’d give me a lift? I’d ask not to go on and on about Idrila, but I feel like that’s unavoidable.” 

“The information comes with the ride,” Argenti said in such a quick clip and with a perfect smile, perhaps he’d been requested this before. “But do make sure you’re in shape enough to take flight. There is little I can do for you should you have a breakdown while we’re on our way. I would have to be allowed a better look at you to learn your needs.” 

Something about those words turned that internal temperature up. Maybe a fan broke somewhere in there… Boothill shook it off and downed his drink before waving a hand side to side. “I do not need you staring at my insides with that look on your face.” 

“What look do you speak of?” 

Accusingly, Boothill jut his finger at the knight’s face. “That one! The princely smile of innocence! That ain’t no way to look at a man’s junk!” 

“Then I shall gaze upon your junk with my utmost reverence and seriousness.” 

Boothill groaned and with great pains, stood himself up, taking Argenti by the wrist to force him to join him. Catching the clue, the knight polished off his drink neatly and left the glass on the table. The pair hauled it back upstairs to the rooms--Boothill starting for his own before Argenti made a turn and got them on the path to his own. Door unlocked, Boothill could see why. 

Argenti’s hotel room had been furnished with a few extras--some of the gaudier lights and furniture had been selected to be more toned down. As a result it was a bit darker, but overall softer without the neon lights. Perhaps it was a preference or a necessity for his relaxation. Come to think of it, it was pretty hard to really calm his head with all those damn lights and that glowing crap. 

Sealed in the room now, the two stood at odds briefly before Argenti got to work, pulling forth some of the wiring and cabling free from its hiding place behind the rosy colored sofa astride the room. The dreamer’s “bed” was really the only sleeping place in these rooms, but the sofas were pretty comfortable in a pinch if one needed a break from all the business. Not that paying customers usually bothered. 

The knight tended to fluffing up a few pillows and took a seat before offering Boothill a welcoming smile--sparkling as ever. 

“Before you get yourself excited…! I just need a check on the joints…and it’s annoying to have to put myself in pieces just to oil up the hard to reach places. There’s also…dunno if the port’s getting a good connection. Only need some eyes on it for faulty bits or something stuck in it. Alright?” 

Beaming with pride at being given a chance, Argenti couldn’t possibly look happier or more at home.   

“My silver cowboy, simply relax and I’ll see to your concerns with my greatest attention,” he insisted, once more gesturing to the plush welcome of the sofa. 

Heel-toe, Boothill pressed on closer, the room rife with one-sided tension. A slow turn and he was at Argenti’s side, seated and bracing for whatever strange ideas the knight had. 

“What would be the most comfortable place to start?” The knight inquired after a brief silence. 

A piece of him wished Argenti would just help himself, see what this body was so lacking and hurting for, but it was for the best this way. After a grunt and a shift, he twisted his hips and legs the red-head’s way, waggling a finger at his knees.

“Behind the knees feel a little stiff. I can’t really look back there without taking the whole leg off,” he explained, a story embedded in it.

Taking that as permission, Argenti lifted Boothill’s leg by the calf with a gentle grace that better suited a prince fitting a glass slipper to his future bride. “Beautiful shape and weight; inspired even,” he murmured before raising his gaze. “Give me a moment, I should take a better position to do as you require.” 

Before the ranger could really even take in all that just happened Argenti was already turning over and pillowing his head on the sofa between Boothill’s legs, one still raised over his head. While his expression read seriously, his words were insane. 

“I realize now, my dear friend, I cannot see your joints through your pants.”

“No fudge, ya son of a nice lady! Get your noggin outta my clutch! Nevermind that, check the port in the back instead,” Boothill said with a rapid spray of words that Argenti did seem to understand and follow at least.

He wasn’t that fussy about anyone seeing his body—it wasn’t an exciting display—but no need to strip down with another fella’s eyes right in the junkyard. With that awkwardness fresh, he turned to face away from Argenti and pulled some of his hair over his shoulder to better reveal the large port at his lower back.

“Oh what a large hole you have! I’m sure you could fit so many interesting objects and connectors here,” Argenti commented right away, his awe unmistakable in his tone. “Now I should inspect closely for anything unwanted within?”

“Yeah, a bit of scuzz or shrapnel, whatever’s blocking the connection,” he said, choosing to ignore whatever Argenti first said.

Armored fingers made obvious contact with his back as metal met metal with a soft click of greeting, from there that guiding finger rounded the port. It wasn’t as large as he said, about the size one could easily match it nearly to their palm. Argenti seemed to do just so, pressing his hand over the whole of the port, as if this would elucidate something for him.

For safety’s sake, physical contact with this metallic body rode a sensation back up to his head—differentiating pain and—well, whatever wasn’t pain. Hot, cold, he could ignore them, but they first fired a warning back up to him. Almost like his old body. Rather than reveling in the warmth of the sun or the comforting chill of a changing season it was a reminder to his brain of those sensations, like the backwash of a memory. 

Right in line with that, he’d forgotten a touch that wasn’t reparative. So a single armored hand resting at his spine stirred something else—so slightly. In the end, this too would be reparative, no good thinking too hard.

“If there’s something, just put your fingers in there or whatever. Get it over with,” he said over his shoulder, daring to glance back.

His gaze met not with the knight’s and instead saw Argenti in a moment of deep reflection, his mind seemingly swimming through the sea of whatever went on in there. A second later his eyes rose and his smile returned. “My apologies. I was realizing how very storied your form is and you wear it so openly. To live with such beautiful armor protecting you, it’s a lovely thing to witness up close.” 

A warmth coated those words, honeyed and sweet like usual but they didn’t go down too strangely this time. To speak with Argenti was to be served his finest teas at each turn; however, you could never know if they might be spiked with sugary confusion or bitter innocence. A strange man, but sometimes he truly did offer a cup of comfort in a stranger storm. 

Boothill hesitated. “You’re always saying whatever bounces around in that head of yours.” 

Rather than taking his dismissal, Argenti shook his head. “Never, I speak with the utmost care and truth. I enjoy seeing another warrior’s scars of battle, what tales they can tell! I had come to realize that yours still shares such secrets. But I’m lingering, let me do this search.”

With that, he ducked lower to get a better look at the large port, occasionally pressing an armored finger into a scoring to adjust something. 

“Easy!” Boothill warned before turning back away. He couldn’t stand to watch. “Anything standing out?”

An armored finger pressed hard into the center right of the port, making Boothill grit his teeth shortly. 

“Yes right here, I’m bending it back into shape. And ah! Oh I see, it had caught a bit of loose wire under that bend. It isn’t connected to anything so I assume it isn’t yours,” the knight explained, reaching around to show Boothill his find. It was a really fine scrap of wire, probably acquired rolling into a bunch of junk. No big deal. He took the wire between his forefingers and examined it for a time. 

“Not sure where this came from. Wonder how long it’s been there,” he pondered aloud as Argenti gave his back a reassuring pat. 

“Either way your connection should be much better. Shall we try it?” 

The offer froze him on the spot. There was Argenti. Smiling as always. And saying somewhat vague misleading things.

“Try it with what…?” he asked out of necessity. 

Argenti acted as he spoke, leaning around the sofa’s arm and fishing around the back for something. His armor shimmered in the shift of the light, his form elegant despite what could be seen as an inelegant position he took with his backside out in the open. “A port is merely a hole seeking the beautiful validation of connection and penetration! Ah! Here we are!” Before Boothill could argue, Argenti returned with a fistful of cables--the ends in a myriad of connector types from across the depth of space. It looked like a cat o’ nine tails for electronic devices. And these always pissed him off a little bit. Could charge him on the same cable as an electric toothbrush.

Whatever mood there was passed, leaving the ranger to try and laugh it off. “Sure sure, just shove it in there and get on with it.” 

Wasting no time, the knight did as requested and really did shove the right cable in. It’s rough at first as the cable was slightly smaller than what fit the port. With a grunt of effort and a twist, Argenti locked the cable head into place--pressed into the very guts of his gears as they wrung in return, clasping around the much needed source of renewal. 

Some of the haziness in his head lightened at the easing of his load and a comforting sense of relaxation thrummed up through the mechanics--from port to artificial spine, across false nerves to the sensation of warmth at his fingertips. A natural sigh of ease followed, one heavy enough it displaced an “exhale” from his chest plates. To most, he would assume, it was an ugly scene--like some gambling addict finally getting a hit, but this was the way his body functioned now. Human comforts didn’t hit much anymore. Knowing this old ship would still sail in the morning was instant relief. 

In that warm buzz his mind wandered again. Everything that happened in that damned dream hung over the rest of his thoughts and functions like a cloud. Whatever that idiot society ape did left some damage--despite the nice singing girl’s help, things still felt a little off. An out of place memory, a recollection in the wrong color palette or washed completely gray loomed in the background of processes. Too many elephants in the little room. 

He could deal with them being there for now. Organizing them again would be troublesome. All it took was spending a few minutes tucking those pictures back into their photo albums in the right over, refreshing the labels. Never forgetting. But for now, the mess could bloat the software. A break from all that was all he could really ask for after that mess. That and he didn’t want to do that task in front of Argenti who might worry if he blanked out into his thoughts that long. Actually, hadn’t he already?

When Boothill glanced over at Argenti, he too had settled into the sofa to rest, his hands folded neatly into his lap, his head resting on the back of the plush cushions with his fresh spring gaze merely watching--almost admiring--Boothill from this short distance. Perhaps he’d decided to give him time or space. Either way, a smile played at his lips and a low comforting tone left his lips. 

“Are you feeling better, my silver cowboy?” 

An earnest chuckle escaped him. “I must’ve been runnin’ on nothing. Feeling better already. Thanks for that, Argenti,” he said. A touch quieter now that the room had fallen so silent, he could hardly speak up more than the knight had. 

A swell of relief and joy filled Argenti’s face, his shining features basked in the glow of being a knight of good service. He was always sticking his neck out to help people, wasn’t he? Then again, Boothill couldn’t argue he didn’t do the same. And yet Argenti looked radiant doing so, cheeks flush with a brush of color, eyes sparkling even in the dim lights, and his body so at ease despite all the armor forcing a warrior’s stance. The knight absolutely fit the profile of someone carrying the flag for Beauty itself. What a glory to perceive him in his element--fighting spear and thorn one day and another here seated with a more plain galaxy ranger, his very being illuminated in stunning red and white like a stained glass window in mid-morning sun.

Was this the sort of feeling that made one praise Idrila? 

A beautiful pull away from the mess of the mind--a reminder of the things right in this very moment. That momentary passing and yet tempting call to dive into the pleasures life left, even if they would be gone tomorrow. 

Or he was sort of coming to like this loudmouth highfalutin’ bombshell. 

The thought boggled. Comrades was fine, but no thinking harder than that. Besides that, he couldn’t offer much incentive to get a party corralled into interest these days. Unless they liked the idea of a metallic embrace now and then, he didn’t have much to give. No thoughts to company or comfort, this body served the single purpose of getting from A to B and shooting villains in the mouth with as many bullets as it took to shut them down. 

Melancholy stirred as his eyes locked with Argenti’s. Even his gaze couldn’t offer the same warm brown depth it once had. Handsome as Argenti was, even if it stirred him some, the whole mess of physical and emotional could only be a wash for him. 

“Something troubles you, doesn’t it? If it is that you require this kind of care, it doesn’t bother me. Even a knight such as myself must stop and recharge in his own ways,” Argenti offered in a reassuring tone. 

“How do you go about recharging?” Boothill asked, if only to try and turn the subject away.

One armored finger tapped at Argenti’s chin as he puzzled the ways. “Many! An evening rose bath will do wonders for the muscles and skin so I must have one of those regularly. I take to reading things of interest--be they old manuals or interesting things on the internet. There is a little game on my phone with fruit I quite enjoy. And of course, a moment of quiet with my mind is also very refreshing.” Sitting up, Argenti tapped that forefinger to an opposite digit on the other hand to help count the ways. When he finished, he waved the total tally at Boothill with a smile. 

“What sorta things do you even think about by yourself that’s so refreshing?” The cowboy couldn’t help sitting up a tad himself as his investment in the answer rose. 

“Oh that’s very simple. I think on all the beautiful plants and animals, the lovely places and spaces I have seen, and of course the stunning people.” 

To take it in Argenti’s tone, this was as simple as it got and yet it left Boothill only more baffled. “You don’t get too into thinking on any of that, do you? You’re always saying everything’s beautiful, how do you know what you really like?” 

At this Argenti leaned in much closer, some amusement winding his lips into a smile again. “That is because, my silver cowboy, there is beauty in a great number of things, but one must know the difference between glorious appreciation of true aesthetics and a burning personal passion or a knight might go mad chasing the wrong causes in the pursuit of misguided feelings.” With that he gave Boothill a little poke on the end of his nose. 

A sensation tightened in his throat and warmth flooded his face. The next question felt natural to ask, but it certainly didn’t help with that tension. “Are you passionate about anything then?” 

“At this moment…one simple thing,” Argenti answered softly. “And that is helping my dear silver cowboy with his stiff joints. May I now?” Another poke dotted Boothill’s nose before the knight stood up and pulled away, using the space to start removing his gauntlet and gloves. 

Almost furious, Boothill sputtered and flustered before his tongue could find language again. “More like Knight of the Bratty now! Fine fine, let’s get it over with!” 

“Brilliant! Off with your pants then.” 

Such cruelty hammered relentlessly or that was the memory of a heart rattling around in his chest from the embarrassment and bluntness of the order. “I’m only getting it over with at this point,” he grumbled. His heels dug into the floor as he shifted his hips up into the air, resting his upper back against the cushions of the sofa and balancing himself there so he could thumb his belt open and loosen it up. With a little effort, his hands scraped metal to metal here and there as he wedged his way partially out of the leather garment--at least until it hit the belt at his thigh.

He’d forgotten all about his holster. Awkwardly, he unstrapped that and dropped back into the sofa bare-assed. Not that it mattered that much when it was metal, but some human part of his head said he shouldn’t do that--at least not on someone else’s furniture. That someone else briefly left his focus when fighting his pants and only now did he become acutely aware of Argenti’s gaze. 

“There ain’t nothing to see! Don’t look like you’re seeing bare meat!” Boothill barked on the defense. 

Argenti stared at him, eyes locked dead on his crotch. Probably because very obviously now there was nobody home. Or at least anyone else would think so and yet here Argenti stood, one gauntlet in the other’s grasp, his face burning as if something very excitable WAS there. Frazzled, Boothill grabbed his gun by the handle, holster and all and covered himself. At this Argenti blinked out of it and hurriedly stepped in closer, kneeling to take one of Boothill’s legs for himself by the ankle and just continuing to pull his pants down. 

“Joints to check, let us not forget!” he insisted, gaze darting away and back rapidly. The knight did not seem to care that his position put him right at the end of the massive piece giving the ranger a modicum of modesty. Argenti’s lips sealed tight, pressed closely together as he focused on his task. It was a strange sight. Boothill let him manhandle him for that moment, his own cheeks feeling red hot despite everything. 

Were they both getting embarrassed with this mess? The question wobbled around in his head like a newborn colt. Argenti, embarrassed? Looking at him like that? Surely not.

And yet as he glanced down, the knight wore a rose of red in his face now too, especially as his unprotected hand clasped onto Boothill’s thigh with some faltering authority. With a second of hesitation and a look of will in his eyes, Argenti pressed on, using the angling to help get Boothill’s pants all the way down around his ankles. Riding spurs were probably all that kept those pants completely off the floor. 

So it was Boothill sat stark naked in front of Argenti, his legs spread wide somewhere in the middle of all this manhandling. He had to admit, he hadn’t been this exposed to anybody in a long time. Usually just the doc, but that was nothing like this. This time Argenti seemed actually interested in looking at him. More aesthetics or whatever? Or something else? 

Then again, he had no something else! There was nothing!! He screamed this over and over in his head as other words spilled out of his mouth. “It’s! …The back of the knee joint. Both are sorta…” he trailed off, losing steam as he glanced aside. That couldn’t last forever so he did his best to puff up his chest and be plain about this. His hand lifted the gun up and away with a weight the weapon didn’t usually carry. This left him exposed again, but his free hand clenched at one metallic thigh tightly--like that grasp could uphold his last straw of dignity. “Just yap on it already: I got nothing down there. It wasn’t high on the list of needs when I got outfitted so it's no big fuss. Focus your pretty little head on checking the joint and I’ll put it away again soon.” 

Rather than having the intended effect, this stirred Argenti into motion again, his arm coming to clasp around the shin of the leg in his care, his other hand reaching up to Boothill’s at his thigh to grasp over it as well. “Think nothing of the sort, my silver cowboy! You are beautiful to behold as you are! A body made of a thousand choices like this, I’m enthralled with every minor point, each selection so in tune with your person. You have not the time to think of tangles of the flesh. Your commitment to your duties tops none. Never have I  met another so in alignment with myself.” 

A blunt “huh” came up like a cough from the ranger. 

Argenti took it as a cue to continue. “I spare little time for myself in such ways either. So many need help and to look to the Beauty for guidance in their lives--it is difficult to put oneself in the pursuit of passion, to revel in that as it could muddy the mission. A knight must keep clarity or risk a great and terrible fall to disgrace. But there is no teaching against partaking in the pleasure of the body,” he explained more urgently. His gaze met Boothill’s more firmly at the end of his thought--the look sincere if a bit clouded in something Boothill now recognized as heat. 

His fingertips tightened against his thigh, shoulder locking up as he did. He couldn’t recall what he said in that moment. Had it all mattered that much when everything else changed so catastrophically? Thinking so hard hurt and all he wanted to do was get away from his own memories. 

Maybe he needed that guidance himself in that moment--partake in the beauty of the world as it laid before him. Fleeting, passionate. 

Stupid.

No longer handling his firearm, his right hand reached over and soon brushed fingertips over the warmth of Argenti’s face. Just so, he could sense the heat of the fire in his cheeks. His grasp moved on, the brief softness of his hair--a silky reprieve from his own tangled trusses, a faded recollection refreshed on the sensation of stroking hair into and out of place. It felt good. Argenti felt wonderful. What an oasis in the desert, the feeling of another person without violence! Without repairs! Without anger! 

 His voice steeped in the warmth of the moment, swirling dark and almost sweet,” Partake then. Let me partake a little too.” 

Argenti shuddered--Boothill felt the chill roll up to the knight’s hand as they came to clasp their hands together. Gripped tightly, Argenti’s armored fingers mingled with Boothill’s own metal grasp--their armor grinding together furiously as each man’s free hand became a flurry of movement guided by desire. Still on one knee, Argenti used his lower angle to relieve Boothill of the pants at his ankles, sliding them out of the way before gripping at the upper clasp of his armor to relieve his upper body of such constraints. In return, Boothill pet his fingers through the knight’s hair over and over, murmuring a sweet exclamation now and then as yearning burned through his system. 

With gleaming armor out of the way of his upper body, Argenti could move more closely--the rose red petals of his jacket able to bloom around his waist across the floor at Boothill’s feet. Maybe the Beauty was real and this is what the garden looked like. He wished he were drunker so he could make sense of it all. 

Static memories signposted a pathway of emotions and sensations up to his brain. Firm fingers gripped his thighs so tightly he could almost recall the crush of flesh under such pressure. Wet and slow, he was refreshed of the feeling of another man’s tongue along his inner thigh, growing closer and closer to that sensitive joint between body and limb just to tease there. An electric shiver ran up his spine straight to the back of his head. Some kind of warning clouded his vision: this was no time for that. Gazing through it, he met eyes with the knight briefly before his fingers slid purposefully down his pelvis, cleaving through the curved chassis with powerful intent. 

He had called it nothing and yet the view, the memory of touch, the audacity of it all, fried his brain. His lips parted and out came a noise someone else would label a moan, but he wasn’t going to call it that. He couldn’t stand it. Deeper deeper he fell back into the sofa, clouded eyes following Argenti’s motions--he seemed so sure, the jerk. 

The knight’s fingers massaged over the smooth frame of metal, riding up higher over the plates over his abdomen and back down, the other hand up and down along his hip like a guiding line for his work. Thing of beauty it was, the other man seemed to know how to sail over every inch of his build as if he’d studied it for years. 

It was a little frightening in a way. Did he know? 

A clatter of armor pulls them both into focus--Argenti released some of his lower layers and rose. Bowing before Boothill to meet his eyes now, his fingers warm from their work reach to grasp gently at his cheeks, brushing over his skin approvingly. When he spoke, quiet, a secret shared between them. “Forgive me. To see and feel such a form as your own, I could lose myself in your every inch.” 

Boothill felt a kneejerk response to joke but no joke ever turned up. Melting away in the knight’s hands, feeling more and more like a molten pile of iron by the moment, he could only grin crookedly. “Only so much I can do to return the favor…but if you want it…” 

He lazily raised a hand toward his face, opening his mouth and pointing to the open maw between Argenti’s fingers. At this Argenti leaned in closer, inspecting right away. This was the same mouth he saw chewing bullets not so many hours ago. Here he was considering anyway.

Maybe they were both lost causes. 

“Incredible,” was all the knight had to say at first before sticking a finger in testingly. Was it a reflex test? Boothill had no idea but he at least didn’t bite although rows of sharpened teeth were always a part of the risk. Soon Argenti found what he wanted, Boothill’s tongue as he pressed in upon it. This drew a confused throaty sound out of him before growing sensible enough to curl the desired finding around its seeker. Argenti again murmured “incredible” before pushing a second digit into his maw. Pliant, the ranger took the second and third as further inquiries--each he could pass with a wet exchange from tongue to fingertip. 

Wasn’t much there he could say in return in such a state but a rumble of acceptance and a longwise gaze toward his partner--eyes fixed and hungry. Seemingly satisfied with the reaction, the knight withdrew his fingers with a painfully sluggish pace which made the affair wholly more a mess of spit--or what was kind of like spit. So he’d been told.

In a state of half-unarmored, mostly dressed still, Argenti rose to his full height--attention still cornered by Boothill. Seeing to duties that surely had to be done, the knight began to undress, unbuckling remaining armor, loosening his collar--an agonizing series of tasks at a slower pace than desired. Boothill kicked himself up off the sofa and put his hands on the other as well, helping see to these tasks’ completion with great enthusiasm. 

Crimson cheeked, Argenti held his hands up. “There is an order to these things, my silver cowboy,” he attempted to correct him, but already Boothill had his finer layers cast aside and his undershirt pushed up. Rather than really listening or responding, Boothill whistled. 

“You do got skin under all of that after all,” was the immediate comment. 

“A knight bears himself in regal dress…and suitable armors for safety in battle,” Argenti replied almost as informatively as usual--at least until Boothill’s metal hand made contact with skin and gave him a visible chill. Despite the cold response, his face burned ever brighter. “It is only fair you share the same freedoms, look as you please.” 

Taking that seriously, Boothill helped free Argenti of the close-fitted underarmor, sure to put his long tamed locks of hair back into place behind his back when he stood free of it all. Pants still stood between him and admiring everything, but really seeing Argenti’s skin below his neck shorted his circuits. For the most part the knight looked his part--skin smooth and clear, soft and light just like his face, save a few curious scars. They looked hard-earned, years old but probably painful at the time. The armor probably helped a lot, or was a mistake made and learned from. One sketched across pale skin in parallel with the knight’s Adonis’ belt, like a highlight to his frame but hidden partially by belted pants. Drawn to the rugged scar, his fingers scored along the waist of his counterpart curiously. 

Soft, warm. 

Sensations fizzled through his systems, hazy recollections of sensations borne anew in the moment of pleasure in the other. He was stunning, a marble figure before him yet he could place his hands on him--unlike a museum exhibit. In a quickening passion, his fingers fumbled for the knight’s belt, targeted gaze seeking permission. 

Argenti cast his gaze aside briefly before adjusting his stance awkwardly. At that sign, Boothill caught him by the hips and guided him to sit at his side. Only then did he wrangle the belt loose, going next for the button—his eyes frantically trying not to focus on the bulge nearly under his grasp. 

“You’re actually gettin’ hard from this?” He both observed and questioned. Argenti covered his face with one hand. Not embarrassed entirely so much, perhaps overwhelmed.

“I find you pleasing, my silver cowboy. I’ve never seen intensity in your face quite like this and the feeling of your hands over me… I’d like if you didn’t stop just yet.” Each admittance turned him a touch pinker but by the end he was flourishing in that truth, a radiant confidence overtaking any concerns. 

They entangled closer together on the sofa, Argenti leaning into Boothill’s shoulder as he whispered his name in his ear. Metallic fingers hasten to part the opening of the knight’s pants, pushing them and undergarments halfway down the thighs before simply giving up and actually letting himself take a look. 

To say the knight stood at attention was an understatement. He couldn’t even tear his eyes away at first--he had no clue the other was packing so much heat. In truth, it all made the cowboy a tad self conscious at his own--well, nothing. At least Argenti hardly seemed to mind as his lips seized on that small portion of skin between his neck and jaw--kissing once or twice with a coaxing hum in his voice. 

Compliant, Boothill nudged closer to draw those kisses to his lips instead. Exploratory touches become more feverish as they entwined tongue to tongue--the passing of time and separation of space forgotten. It only took moments for Argenti to draw Boothill into his lap so they could further continue in closer comfort. This brought the smoothed pelvic chassis up against Argenti’s member--the cool metal hardly seeming to be a deterrent in the knight’s quest. 

Argenti took his tongue back briefly to catch the ranger’s gaze--his own fiery with intention reigned back only by pressing questions. “How does that feel?” 

Boothill settled against Argenti’s thighs, his knees locked at his sides to keep them pressed together. It was difficult to ignore the generous length riding up his casing. Just seeing where it would “end” up against his body made him feel like he might turn to a pile of scrap. That couldn’t very well be his answer though. 

“Feels warm…Good. Also good. You’re… You’re really something,” came the words where all others failed him. His arms shifted to wrap around Argenti’s neck, mindful of not tangling his hair in all his joints. That small movement inched him enough to grind him bodily against Argenti briefly--that alone making the knight groan wantingly. 

It was soft, but that sound filled the somewhat embarrassed silence that followed it. Soon enough Argenti pulled himself together well enough to speak. “Apologies. That’s good for me as well...” 

Reading the reply as something between omission and permission, Boothill used a combination of his hold around Argenti’s neck and the power in his hips to grind against his length more purposefully--letting skin slide along the warming metal of his crotch. 

The second groan was more telling than the first, Argenti bowing his head as his chest rose so full and tightened quickly after. 

“Take it I should keep doing that?” Boothill murmured. Hurriedly, Argenti bobbed his head up and down. That was simple enough.

Repeating that himself now, he looped the motion of his hips and thighs to grind up and back down against Argenti’s length--sensation teasing his own sensors as well. Even without any mechanics for this, the erotic flow of his hips and the heated groans from his partner were plenty enough stimulation. It all read the same in his head at this point--even if all it could really do was tease that final leap. Or at least he thought so. Could he cum without anything to cum with? 

That thought didn’t occupy for very long--especially as Argenti tipped his head back and began to faster--and once that was given, more. Short on options, Boothill ran his tongue across his lips and braced himself. Seeing the way Argenti had begun to unravel up against him, how red his face was, how needy that request was, he figured he didn’t have to do the next step for long. 

It was all a matter of getting there. One hand cupped Argenti’s member to his pelvis, rubbing his fingers up and down the length as his hips stopped. Carefully, he drew away, one boot to the ground and then the next as he lowered himself. Eyes full of fascination and heat followed these motions. Argenti sounded so close to finishing--but if Boothill’s body would be edging him by build, the knight could handle a little waiting too. 

Boothill took to his knees on the floor before Argenti, parting his legs and joining his lips to help polish off the knight’s blade. Stupid. He thought it himself and it was stupid. His brain felt like a sea of error messages all popping up along his eyes. Maybe they were. Not that it mattered--he could hardly make sense of what he was really doing anyway. 

His lips parted and began the painstaking task of drawing in as much of Argenti’s length into his mouth as he could get. Every second he thought he was done there was still distance between his lips and his fingers upholding the base. Maybe it was too big? No, this body didn’t have a gag reflex anymore--it ultimately couldn’t matter for him. In a rush he thrust all of the knight into his mouth and drew back again and again in long tongue-tight lashes of his flesh. Down and up again--an easy pattern for a mind cracking apart like glass in a shootout.

Argenti’s hips eased up into his mouth, his thighs tight and almost trembling around the cowboy. One hand clasped over his mouth--making his expression almost one of shock, if it weren’t for the sweet honeyed glaze to his eyes. He moaned softly and sweetly parted his hand to speak blessings for his “silver cowboy.” Red hair pooled around his shoulders and the back of the sofa in a mess--like petals of a rose scattering in the wind. Boothill found him beautiful--even if his angle involved a lot of up and down. 

It occurred to him that this might not last much longer when--as if on cue--he felt a burst travel down his throat. Thank whatever god he didn’t choke anymore. The ranger slowed to a still as Argenti finished rather generously into his mouth. It was enough he parted with a mess at his lips--some of the foreign cocktail still gathering to swallow. Somewhere in the back of his head a warning went off reminding him to not intake too much more than his system could process. He thought he shut that down. 

Ignoring all the warnings, he picked himself up to look over his work. Well worth it too as Argenti had been left panting on the sofa, once tense muscles now fully relaxed and melting away under a buzz of pleasure. A sense of fulfillment washed around the confusing sense of hunger for more--that old drive for more gripping his hips even as he ate up the sight before his eyes. 

Willing to be a bother in that state, he put himself on Argenti’s lap again--face to face as he admired his face. “Hey don’t pass out now,” he teased before reaching to draw his arms around his neck again. To make it a welcome motion, Argenti did the same around Boothill’s back, gathering the slight figure close. 

Pleasantly entangled now, Argenti chuckled with a greatly softened tone from their activities. “I would never. This is a moment to savor.” 

Boothill hated to admit it, but that change in his voice made him ache in places he felt sure he didn’t have anymore. What a sweet sound--one he could commit to memory. Just as he was doing so he paused. Another error? What was it now? 

Before he could get a word out, his vision went black and the sensations of the world cut out sharply.

____

It would be a few hours before he powered back on. Somewhere in their tangle, the plug had been released from his back and the rather overpowering collection of sensations did a number on the low power he’d come in with. No wonder he’d been getting so many warnings--all battery saving stuff. 

Boothill groaned as he had been left laying face down on the sofa--the plug safely and very obviously jutting out of his back like a metal tail. Nearby Argenti made himself at home in a plush red chair--now all washed up from their misadventure and dressed down just to his underarmor. The black fabric clung tight to his body--it made for a good sight--one that Boothill longed to hold and squish under his fingers but that would have to wait. He was charging. 

“Can’t believe I powered off like that…Forkin’ embarrassing…” he muttered, if just to break the silence. 

Argenti laughed pleasantly, not troubled or bothered at all. His hair remained a little damp from the shower and yet still glistened in the hazy hotel lights. “I take responsibility for losing track of your charger in our scuffle. I’ll make sure you’re fully charged and in tip top condition before I release you this time.” 

“Release me? Gonna get all that from me and then chase me off?” Boothill asked only half-jokingly. 

Argenti waved his free hand, the other balancing a cup of warm tea. “Hardly. But you’re a free spirit--not one I should think I could simply pin down. However…if you wish to stick around you are welcome as a guest on My One and Only. In fact…” There the knight stood up, collecting his phone from the table and eventually sitting on the floor next to Boothill so he could more easily show him the face of it as he thumbed through a few things. Eventually after scrolling through a few pages of pictures of somewhat artistic if incomprehensibly random objects and places, there was a flier. 

“Oh, some kinda tournament. That’s where you’re off to next?” 

The knight nodded affirmatively. “Precisely, my silver cowboy. It is my next stop. Perhaps you’d like to join me and test your mettle, as they say.

Boothill’s eyes narrowed on the flier, his recharging brain working double time. “Well, I don’t mind those Xianzhou folk. Wouldn’t hurt to get a little action either.” 

“And there may be someone certified and qualified among the attendees to give you a good looking over. What do you think?” 

Argenti tilted his head, his gaze seeking approval. Hope shimmered in those lovely green eyes of his. That sort of look would be hard to turn down for anyone. But especially for Boothill who just heard him howling a few hours ago. 

“Alright then, consider me your bunkmate for this trip.” With some shuffling he frees one hand from his side and offers it to Argenti. A twinge of amusement sparkled in his eyes before Argenti accepted and shook his hand--working around the awkwardness of their angle. Remaining on the floor sitting nearby, the knight gave Boothill a warm broad smile. Not the same radiant one as always, but one of comfort and familiarity. 

“May Idrila protect us and guide us to a glorious victory--together.”