Living that cryptid life

The swamp was certainly one of the worst spots to search for a bounty. The air was muggy; there was that squishy sensation of wet and mud in every step, and that caution of everything that could kill with teeth, claws, or poison, and if somehow none of that got someone, the people living here might.

Viktor was crouched behind a tree stump with his carbine resting on top of it, lining up the sight toward a dimly lit camp with an annoyed huff. His clothes were drenched in that gross, sticky wetness of the bog after traversing through it with Blake, who thought the shortcut was more necessary to take than the path with the horses.

'They'll expect us coming from the trail,' he said, to which Viktor retorted that with the lanterns off on their horses, they'd practically blend into the darkness and could still leave them behind once they were close enough to circle around the area, but no...

No, tying the horses up to avoid them getting spooked by the gators so they could sneak through the dangerous wetland themselves and get filthy in the process was a better idea. Even after Blake tripped on something and lost his gun in the process, he still had the nerve to say it was still fine when dumping the water out of his boots as he sat on a rock, as if it were a natural thing that happened.

"Take my volcanic." Viktor sighs, knowing Blake was going to need more than just a knife and fists in case things went badly. Although Blake opposed the idea because the guns would be wet, he is thankful he brought them along.

The bounty they were looking for wasn't going to be leaving the camp any time soon, so Blake could complain about cleaning the water out of the weapons all night if he wanted. Viktor didn't care; it's what he gets for dragging him along into a swampy adventure.

While Blake didn't mind how dirty he was or the things that got stuck to him, Viktor was the complete opposite and hated feeling grimy.

Viktor keeps his sights on the camp as he hears Blake approach from behind and turns his body to angle his gun holster toward him.

Blake crouches and watches the camp next to Viktor before reaching out to grab the weapon.

Except the hand never hits the holster, it grabs a handful of fabric between Viktor's legs instead, and to make the mistake even worse, the hand continued to pat around the area like it knew it missed, probably by mere inches.

"That's not my pistol." Viktor snorts, unable to hold back how hilarious this brief moment was. It was dark, yes. Both bounty hunters had nothing to light up the area to see without revealing their position to the target, but this was just...

The hand freezes, and Viktor can hear Blake's breathing hitch before pulling away to stand up, turn, and walk toward the swamp without a single word.

i have made an artfight account

oh, so that's who you've been texting?

funny how you smile like that for them.

i didn't realize they were suddenly your favorite person.

you talk about them a lot.

i'm not jealous. i'm annoyed.

you never answer my messages that fast.

i don't care who you spend time with.

i'm trying not to make this a thing.

i guess i missed the part where they became a part of everything.

right. i'm sure you two are just friends.

i don't like the way they look at you.

i hate how much i care about this.

what's so interesting about them?

did they have to touch you like that?

am i interrupting something?

i didn't realize i was competing for your attention tonight.

sure. go sit with them.

i can leave if you'd rather spend time with them.

seems like you remember everything they tell you.

you could have told me they were staying.

i'm not upset.

they really don't know how to stop touching you, huh?

you didn't even notice i left.

if they're so great, maybe you should go talk to them instead.

tell me i'm imagining it.

just tell me there's nothing going on, and i'll drop it.

i wish i didn't care so much.

i know i'm being unreasonable. i don't care.

you just tolerate me, don't you? i see how you look at them.