( @ofcromwell​ )
boot hill has treated hector kindly. the citizens of the cities he used to roam, they saw only a street kid with sticky fingers and a chattering jaw, they saw something in him that projected trouble. in boot hill, they’ve all smiled at him, made him feel welcome, taken care of him when his wallet has been light (metaphorically, as hector doesn’t own a wallet) and his luck has been down. the receptionist at the motel, she’s even let him stay an extra night since he can’t pay his bill at the moment—he’ll find a way, he always does, but for now, he’s been coasting on charm. the aisles of the calhoun general store aren’t exactly bare, but they’re not filled up like he imagines they might’ve been in previous years. he overheard the cashier mumble something about bj’s up the street—a name that caused hector to snort, muffling it with his hoodie sleeve as he was eavesdropping—stealing their customers away but the store looks like something out of a western movie set, doesn’t really project bustling business. so, with the bare selection of items and old-timey appearance, hector thinks there’s no harm in stealing, there’s barely anything in there anyways!
swiping the packet of gummy bears (stealing dictates availability, not necessity) off of the shelf, hector moves quietly and casually, acting as if he’s just perusing the aisles for a snack—which he is, but he has to look like a paying customer. it’s when he has his fingers on a rice krispies treat, clearly intending to stuff it into his pocket, that he realizes there are eyes on him. he looks back at him, brows raising. “what? i’m gonna pay for it. just in there for safe keeping.” he claims, referencing the products bulging from his pockets.
