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Having expectations defied is not something Galaxy Rangers are strangers to. Especially when it comes to preconceived notions about the company that’ll join them from time to time. As individuals that traverse the universe, hopping from one path to another, the Rangers learn that no one is ever as they seem. Brutes who walk the thin line of respectability can prove to bear hearts that shine pure gold. Those who sprinkle their words with sugar and flowers may turn out to be the ones that have poison in their teeth, simply waiting to bite down and dissolve you from the inside out. As vagabonds, the Galaxy Rangers must learn how to break down the brute and see what shines, and know the color and scent of poison before it streams into their veins.
But as far as Boothill could tell, the Astral Express weren’t brutes or faux poets. If anything, Boothill could only describe them to be.. a family.
A very odd one at that. The cowboy is accustomed to plot twists. But he’s not used to being hit with them one after another. He’s had ample time to get to know the Crew, though he’s also had to stop himself from jumping into the rabbit hole that is the Crew. Perhaps he underestimated Dan Heng’s description of them, that boy doesn’t come off as the type to exaggerate or understate his words.
“They’re… interesting to say the least.” He said, though his brows were furrowed, it doesn’t take a cyborg man’s modified eye to see the glint of fondness in the way his lips quirked slightly. “I believe the best way to understand what I mean is to meet them yourself.”
And that’s exactly what Boothill did.
—————
The first was their.. leader? She certainly acted like it. Himeko had an air of elegant professionalism about her, the clacking of her heels gave the sense of power and control, the flowing ends of her gown extravagant and rich, the coat strewn across her shoulders a hint of modesty and sensitivity. Boothill came across her in the Reverie’s VIP Lounge. Since she’s essentially his bro’s boss (read : mom), he should put more effort into making a good impression, no? If the Astral Express suddenly has it out for him, it will be her who initiates the hunt. They meet eyes, and Himeko puts on her best smile, gentle and subtle in its sincerity.
“Ah, you must Boothill, correct?” She stepped away from her spot in the bar, hands humbly clasped.
“Indeed that’s me, er- Miss Himeko.” He nods. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name of the Astral Express’ navigator!” He tips the edge of his hat.
“I must thank you for aiding the Astral Express in their time of need, we’re greatly indebted to you.”
Boothill cannot help but notice the flow of her words. The speed and saccharine tone felt familiar . Who has he heard talk like that, however?
“Ahh, just a ranger doing what rangers do best - upholding their justices.” He replies, brain chip cycling through its own memory bank. “I’ll be sure to pass on a message to the other Galaxy Rangers. If you Astral Express-ers ever need a few bullets to shoot, the Rangers will have a couple rounds saved for ya.”
Their exchanges continue after that. It’s when Himeko invites him over to the bar to further their discussions over Penacony’s finest malts is when he realizes what about her speaking is familiar. It’s the same way those bastards in ties and suits talk . Professional, down-to-business, only a smidge more sincere. Upon this epiphany, Boothill downs more of his drink; almost hoping the intoxication would hit sooner, maybe even enter through his inner cracks and seep through the metal bounds.
When he asks the lady navigator if she’s ever had encounters with the IPC, her answer is vague.
So, did she work for them or not? Boothill doesn’t get an answer.
The woman must’ve sensed something, as she segues into a new topic almost expertly. Had Boothill not been here to simply be on better terms with the intergalactic crew, he would’ve pressed her. Himeko talks of her ragtag group of adventurers, the lilt in her voice indicating she was holding something back.
“You and Dan Heng seem to get along. What do you think of him?” She asks, sipping delicately from her cup.
“He’s a good kid,” Boothill stays aware of what may lie behind her eyes if he says something wrong. “he’s a liiittle icy, but, hey! He thinks good, and he thinks fast! Knowin’ how to keep the mind clear and in order is a skill lots of people underestimate.. I just wish the guy would loosen up and laugh at a joke or two!”
Soft laughter escapes Himeko. It’s not one that’s trying to lure Boothill into invisible strings. The sound of her laugh is fond , like she’s hearing stories of her son’s first day of school.
“That’s Dan Heng for you! It’s just how he is. The ‘ice’ is just a front, I’m sure you know that already.”
Boothill himself, however, isn’t sure if he’s managed to thaw that layer of frost.
Their conversation continues, their drinks are refilled, and Boothill finds himself more comfortable.
It feels like he’s talking to a family friend rather than a businesswoman. Himeko shares a few tidbits of the Trailblazer and what it entails. And Boothill has managed to slip in a few.. Er, comments . Comments of her hair, her dress, her surprisingly fine taste in alcohol ( truly, she seemed more than a wine person. ), and of course, her efforts of keeping the Crew together.
…The malt must surely be hitting now, right?
Himeko says something, and Boothill blindly goes along with it, nodding along to a pretty lady’s words without much thought.
Yep, the alcohol has definitely hit .
He’s not sure when or how, but Miss Himeko.. Had brought coffee. Her eyes are expectant when she slides the small cup over to him. Her hands fidget when Boothill finally takes hold of it. When he raises the cup to his face, it’s like the mere stench of it sobers him. It smells bitter . And when he jostles the cup slightly, he notices the almost oily sheen of the coffee’s black surface. The “liquid” doesn't ripple, and Boothill is suddenly tensing and wondering if this was an assassination attempt.
Himeko is still looking at him. And she’s waiting for him to take a sip .
And so, he does.
…
…
Everything went black.
————
The next Crew member was the man he tried to get the Reverie’s receptionist to call to confirm his identity; Welt Yang.
“He can be a little intimidating, but he is the eldest and wisest of the Astral Express.” Dan Heng once mentioned. “He’s easy to get along with. As long as you pose no threat, Mr. Yang will be happy to make your acquaintance.” Those words repeating in his brain do nothing to stop the mechanical chill that rises and reverberates throughout his plating when the man shifts his gaze to him.
Eyebrows furrowed, mouth in a constant frown, eyes sharp and discerning. Boothill is glad Dan Heng said what he said. Otherwise, he would’ve had his hand glued to his gun’s grip through this entire exchange. He doesn’t look that old , Boothill thinks, his focus landing upon gray strands. When Welt steps forward, Boothill can feel himself tense. It’s like gravity itself has been altered, chaining him to the ground. Even if Boothill does not necessarily ‘breathe’ , he feels like the air around him has dissipated, and he’s drowning. Firm thuds of dress shoes and the sound of an otherworldly cane are like church bells chiming, announcing Boothill’s.. Execution? Interrogation? He’s not sure, but he just knows it's bad.
Welt is now in close proximity, eyes scanning Boothill’s figure.
“Boothill, right?” that gravelly, airy tone of voice is laced with danger , and one of Boothill’s hands finds itself latching into his belt.
“That’s me alright.” Nobody is as they seem , he repeats in his head.
Welt hums, like the low rumbling of an earthquake. Truly, Boothill’s metal skin feels like it’s caving in on itself from the pressure, about to break and melt.
Then, the old man’s gaze softens.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard many stories of the Galaxy Rangers. Never thought I’d see the day where I get to meet one, though.” He smiles and offers a hand.
“Uhhh, likewise..” the cowboy shakes his hand. Does the smile mean he doesn’t see him as a threat? Boothill sure hopes so, this ‘Welt Yang’ doesn’t look like someone he’d wanna aggravate.
The two move to a seated area in the Reverie Hotel, a little far from the music and drinks, where Welt practically bombards him with questions of the Galaxy Rangers. ‘How does one become a Galaxy Ranger?’ ‘What does being a Galaxy Ranger entail?’ ‘What does being a Galaxy Ranger mean?’ ‘What does it mean for you?’
Feels like an interrogation . Not the first time, but still. Boothill answers each question with detail and drawl, watching how the older man taps his cane or adjusts his glasses.
The cowboy shifts in his seat, crossing his legs to find more comfort.
The conversation ( more like criminal background check) goes on, and Boothill feels as though he’s managed to get a glimpse of true Welt Yang. When Boothill answers a question, the longer the response is, the more Welt seems interested. He does not interrupt, he does not press further than he needs to. He asks, gets answered, and moves on to the next question.
When Boothill talks about the Galaxy Rangers he has met, he notices the almost childlike glint in the older man’s eyes.
Ah. That’s why he’s so curious.
It suddenly makes this conversation far easier to deal with, the old man just wants to hear stories about these legendary folks. How they rain down justice upon those who tread their line and cross it. How they appear on planets, submerging themselves into the shadows, only to come out and shine like the brightest stars for the most fleeting of moments, then fade away into the cosmos.
Welt nods along, memorizing even the way Boothill stammers or lengthens his vowels.
The talk then takes a turn, and Welt starts asking about Boothill himself. Specifically about his robot body. At first, the cowboy is apprehensive. Sensitive topic.. but Welt doesn’t ask anything too personal like how this came to be. Instead, Welt is interested in the mechanics of it all. How odd, Boothill did not take the man to be so interested in cyborg modifications.
One moment, he’s sitting down across from Welt. The next moment, the older man is beside him, inspecting his left arm.
“ Fascinating ,” Welt murmurs, spinning the gun barrel popping out of Boothill’s forearm. “And this requires its own set of bullets?”
“Yep, it’s uh.. Pretty explosive when it shoots.”
“Mm.” He nods. He allows Boothill to snap the barrel back into place with a spin, and sits back down to his original seat.
“Hah, gotta say, Mr Yang. Didn’t think you were the type to be interested in mechanical engineerin’.” he crosses his arms.
Welt chuckles. “I’ll admit, I do have an interest in cartoons that feature robots and the like. And…” Welt looks at his own gloves hand, adjusting the silver ring on his fourth finger. “..My wife was a very talented engineer.”
Well, that’s unexpected.
“Really now?” Boothill softens his tone.
“Mhm.” There's an unmistakable glaze in the older man's eyes. “She made all sorts of things. Vehicles, weapons, mechs.. She even modified a bunch of our home appliances because she felt her ideas were far more practical..” He chuckles, a somber sound.
Mr Yang's a family man , a plot twist Boothill welcomes. Even just hearing the way his voice trails into that nostalgic edge brings Boothill into his own state of reminisce.
“She's truly one of a kind..”
How far was the old geezer, then? From his home? From his wife? Boothill's not clear on the details of how each Astral Express member came to be, and how they set foot on the legendary train, but.. For Welt Yang, does he consider the train his new home? Or is the man hoping that one day, their next stop is wherever his family is? Boothill grows quiet. He wasn't expecting to sympathize with such an old soul.
“Ah, my apologies, Mr. Boothill. I didn't mean to upset you.”
“Upset me? Nah, you're fine.” Boothill looks up to the ceiling. “I get it. Home is.. Far away.” He thinks of Graey and Nick. “And sometimes, thinkin’ about being so far away is.. Upsettin’.” He thinks of his siblings. “But what are we mortals to do but.. Leave the past to the past?”
He misses his daughter.
“..We move forward.” Welt straightens his back. “We leave the past to the past, and move forward.” He smiles.
Boothill wishes, for this one moment, that he could feel a heart pumping blood, just so he could feel its warmth. “..Exactly! Well said.”
—————
In every family, there were the parents, then the kids. Well, the first ‘kid’ that he meets is the one Dan Heng warns him the most about. Atleast, by comparison.
“She's a nice girl, and I have no doubts you'll get along with her.” He says, sincere enough. “But the problem lies with your endurance .”
“Endurance? What's she gonna do, battle me to the death?” Boothill jokes, but like every other joke he's spoken to Dan Heng, the boy only blinks.
“Boothill,” His tone has gone cold out of the blue. “with what you're about to go through.. I'd say death would be more liberating.”
What does that even mean?
“Boothill, Boothill, over here!” March 7th bounces with her camera in hand. Boothill doesn't get a moment to react before a flash envelops his vision and blinds him. He hears a giggle, then the sound of whirring.
“Miss March, urgh..” The cowboy massages his eye, his eyesight coming back to him after a quick refresh of his sensors. “A little- err.. Consideration with the warnin's, please.” The girl walks over to him, rapidly flicking the Polaroid in her hand.
“Such a raw, off-guard reaction.. I like it!” She exclaims, sun rays practically bouncing off of her. “This is definitely going into the data bank!”
An hour prior, March 7th had urged the cowboys into meeting with her in the Moment of Dusk. It took a while to figure out how to get there, and it took even longer to finally find the girl amidst the sea of shoppers and sentient advertisement boards. This place was just. One. Giant . Mall. The young girl said that the best way for them to get along was a shopping spree. Horse hockey , Boothill mutters upon hearing. What did he do anyway? He went along with her.
“Oh yeah!” March 7th exclaims. “There was this store I saw last time I came here- they have a new limited flavor of ice cream every 24 system hours! We should totally go check it out!” Before Boothill can say his piece, the girl takes a firm hold on the cowboy's wrist, excitedly dragging him down the wide yet winding halls. Due to the height difference, he's moving forward while bent over. A stranger nearly knocks his hat off, and he hastily manages to catch it.
“Now wait just a—”
“C'monn! We gotta get it before it runs out! I missed out on it last time, I'm not missing out again!”
This girl.. He can't keep up with her! She's a battery that keeps charging, a sugar rush that never ends, a bright ball of energy that Boothill cannot even hope to match.
Within what felt like seconds, Boothill is now standing in line at some sort of ice cream store. Arms crossed, tapping his foot, while the young girl beside her is practically shaking with excitement.
“So uh.. What's the limited flavor today?” He asks behind gritted teeth.
March checks her phone. “Something called a Sundrop Mango Sunrise with Sundew Syrup !” The line moves, Boothill pressing a hand to March's back to keep her moving. “It looks so good in the pictures!” she raises her phone screen to him, Boothill has to squint to see it properly. “I bet it tastes amazing!” She squeals.
“It sure is.. An Ice cream..” Boothill can already feel his teeth rotting away just thinking about it.
The line moves again, Boothill once again having to push March for her to step forward. It feels more instinctual this time.
“Do you want me to get you one too, Boothill?” She asks.
Say no. Say no! You probably can't get diabetes, but do you really wanna risk it?!
“.. Sure!” Boothill nearly lets the cringe crack through his face. How could he say no? The girl's eyes are color and practically sparkling . She's having fun, he can't just take that away.
“(What is goin’ on, cowboy?? You ain't this soft and you know it!)” Boothill's consciousness screams.
“Great!” March nods, and the line moves again. And it moves again and again and again, until March and Boothill reach the counter. She says their orders without missing a beat, the girl adding a side of fries to her own. The order is completed and given in an instant, a pair of disembodied puppet hands giving them the food.
They leave the line and the store all together. The sight is almost comical. Boothill, styled in hard, cold, dark fashion.. Holding an ice cream cone that looked like it was vomited out by a unicorn.
“Let's sit over there!” March points to a nearby table, possibly one of the only ones left that were unoccupied.
They sit, Boothill staring at the frozen dessert like it's some sort of alien creature - one that he's not sure he wants to let go or put out of its misery.
“What's wrong?” March asks.
“I'm just.. Uh..” What can he say that's not too upsetting?
Since when has he cared about upsetting anyone? He's always prided himself on being brutally honest..
“ Can I even eat this? Haha- I mean.. I'm a cyborg!”
“Yeah, but this is a dream! You can do anything here! If you really want to, you can eat!” She's not wrong.
Boothill glances at the ice cream, then March, then the ice cream again, then March again. She's smiling expectantly.
“Well? Go on!”
Boothill swallows and reluctantly opens his mouth, and as soon as he takes a bite..
Flash! A white light blinds him temporarily.
“Hey waid a gosh darn–” Boothill rasps, words muffled by the ice cream.
March howls with laughter, this time taking a picture with her phone rather than her polaroid camera.
“I am so sending this to Dan Heng!” She snickers, fingers typing away at her keyboard.
“You sneaky little..” Boothill can't help but smile at the girl's cheekiness, despite the embarrassment she's causing him. “You can't just take pictures outta the blue like that, kiddo!” His tone isn't angry at all. In fact, it's.. What is it?
March snorts, unimpressed with Dan Heng's lackluster reaction of a thumbs up emoji, but amused by her messing with the cowboy. “Sorrryy~” She doesn't even try to hide the insincerity. “I promise I'll warn you next time!”
“You better, girl.” Boothill chuckles, taking another bite of his ice cream without thinking.
“So..?” March puts her phone away. “How is it? Does it taste good?” Her grin widens.
Huh. He was.. Actually eating it. Without. Thinking..?
“It's..” Boothill takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “It's good. ” He replies. “It's real good, actually!” a timid smile quirks his lips.
When he takes another bite, he's excited to taste it again. Let the flavors overtake his senses. Is it sweet beyond compare? Absolutely . But when the girl across from him laughs and cheers “I knew you'd like it!” Boothill cannot help but indulge her further and keep eating.
Something thrums through him. Something he thought he'd never feel again.
Something bittersweet in its nature.
“Oh my gosh, I can't believe I forgot!” March stands up from her seat. “Boothill, give me your phone for a sec.”
“Uh, sure. What for?” He fishes it out of his pocket. March snickers when she sees he hasn't set a lock on it. She swipes the screen a few times, and bends her knees and gets close to Boothill.
“Say ‘ice cream’!” She smiles for the camera.
Click !
“There! I almost forgot to take a selfie, can you believe that?” She saves the picture onto his phone and gives it back to him.
“Now, you too can have a memory!” She returns to her seat and chomps away at her fries and ice cream, squealing and praising its flavor with each dive in.
Boothill blinks. He watches the girl eat, sees bits of ice cream get stuck on her cheeks or at the edge of her lips. Hears her cheerful little remarks and giggles.
He knows what this feeling is now.
It's the same pride and fulfillment he had felt..
When that lovely little girl learned to walk for the first time, carrying herself into her father's arms, and the father's unending praise.
He now then wonders, between the biting and chewing of his cone, if things went a little differently.. Would the girl in front of him right now be the girl that's long gone?
Would he be here, in this grand illusory mall, following his little girl's lead and going along with whatever she wanted?
Would he be hearing ‘dad, look over here!’ Or ‘dad, I want this one!’, and spoiling her to her heart's content?
Would he be here, sharing ice cream and playing pranks on each other and taking pictures?
He ponders.
Ponders, ponders and ponders..
“..Boothill?” March calls out, breaking the cowboy out of his trance.
“Yeah?”
“Are you.. Okay?” March frowns. “You're.. Crying..”
Boothill swipes a thumb over his eye. It's black. “Aw, no, don't worry Miss March. It's..” He wipes it on his vest. “Just an oil spill.”
Just an oil spill.
—————
They say never meet your heroes. Idols and inspirations almost always have a second face, one that doesn’t shine as brightly, one that is uglier than the facade they put up when they’re in the spotlight. Never meet your heroes, for they may actually be villains underneath the shallow waters of gold, bloody dirt hiding underneath its surface. Boothill is familiar with these notions, he’s familiar with the act of loading a bullet into someone he once respected.
But here- or rather, they - were different.
“Dan Heeeengg! Help!!” Caelus yells. They’re kneeling on the pavement, next to a trash bin, arm stuck in the rectangular slot. Boothill can only pretend to be an unfortunate passerby as the boy’s incessant shouting is attracting wayward gazes.
Dan Heng massages the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. “I’ve got you.” He says, begrudgingly walking towards the comical scene. Caelus flails their legs like an impatient child, Dan Heng kneeling down and taking hold of their shoulder. “How did- no, why did you do this?”
“The real question is how could I not?! This is the Land of Dreams, there’s probably all sorts of dream treasures waiting to be uncovered!” Caelus huffs proudly.
“ Caelus . There’s only dream trash .” The guard manages to slide the stellaron’s arm out of the bin’s slot, letting out another tired groan.
“Blegh, so close minded.. You clearly haven’t been enlightened yet.”
“I’m not, and I don’t want to be.”
Caelus wiggles their freed arm, as if wanting to see if it still worked.
Boothill clears his throat, catching the attention of the two youngsters. “So uh.. is this some sorta.. Hobby of yours, hero?” He tries to stay polite. The cowboy can hardly believe the sights he’s been seeing. He knew the famed Caelus of the Astral Express was a bit of a goofer (flashback : “Fork, huh? I myself prefer spooning!”) But.. This young lad is something else entirely. Boothill isn’t sure how to describe it but..
Caelus is more reminiscent of a hyperactive creature than a person..
“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure!” They jump up into their feet, chest puffed and arms crossed, confident.
“Dontcha think you’re takin’ that a little too seriously?”
Dan Heng brushes off a candy wrapper off of Caelus’ shoulder before casting his gaze to Boothill and shaking his head.
“Don’t try and reason with them. Trust me, I’ve tried.” The two youngsters shoot each other a glance. Some sort of Astral Express telepathy, Boothill guesses.
The cowboy whistles. “Anyway, Caelus ,” Boothill doesn’t miss the whisper of ‘Dan Heng, he said my name!’ . “You said you needed my help with somethin’?”
Caelus nods, humming. “Well, it’s more like I’m just curious..” they giggle. “A friend of mine asked for some help a little while ago.. She says she was handling a shipment that came from reality when a wild pack of the Dreamjolt Troupe attacked!” Caelus recalls with vigor, Boothill takes note ; Caelus is very expressive. Not just with their voice or tone, but with their body as well. When Caelus talks about their errand, they make dozens of gestures, acting out whole scenes with just their arms and fingers. Dan Heng standing still as a statue is a good comparison. “She had to drop the shipment in order to escape, but now the Troupe has the store’s stock! Now, I normally would be able to handle this on my own (heh) , but then I realized..” golden eyes shift and sparkle at the cowboy. “I’ve never seen Boothill in action before!”
Certainly unexpected. “Ah- me??”
“Yeah!! I’ve heard so much about you from the IPC broadcasts! Moving in the shadows before making a big scene, drawing your gun in the blink of an eye..” Caelus imitates the movement, hips jutting out, fingers flexing by their pants pocket. “Then, BANG BANG BANG! ” Their fingers curl into the shape of a gun, aiming and shooting at nothing. “And they’re dead!”
Boothill catches Dan Heng’s chuckle and smile, as well as the slightest bit of warm colors in his cheeks. Ah, so that’s what gets the boy to laugh! Caelus continues, “But I haven’t seen any of that in action yet!”
“Hah, so, what? You want me to come along witcha on your little side quest just so you can see me rootin’, tootin’ and shootin’ up bad guys?” Boothill laughs, in awe of the boy’s enthusiasm.
“Pleeaasee? I’ll give you half of the reward money!” Caelus negotiates by clasping their hands and pouting like a kicked puppy.
Boothill clicks his tongue, delving into his thoughts. He looks to Dan Heng.. Well, not sure what he was looking for there. The boy just stares blankly. Caelus has gone onto their knees, shimmying closer to Boothill’s legs.
“Ah, fudge it, why not? Come on now, on your feet!” He pulls Caelus up by the hand, the grin he receives is a near blinding one. Golden Hour doesn’t have a sun, but with Caelus here, it might as well have one in its crowds.
“With all you've done for the Galaxy Rangers, this is probably the least I can do to return the favor.”
The Stellaron hops up and down. “Thank you, thank you!” They whip around and turn their attention to Dan Heng. “You coming with us, babe?”
Babe?
Dan Heng nods. “I was planning on tagging along anyway.”
Babe???!!
“Woooo! Let’s go, then!” Caelus skips forward, past a stunned Boothill, and Dan Heng follows shortly, huffing in content.
BABE?! Boothill snaps out of his shock, spurs jingling as he catches up to Dan Heng, catching his attention via shoulder nudge.
“So, wait, are you and that Stellaron..” as soon as he trails off Boothill sees the gradual reddening of the younger man’s ears. Aw.
“Er, yes.. I failed to mention it earlier, but yes. Caelus is m-my romantic partner.” Dan Heng swallows, avoiding eye contact.
“Sheesh! You’ve got game, bro!” Boothill grins. Dan Heng’s lips quirk. “So, how long has it been?” Oh, how juicy.
“8 months.”
“Uh huh.. Sure I’m not intrudn’ on anything? Y’know, I’ve been meetin’ up with all the other Astral Express-ers on my own, but you really wanted to come along on this one..”
Dan Heng’s nose crinkles. He must’ve caught on with the cowboy’s schemes. The sheet -eating sharp toothed grin is an even obvious indicator. “It's- it’s not like that.. I’m accompanying you as a.. supervisor of sorts. Caelus is a loose cannon. They do things on impulse and drag along others in their proximity.”
“Mhm.” Boothill doesn’t buy it.
“I’m just here to make sure Caelus doesn’t get you dismantled or cause you trouble you didn’t ask for.” His shoulders tense.
“What’re you guys whispering about??” Caelus says from behind. Boothill screams, nearly drawing his gun out of pure shock, Dan Heng stiffening and stopping dead in his tracks.
“How the-?! Weren’t you just leadin’ us?! How’d ye—”
Caelus only replies with sparky laughter, little snorts scattered about. They retake their former position on the front, leading their little troupe through lively crowds. “Was that more secret bro talk I can’t know about?” They lilt.
“It was nothing.” Dan Heng replies.
“Mm, I’ll take your word for it- ah right, she said take a right here..”
The rest of the ‘mission’ goes without a hitch, only a few confused hiccups along the way. Caelus knew the entirety of Golden Hour like they built it themselves, and very generously showed the other two a secret passageway into Dream’s Edge, which had been closed off last Boothill checked.
Caelus truly was an anomaly. Just a system hour and a half ago, the boy was goofing around, getting their arm stuck in a trash bin, spouting incoherent nonsense and expecting the cowboy to understand. But when they fight.. Oh boy , it’s a sight. Their comical exterior sheds like snake skin, and Boothill swore he hallucinated his blood rushing when he saw the fire in that kid’s eyes.
Every now again, amidst smashing sentient television screens and getting soaked in SoulGlad from exploding golden hounds, Boothill would compliment Caelus’ skill, and the starry eyed gremlin would come back for a split second before it switches back to the hot-blooded fighter. He watched the way that baseball bat glowed, Boothill wondering if that Stellaron inside them actually powered the damn thing.
The two even conducted a little experiment, Boothill unloading a bullet from his barrel, tossing it to Caelus for them to hit a home run straight into a flying mask. This kid was talented.
Bullets are fired, loud metal clanking of a bat absolutely decimating the cartoonist fiends. Though there is no real blood spilt, the electric sparks and smell of sugary SoulGlad is enough to emulate the rush of it.
With that, the deed is done! Dan Heng truly did take on the role of supervisor, after all. Only watching from afar, throwing a spear or two had one of them been careless. Boothill blows away smoke from his gun, giving it a dramatic spin as he sheathes it. He grunts as Caelus collides with him, arms wrapping around cold metal and squealing like a schoolgirl.
“ Aaaaa!! Boothill, you were so cool!” They jump up and down. “You’ve got- like- double guns ?! One inside your arm and the other- AAH !! I’m so happy!!” They nuzzle their cheek on his shoulder.
“I'm– I’m uh-” Boothill stammers. He can hardly feel Caelus outside of vibrations, but he can’t say he finds the near crushing force of their arms comforting, nor can he say he enjoys being rocked back and forth with the boy’s jumping and hasty movements. “Shucks, I’m real flattered, hero, but ah..”
Dan Heng comes to the rescue, peeling Caelus off of the cowboy.
“Show a little restraint, Cae.” He sighs, though the curved line of a smile can be seen.
“Dan Heng!” Caelus spreads their arms and goes in for a hug, but Dan Heng moves backwards enough to be out of reach. “What-”
“I don’t want you touching me when you’re covered in SoulGlad.”
Caelus deflates . That’s the only way Boothill can describe the devastated whine and the slumped shoulders. “Let’s get this over with.” Dan Heng walks over the dismantled pieces of the Dreamjolt Troupe over to a small pile of cardboard boxes, the logo of an unfamiliar store plastered on its side. There’s three, how convenient.
Dan Heng takes one into his arms, a pouting Caelus does the same, and so does Boothill.
They make their way back to Golden Hour, and Boothill hears Caelus say, with unforeseen pettiness;
“You’re not getting any kisses until we wake up and go back to the Express.”
There’s a shocked, disappointed look on Dan Heng’s face, almost offended . Boothill nearly howls in laughter at the sight. The guard, however, remains silent and maintains his calm demeanor.
“You’re not going to say anything about that?” Caelus presses, trying to get more of a reaction.
“We’ll have a nice long chat about this after.” Dan Heng says, blank and cold. Caelus ‘ hmph’ s at this.
The pouty face drops in an instant as the Stellaron instead distracts themselves with Boothill’s company. That sunny smile returns.
“So, Boothill, what do bullets taste like?”
The cowboy takes a moment to reply, startled. “..And why do you want to know that?”
“Because! I wanna eat one.”
—————
Boothill sighs, taking off his hat as he finds himself returning to the Reverie VIP Lounge, enjoying the exquisite burn of an expensive booze sizzling the back of his throat. It’s been a long week..
And yet, just when he thought he was alone,
“Didn't think you’d be back here.” He calls, taking another sip of his beverage.
“I’m just checking in.” Dan Heng rasps. The state of his voice causes Boothill to pause. There is the slightest bit of a slur, his texture more airy than usual.
The cowboy looks back.
“What happened to ya, bro?” He chuckles. “You look like you’ve been dragged backwards through a hedge!”
Dan Heng’s hair is sticking out from all sorts of angles, his jacket is creased, one sleeve nearly falling off his shoulder, and there’s the telltale signs of a flush. “..I sorted a few things out with Caelus. Nothing serious.” He wipes something from his mouth.
Boothill invites the youngster to take a seat beside him, and the man obliges.
“The Astral Express will be departing from Penacony in a few hours. I just wanted to have a chat with you again.”
“Aw, well ain’t that nice.” Boothill smiles, perhaps he’s managed to melt just a little bit of that icy exterior after all. “You’re real lucky, kid. Travellin’ the cosmos with a Crew as tight knit as a family. Treasure it. You've got somethin’ that's irreplaceable.”
Dan Heng huffs, a knowing glint in his eye. “Thank you, I will.” He says anyway. Dan Heng calls over the bartender to order a drink. Boothill mocks him a little when the option he asks for is a non-alcoholic one.
“What are you still doing here, anyway?”
Boothill clicks his tongue. “I’ve just got some.. Unfinished business, is all. There’s someone on Penacony I’m.. interested in.” He says, with venom.
Dan Heng’s eyes narrow.
In the corner of Boothill’s eye, there’s an unfamiliar man with a purple head o’ hair. Judging by the way his head is slightly tilted from a book made of stone, he’s listening.
“..But that’s all I can say.”
Dan Heng hums, seemingly caught on as his drink arrives. The man with purple hair shuts his book with a concrete thud and leaves, presumably going to his hotel room. Fortunately- or perhaps un fortunately, the man’s room isn’t in the direction he had hoped for. He still takes note of it anyway.
“On another note, Boothill.” Dan Heng grabs his attention.
“Yeah?”
“I know with the Astral Express’ trailblazing, and your nature as a Galaxy Ranger that our chances of meeting again are.. slim, to say the least. So, I’d like to ask,” Dan Heng pulls out his phone. “Can I have your number,
bro?”