CROWBAR HOTEL'S RACCOON

Boothill from Honkai Star Rail Selective & Independent Penned by Ree

[crackshct]

Hiatus Notice 5/27/26

As much as I have loved writing Boothill for a little over a year now, I've found that transitioning this blog to indie has been hindered by my disinterest in HSR post-Penacony and being generally unhappy with the characters and direction HSR has been going since Amphoreus. When the rpc seems to be made up primarily of Amphoreus blogs, I've been unmotivated for a while to actually do much networking.

I haven't had any active threads in a while, but this notice is for anyone who happens to find this blog after this point. Don't expect activity for the indefinite future.

As of 5/27/26, my active blogs are:

@aarnivalkie : Flins (multipara/novella, selective) @dukemeropide : Wriothesley (multipara/novella, friends only)

[generalforesight]

𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝐴𝑟𝑒 𝐷𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 | 𝗃𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗎𝖺𝗇/𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗅𝗅 | 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗈𝖻𝗈𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝗆

[generalforesight]

“Dimension warping is not as far-fetched as it seems given the damage this planet has endured.” There wasn’t any reason to disagree with the ranger’s initial assessment. As well traveled as he must be, his opinion held more weight than most. “Few records survived the first fall of Jarilo-VI, and its people have been confined to the areas surrounding the city for generations.” The terrain that rose around them was foreign, was something pulled from luxury destinations and storybook idealism. From this far, Jing Yuan could see the fluttering of leaves as invisible animals rushed through the branches. The presence of life should be something to soothe uncertainty…but here it only stoke the fire of unease.

If they had transported leagues across the planet, a few bruises would be the least of their worries. Fishing his phone from his pockets, Jing Yuan’s calm expression settled in place. “No signal either.” The familiar screen settings are unchanged, but the few messages he attempts to send yield an immediate error. He turned his phone screen toward Boothill before putting it away.

It would be too easy to assume that someone would notice them missing. Bending toward the crystal, Jing Yuan’s back already ached from previous impact. Despite this, he kept his movements slow, brushing the glowing crystal with the pads of his fingertips. The aura it gave washed over his skin like water running toward a shore. “It's warm.” It shouldn’t be. “Almost as if it contains a heart that beats.”

Unfortunately, it' was otherwise silent, thrumming against his palm in a way that conjured more questions than it answered. Brows pinching together in thought, he let his mind wander to their previous field of battle. “Unrecognizable…” He muttered, casting a sideways glance toward his temporary friend before his boots mold into the place where they initially fell. It made it more difficult to trace their previous movements, feet pacing to where Jing Yuan might have stood after he’d arced away from an enemy’s sword. Two paces left, a stagger, a change of direction to accommodate an ally’s open back— If there were not now small trees in the way of his mental walkthrough he’d be following along to chart a specific position.

Pivoting to the left, the position of the sun helped too, seemingly in the same place where they’d left it before the fall. “Belobog should be this way, if we are to follow our footsteps.” Boothill’s arm still unresponsive, but it was better than needing to be carried. How did the Ranger get around without carrying his own set of tools? Was he so confident in his abilities that he assumed he wouldn’t need a regular man’s supplemental healing supplies? The general let his eyes close to hide interest, “With any luck, we’ll find what we need to repair you and find someone who knows about this.” If not that… then a nice, warm bed. Truthfully, he’d trade either for temporary rest, laying his palm over his eyes as if it would chase fatigue rather than invite it closer. The battle had not been a brief one. “If my calculations are correct, then you’ll be good as new by nightfall.”

[crackshct]

"Well, I ain't never trusted luck, but," Boothill's eye swept up over Jing Yuan's head toward the mountains in the distance, then farther still to the sky white with snow clouds and the sun trying its best to burn a hole through them, "looks like we don't don't got a choice."

He puzzled over the placement of the sun for a moment, same as the General had just a few seconds ago. It felt like he should have been knocked cold longer than he had been. For an enemy to tossing him around so thoroughly that he wound up on his ass under a snowdrift - if he hadn't been able to pop right back out again and load the guy full of lead, then he really had to have unconsciousness for a minute at least. And then there were those trees that had popped up all over the plains. If the rest of the planet was supposed to be uninhabitable, it didn't look that bad to him.

"'nough standin' around 'n thinkin'," he announced suddenly, more to himself than his partner. The brown tip of an eagle feather peeking through the snow caught his eye and he dug down into the pile to pull his old, slightly damp hat out from under it, swiping it against his leg a few times to clean it off and get it back into its usual slouchy shape.

"If Jarilo-IV's civilization's all concentrated around Belobog, then we got a heck of a walk ahead of us." He strode past the general in the opposite direction that the sun was setting, sweeping his attention back and forth across the plains for sign of their previous attackers, or any life at all, really. "... This place don't look like it's seen a human in years. My battery's good for a few more days, but you ain't like me." As he settled his hat back on his head with his good hand, he looked over his shoulder to fix Jing Yuan with a sharp, meaningful look. "You still gotta eat, and this cold ain't showin' any mercy once the sun's all gone."

[mydcimos]

「 ♆ 」 𝘔𝘰𝘭ṑ𝘯 𝘭𝘢𝘣é

abundance commission [ mydei | boothill ]

[mydcimos]

In Castrum Kremnos, the signs and sounds of battle were commonplace. The metal tang of blood ever present even if the walkways were pristine, immaculately kept. In fact, the silence with which they moved was likely more suspicious, more dangerous to his purpose as a byproduct…. but it doesn’t excuse recklessness.

The sudden shots still echoed around his skull. Deafening like few things could be. Like a spearhead splitting thick stone or the full-bodied crackle of a soldier’s spine snapping in half. It brought the heartrate to life, muscle memory forcing him to shift his weight toward a fight. All that sound, and he could still hear the unmistakable march of footfalls flying toward their position. The only consolation were the fatal wounds in unmoving targets. Deadly aim was a useful thing in his own army. Did he have the same talent with a bow?

“…Hks.” Half exasperated, half vicious, Mydeimos had no time for any other expression. It would have to be enough to hope that this man could read intent from action. The action? Mydeimos surged forward with a heavy breath, allowing the spear strapped to his back to slide forward, scrapping marble with a loud screech. There they are. Someone called to others, barely audible over the sound of a metal gauntlet scrapping…metal?

He had wondered already if the whole-bodied armor was as it appeared. It was more, somehow, the strength of his grip finding no flesh to tear into during their brief collision. Shoving the shorter man aside, the sweep of the spear followed even faster, creating distance. Their audience became larger – men and women of all ages and status. Some with food, others with drink, the mob that moved from one streetside battle to the next. “We fight until you can no longer stand,” He said, feeling kind enough to fill the outsider in on matches that weren’t to the death. His countrymen, oblivious to the Prince that stood in their midst, cheer him at this, taking jabs at the foreigner in the same breath.

Mydeimos wouldn’t allow himself to be swept up by the mood, finding anger and irritation to fuel the glare he sent his opponent. You caused this, he wanted to say. “Unless you wish to yield.”

[crackshct]

Quick on the draw, but not always on the uptake, his companion's sudden spur to action had looked to Boothill like he'd turned traitor. All it took was a few of his countrymen to hem them in and Mydeimos was ready for blood. The shove had sent the cowboy staggering back and away from the spear tip that followed, but he wore the indignant surprise openly on his face for a few more seconds. Really? He didn't need to speak the words when the look he shot across the courtyard said more than enough.

"Heh, first one to yield in a duel's a dead man."

But he didn't know this guy all that well either. Chatting one minute, fighting the next. That wasn't too unusual among Boothill's circle of acquaintances, but it usually came with a little more of a warning than this. A stray offense, some puffed up posturing, things like that.

Methodically, he started taking the bullets from his belt and loading them into the chamber of his revolver, one after the other, his eye fixed on his ally-turned-opponent. A spear against a firearm was something of an unfair matchup... for Mydeimos, and Boothill flashed him a smirk from just outside of the spear tip's range, proving that he knew it, too.

"Ain't ever met a shirtbag so unimpressed by six straight bullseyes that he's gotta have the seventh in his own dadgum head to believe it." Three shots loaded. He slipped the fourth in and all around him the crowd heckled them to quit standing around and fight. It was like they wanted a full gladiatorial fight right here in the middle of a school's courtyard. Like they weren't afraid of staining all this nice white marble with blood. And all the while, Boothill couldn't figure out where this Mydeimos stood in all this. A performance was one thing, but if he misjudged him, and he really did want to take him down right here, it could cost him his life.

With the fifth and sixth loaded, Boothill flicked the chamber back into place and let it spin smooth and unhindered. Then he took aim at the heart in one swift, well-practiced motion. He lowered his head for the shade from his hat to cut a slant across his face.

"So what'll it be, partner? Come at me and I'll fill ya so full o' lead they won't be able to tell your heart from all them rocks between your ears."

[aarnivalkie]

Blog Updates

Now that I've had some time to think about GH's closure and what sorts of things I can do to continue enjoying writing my muses, I've made a couple of decisions about how I'll be handling my blogs going forward. While GH will not officially be closed until the beginning of March, I'm adjusting my blogs to be semi-independent before then. Their rules pages have been updated and I will be more liberal with following and interacting with other blogs that were not affiliated with GH at the time of its closure.

Additionally, while I have at this time reached out to most of my partners about continuing threads we had, I will be considering any thread that hasn't been responded to in over 3 months to be dropped.

From now on Flins will be my main muse.

Muse Specific Updates

WRIOTHESLEY / @dukemeropide

Current Threads: Dropping all threads that are not with canon relations

Future Threads: Only open to canon relations, with exceptions made for friends' muses

Interactions Wishlist: Sigewinne, Clorinde

BOOTHILL / @crackshct

Current Threads: Unchanged

Future Threads: Only open to canon relations, with exceptions made for friends' muses

Interactions Wishlist: Rappa, Argenti, Luka, Micah, Acheron, anyone from the Astral Express, Ashveil, Mr. Reca

FLINS / @aarnivalkie

Current Threads: Unchanged

Future Threads: Open to most interactions, as long as I know the character. Preference for Genshin castmates and canon relations

Interactions Wishlist: Varka, Illuga, Nefer, Nikita, Sigurd, Rerir

OTHER

I intend to eventually revive Gallagher's blog ( @garmgeyr ) once I catch up on my existing thread backlog.

I also intend to create a blog dedicated to Penacony's historical NPCs (Tiernan, Mikhail, Gopher Wood, Micah), but this will come later.

[crackshct]

#CORE VALUES.　the bedrock that informs how we live and behave, and what we pursue.　please repost, not reblog!

part one.　bold the values that apply to your muse. you can also strikethrough the ones that absolutely don't apply.

achievement　adventure　authenticity　balance　beauty　belonging　career　collaboration　commitment　community　compassion　competence　competition　courage　creativity　curiosity　dignity　empathy　equality　fairness　faith　family　fame　financial security　flexibility　freedom　friendship　fun　generosity　growth　happiness　harmony　health　honesty　hope　humor　independence　influence　inner peace　innovation　integrity　justice　kindness　knowledge　leadership　learning　love　loyalty　meaningful work　openness　order　passion　patience　perseverance　pleasure　power　recognition　relationships　reliability　spirituality　respect　responsibility　security　self-expression　service　simplicity　stability　success　teamwork　tolerance　tradition　trust　truth　wealth　wisdom

part two.　pick your muse's top 3 values from those bolded. list them below and say more.　(　i.e.　how they define it ; where does it come from ; how does it show up in them ; etc.　)　similar values may be combined.

i.　justice.　This is the big one. Boothill is THE face of vigilante justice, and talks often about how he gets involved with other planets' affairs so that he can ensure that evil gets the justice it deserves. While this value aligns quite well with the Galaxy Rangers, the snippets that we've seen of Boothill's past suggest that justice as it pertains to good and evil has been on his mind ever since he was a child. His father, Nick, was of a similar mind, and Boothill owes his concept of justice and revenge in part to him. He believes that all evil will eventually be punished, even if it means he has to take matters into his own hands or operate outside of the law to do so. In fact, he recognizes that an eye for an eye could be seen as hypocritical by some, but doesn't think it's his place to consider the morality of his own actions. As long as he's getting back at someone who wronged him or a friend of his, he will always be in the right.

ii.　collaboration / relationships.　For all of his lone ranger imagery, Boothill relies a good deal on other people to help him. Networking is important to survival, and he'll trade favors with just about anyone he meets, whether they're saints or criminals. This lends him the impression of a social butterfly, and in a lot of ways he is, since his life is otherwise rather lonely. Those he meets one day could be dead the next, and being constantly on the move means that he has no home or community to return to, so it's important to him to be able to make fast friends wherever he goes. Sometimes all he really wants is someone to share a few drinks with, other times he takes advantage of his favorable relationships to gather allies for large-scale heists or hits on the IPC - whatever he uses them for, he calls these people "friends" in the loosest sense. He values them as people and relationships more than just tools, but he also recognizes that they're rarely more than that in practice.

iii.　simplicity / fun.　Boothill does not like complexity. Point gun at bad guy. Shoot gun at bad guy. That's his preferred method of handling just about anything, from meeting new people to delivering justice. He'll follow along with someone else's plans, but he will rarely be the one planning, and he'll often veer off course to handle things the easy and straightforward way. Point gun. Shoot. That's all there is to it. He lives his life in a similar fashion, and prefers indulging his senses over spinning his wheels over cerebral pursuits. Good drinks, loud music, bullets with just the right kind of pop to them - he likes things that he can feel, and the more overstimulating the better, since that's what it takes for him to still feel human.

tagging.　you!

[empyrean-reflections]

One Normal Vacation? Please.

Boothill & Kaveh

[empyrean-reflections]

Kaveh's hands were gripping the wheel so tight it almost felt like his fingers would snap off. His wrist flaring up was also not a great help. He really just wanted a- *bang!*

Oh you have to be fucking kidding. Kaveh was *not* adding accessory to murder to today's list of crimes. But, did he really have a choice? He had been on the ship too long to claim he was innocent, by the Archons he was steering it right now. He could only hope whoever his forced companion shot at was uninjured.

He could hear the aforementioned man saying something but with the speed they were going, he was more likely to see an Aranara from those children's tales. Sure he was right fucking next to Kaveh but the architect also had adrenaline filling his ears. It was a wonder he even heard the command to go left.

"If we die in this you better pray I don't find your ghost." He said, violently turning the wheel.

The ship made a scraping sound as it hugged the side of the building, thankfully only taking off paint..... And a chuck of their outer wall.

It's fine. It was ugly anyways. It was fine. (It wasn't fine.)

Archons help him.

[crackshct]

There's a split second when all the wires and circuitry in Boothill's body coil to prepare him to spring at the wheel and turn it himself. His partner in crime doesn't look so determined to help him out, and that look he's got on his face is sharp enough to kill, but then the whole ship lurches onto its side suddenly. Boothill scrambles for something to hold onto, narrowly grabbing a hand strap bolted to the ceiling before the turn flings him back out the window, but the surprise has him laughing and hooting and coaxing his chauffeur to "step on it, partner!"

They cruise into a one-ship lane between tall skyscrapers, and the blaring sirens of the security team go screaming past the mouth of the alleyway behind them.

"That oughta keep 'em occupied for a-- FORKIN' FUDGECRACKERS--"

A catwalk crossing between the buildings, made of glass and full of important looking people sits right ahead of them. Boothill dives for the steering wheel and pulls back on it to drop altitude. The skiff takes a perilous nosedive, careening toward a shadowy abyss below the clouds, before it levels out again. An overcorrection, to be sure. They pass below the catwalk from the safety of several meters. Better than being a piece of flaming debris, if you asked Boothill.

"Y'ever steered a ship before, kid?" Boothill snorts and shakes his head. "Whatever. We lost 'em."

Then he steps back from the wheel and raises his hand to readjust his hat on his head, only to realize it's not there. That was the thing that had gotten them into this whole mess. Throwing back his head, he groans.

"Fork me, my dadgum hat's still out there. Turn it around. We're goin' back."

[balemouns]

an unfortunate happenstance.

amber investigations with @crackshct.

[balemouns]

ah… unfortunate that the first victim of the adepti wrath has succumbed to the amber’s inhospitable environment. considering that the first man uncovered is the one mr. boothill needed for pay, arlecchino looks away and directs several more agents to smash the next few; then, with marked eyes still away, she offers a potential solution to someone who seemed a tad more foreign than most. “if what he promised you was payment in the form of mora, you may be able to check his pockets: the currency should usually manifest physically until spent in certain processes.” somehow, though, it seems possible that mr. boothill’s payment takes another form.

arlecchino continues walking checking where a few of the fatui research scientists have paused their sample collection to check on the victims of the next few amber outcroppings… one, two, three more victims, though at least one of the appears to be a dead wild boar. darkened arms cross as she gestures to the scientist checking the dead boar: “surely, collecting your scientific samples should take priority over checking an animal…” but, she barely finishes the thought before a different fatui researcher calls out to the rest of the group.

“hey! over here… she’s still breathing!” the agent who just freed the treasure hoarder kneels down next to the scientist to shake the victim, trying to stir her awake.

a glance back to mr. boothill: if he’s not finding what he’s looking for on the ringleader’s person… perhaps one of the few in this group that survived being captured in amber could have a valuable lead.

[crackshct]

"I knew it I knew it I knew it I knew it I knew it," the woman mutters, dreamily at first, eyes slow to open and take in the world around, then her words shift into a frantic mantra half-whispered through her teeth as she tries to sit up. She's wide-eyed now, but her face is pale as a sheet and a thin line of sweat shimmers on her forehead. She clutches herself and shakes her head, hardly seems to even register that someone kneels beside her, or who that someone is.

"I knew it I knew it I knew it," she keeps on, shaking her head in disbelief. This new development interests Boothill, but not enough to completely forego his opportunity to do what Arlecchino had suggested. He pats the ringleader down and gathers what valuables he can find, including a sack of mora with a decent heft to it, which he stashes away in various pockets and compartments when he rises to go join the others in checking out the new commotion.

The treasure hoarder swallows and swallows again, grown silent now as she rocks back and forth. She's in shock, clearly. Boothill recognizes her - Tally - because she'd been reluctant about their expedition from the very start, had even protested hiring him because it wouldn't make a difference. Well, he can't say she wasn't right.

"Tell us what ya saw, gal," Boothill presses, but she doesn't even seem to hear him. She keeps shaking her head and staring distantly at something not in this plane of reality.

"I-I knew the treasure out here wasn't worth it. Who gives a damn about some family heirloom! L-Leslie paid for it. That blasted goat took him away."

[crackshct]

New Year Housekeeping: Boothill

Making sure all my threads are accounted for as we begin a new year, and nudging the partners I'm waiting on in case they've forgotten. Let me know if you want to drop a thread though! Please tell me instead of just ignoring the thread for months.

Waiting on me:

An Unfortunate Happenstance w/ @balemouns

Molon Labe w/ @mydcimos

Waiting on partner:

Cupid's Arrows Can't Catch Us w/ @jxrmngxndr [Last reply: September 17 2025]

One Normal Vacation? Please. w/ @empyrean-reflections [Last reply: October 27 2025]

The Stars are Dying w/ @generalforesight [Last reply: November 29 2025]

Hypnopompia w/ @avcnturine [Last reply: December 10 2025]

Birds of a Feather w/ @hopetune [Last reply: December 17 2025]

Have You Ever Tried to Shoot a Ghost w/ @renascinem [Last reply: December 24 2025]

[renascinem]

Have You Ever Tried to Shoot a Ghost || Dan Heng & Boothill

Commission: Fyxestroll Garden || @crackshct || Commission Season: Harmony

[renascinem]

There was no time to correct Boothill on the name of their adversary - the one verbal warning the cowboy gave was enough for Dan Heng to jump out of the rampaging spirit’s way in time, Cloud-Piercer manifesting in his hand out of sheer instinct, even though he knew that realistically, it was of no use here.

Not like it was of particular importance, anyway. He was sure that some heliobi would be highly offended by someone not remembering and twisting their name, what with their arrogance and pride, but at the same time…

“Dragging souls out of their bodies is extremely rude, you know,” he crossed his arms with a frown, eyeing the spirit before him - and the small puff of smoke behind it, slowly rising out of the bamboo that Boothill’s bullet had struck after phasing straight through the specter. “What gives? Don’t the heliobi usually possess and drain both spirit and body? Why separate the two?”

He had hoped to engage the usually cheeky lifeform in a conversation, a battle of wits if you would, and obtain some information that way - but the hope was dashed quickly. For the spirit didn’t seem to register his words at all. It did not even feel like it ignored him - more that it didn’t even seem to hear him. Instead, it only lunged at him, continuing to scream with no sense and coherence.

“CAMERA! CAMERA CAMERA CAMERA CAMERA—”

Gritting his teeth, Dan Heng rolled out the way, then ran to avoid the rampaging heliobus, and again, and again. This is pointless, he realized - we cannot do anything like that.

With a swing of his arm, he motioned for Boothill to follow him, and dashed down an alley until the spirit was no longer able to follow them.

“This is… not normal heliobus behavior,” he panted out, catching his breath after the feat, once it was safe enough. “I think something must have happened… I don’t know what yet - but I think finding that camera the spirit was so obsessed with might be the key. From what I saw, the girl’s body back there didn’t have it.”

He looked around. “Let’s see… if we can find out where that group of kids may have come from. Hopefully we can still...” He paused and winced, then sighed. “... Put them back together.”

[crackshct]

Running away wasn't really Boothill's style. Neither was planning and strategizing, but in this particular moment, he was well out of his depth. It wasn't often he couldn't just shoot his way out of a problem, so when Dan Heng called for a retreat, he followed without a word of protest. Now though, with the echoes of incoherent shrieks at their backs, he paced restlessly on the paved path they'd come out to, his revolver still clutched in his hand like it might be of some use. Eventually.

"So what you're sayin' is that you ain't got a clue about what's goin' on neither." He stopped pacing a few feet away by one of the ornate stone lanterns perched on the rail that lined the path and looked out over the labyrinthine route twisting deeper into the garden, as if he might be struck by a sudden flash of insight about the camera. Or about this not-so-normal heliobus.

"Didn't think this ghost-bustin' business would take us into uncharted territory, but I don't make promises I can't keep. I'm with ya 'til we solve this mess, partner." And because that was probably the only way he'd clear his name of the vandalism accusations from earlier. Probably, if the shell casings he'd left in the grove with those unconscious teenagers didn't slap him with a littering charge in its place. But how in the world would this girl - or ghost, or heliobus, or whatever - lose her camera so far away from where she'd ended up? A faint red glow fell across his cheek with the activation of his bionic eye and he scanned over the trail ahead. Only then did he finally holster his gun.

"Huh?" A glint from the brush growing out from beneath the raised part of the path they were currently on brought him to the rail, then nearly toppling over it as he leaned down to snap up what he'd seen. A polaroid camera thrown into the bushes.

"Lookie here! Y'don't suppose this is that ghost gal's, do--" The flash went off suddenly and Boothill nearly dropped it, startled and blinking as he reeled back from the rail with it still dangling by its strap from a single metal finger. With the shake of his head, he cleared the stars from his vision and laughed.

"The trigger's a sensitive one. At least I got a nice li'l souvenir outta all this," he said and bent down to grab the polaroid the camera had spit out. It wasn't a very good picture by any means. In fact, most might argue that it was downright bad: half of Boothill's face, off-center, glowing nearly milky-white from the flash, with the background a green blur of indistinct foliage, a clip of the dark sky, and a transparent girl.

"Well, butter my biscuit -- ghost gal's in it, too!" The excitement dropped from his face almost the moment the words left his lips and he grabbed the photograph in both hands, pulling it nearly close enough to touch the end of his nose for a better look. "What the fork, ghost gal?!" He glanced wildly around the path they were on, even treading back toward the grove they'd left before doubling back to Dan Heng. "Didya see her just a second ago?"

[crackshct]

Birds of a Feather

Harmony | Belobog Tournament - Boothill & Robin

[hopetune]

Robin took the metal hand of his with a smile, finally glad to close this distance, but when she shook it, her grip was firm.

"I won't." Her tone was equally resolute, such a stark contrast to the softness of her features, "You have my word. I don't plan on putting myself—or you—in danger."

And that was worth a lot, Robin's word. For as much as she held steadfast to her principle, she never made promises she knew she could not keep, or deals she knew she could not maintain her end of. Besides, she had no intention of being a burden to him. She could handle herself. She would like to think so, anyway.

She glanced down at her phone screen. It lit up with a notification. It was some time past 1:30. She had stayed here long enough. She raised her hand.

"Waiter?" A man turned his head at the call, "I'd like to ask for the bill, please."

He disappeared into the counter, and she returned her attention to Boothill. Here they met in the middle of their ideals, at the fringes of both Harmony and Hunt. It was clear to her that this meant something to him; his tone held graveness like a cemetery. That made it mean something to her, too.

The man came up to their table and slid Robin a piece of paper. Robin counted a few bills from her wallet, gave it to him, and told him to keep the change, which earned her a bewildered look, for the change was quite a sum. Robin did not mind, though. She rose from her seat, feeling the dull ache of an hour of uninterrupted languor. She grabbed her phone and pocketed it, and wrapped her scarf around her face.

"Let's leave this place." Her voice was slightly muffled, "When we're somewhere quieter, I'd like you to tell me what exactly it is you want from the IPC."

[crackshct]

It didn't take them long to move their meeting to a street nestled between the ramshackle buildings over the Underworld. A yellow lamp humming a single note threw a cone fo light over the two of them, but the popstar incognito and metal cowboy drew no prying eyes. The people of this area knew better than to stare, and for a town full of secrets of their own, they knew overhearing what they didn't need to was often worse. Other than Boothill's unusual manner of dress, the meeting didn't look particularly out of place anyway. Shady deals traded between hatted, hooded, or trench-coated individuals happened down here on the regular, where the Silvermane Guards couldn't see.

With his thumbs hooked idly from his belt loops, Boothill leaned his back against the wall in the appearance of ease and idle conversation, his eye darting back toward Robin's face only every so often like the topic they discussed was as mundane as the weather. A few people in coal-stained work clothes passed them without looking up from the toes of their battered boots, but it was business as usual.

"What I'm after is information," Boothill picked right back up from where they'd left off inside the bar, tapping his metal fingers to a beat only he heard inside his head. "A manager or two from the IPC's Marketing Development Department oughta be hangin' 'round these parts while the tournament's goin' on. Lookin' for ways to sink their good-for-nothin' claws deeper into this new asset o' theirs. The head o' that department's a man I've been huntin' for years, but he ain't easy to pin down. All he leaves behind are some ghosts and gussied, gentrified planets, practically scrubbed clean of anything indicatin' where he might be headin' off to next."

A dark shadow had taken over Boothill's face again, darker than what the brim of his hat ordinarily cast over its sharp angles, his eye fixed on his own ghosts projected on the wall across from them. Then it snaps clean, and he turns to Robin with a look she'd seen before - of the irritation of an inconvenience, mostly, but with a hint of vengeful mischief.

"So I'm fixin' to pay these lower ranked shirtballs a li'l visit, while everyone's distracted by the tournament. If I'm lucky, they'll have some note or memo from their department head." Because they certainly wouldn't have much else - that was tucked away in the sharp edges of resignation that colored his usual optimism. He'd played this game a dozen times before. "That's where you come in, singin' queen. They ain't got a reason to put their guard up around a beloved popstar. You're my foot in the door."

[avcnturine]

𝗛𝗬𝗣𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗢𝗠𝗣𝗜𝗔⠀──⠀⋆˙⛃

comm. DESTRUCTION⠀∶⠀paperfold novels.

[avcnturine]

IT'S JADE'S WORDS THAT COME TO MIND　♤　when he's dragged off his feet and wrenched across the floor, eyes flickering wide meeting the hostile monochrome of the ranger's altered face. this has the potential to be something truly worthwhile, but you have to remember certain things about the galaxy rangers. . . they're not like the rest of us. if you're not careful, you'll find yourself marching to the beat of their drum instead.

"who——" but he's hauled even closer without warning, swung haphazardly into a cloistered corner before he can get a word out, and boothill continues without interruption, knuckles digging hard against his throat and his face nearly close enough for every gnash of pointed teeth to threaten skin.

a wanted man with a bounty as high as this one's shouldn't be underestimated, but aventurine clearly remembers the day that they'd met: the gun levelled point blank at his head and never fired. boothill doesn't need much of a reason to distrust him, but for now, he still needs a reason to kill him. the placating smile that spreads across his lips promises hands empty of subterfuge ; he raises both in surrender, then lightly rests one over the wrist balled against his collar. ". . . friend, i never said anything about doing you any harm. rest assured there was no foul play involved. i woke up from the same medical gurney that you did."

extricating himself from that iron grip was easier said than done, so he opts to stay where he is until boothill lets go himself, posture directing itself to loosen as he registers the cheap velvet-lined wall at his back and rests some of his weight back against it. so much for trying to be charitable. the stoneheart's gaze rests almost comfortably on and past boothill's thunderous expression as he continues a previous line of conversation: "but speaking of partnership, it's a shame the whole thing didn't end up being what we were hoping for. oswaldo's early involvement with empyrea is undeniable——half the company knew he was responsible for outreach and establishing negotiations. but whatever they might have talked about. . . "

he trails off, thought clouding his features. even without having to say it, the question seems to suspend in the air: had oswaldo schneider known about the experiment and the truth about empyrea from the start? could he have had something to do with his unconsented participation?

even without taking into account company politics, the thought annoys him.

his attention returns to boothill with a vague smile again. "either way, i'm interested in learning more about this allegedly banned book ; even if you don't, i'll probably look more into it. and as for this whole ordeal. . . we can consider it a test run of a promising collaboration."

[crackshct]

It's never been in Boothill's nature to be suspicious, nor expend half his energy upturning every word spoken to him like turning over rocks on the hunt for snakes. He'd never been like he is now, with Aventurine, with the IPC. For each part of him that they'd taken, he'd had to fill it with something else: hatred, paranoia, among other things like the blue blood that coursed through his veins now - artificial and wrong, but life-sustaining nonetheless. Yet the old part of him buried deep in his core still longs for those innocent, bygone days, and so all Aventurine has to do is raise his hands in placating gesture for Boothill accept it at face value. He starts to release his grip, but not the scowl on his face, until a new name wrenches his fingers tighter into the folds of the Stoneheart's designer shirt collar, undoubtedly wrinkling it had the Ranger had his own hands, and not those of cold, dead steel.

Oswaldo Schneider. Of course. In a single breath, Boothill forgets Aventurine's trespassing, the full force of his fury redirecting to the shadow of a man who'd managed to be just steps ahead yet again.

"That slippery motherfudgin' clockstuckin'--" Growled though they are through razors sharp enough to rip skin and muscle from bone, their color bounces off the velvet wall at Aventurine's back and returns to his ears in ridiculous mockery of the emotion that had spurred them, so he shuts himself up with a bullish snort. Only then does he finally release the fistful of silk and steps backwards out of the Stoneheart's personal space so that he can recompose himself, although within seconds it hardly looks like he'd so much as touched a golden hair on that savvy, coolheaded gambler's head. By now though, Boothill doesn't care. He'd make good on his promise whether he took his threats seriously or not.

"If this forkin' book's got somethin' to do with that yellowbellied shirtbag, then I'll be on its scent like a bloodhound."

The anger unwinds itself in pieces, but the rest of it flushes away with the emptying of Boothill's third glass, somehow still mostly full despite the mixture of sticky drink splattered across the stool's top and the floor around it. The melting ice clinks as he returns it to the ring it'd left on the wood, and although the shadows are still dark around the sharp angles of his face, his expression has mostly returned to its animated neutral. His eye flickers toward Aventurine in reluctant approval of their tenuous collaboration, then back to their unfinished billiards game.

"Findin' the author -- ain't that what you were sayin'?" He snaps his stick back up and stalks around to the other side of the table. "Between your access to Company intel, and my connections, I reckon this son of a nice lady won't stay a mystery for long."

[renascinem]

Have You Ever Tried to Shoot a Ghost || Dan Heng & Boothill

Commission: Fyxestroll Garden || @crackshct || Commission Season: Harmony

[renascinem]

Dan Heng followed Boothill quietly as the cowboy seemed to try and search for the source of... well, whatever it was that he'd heard. A few moments of this eerie silence turned into several minutes, and the Vidyadhara found himself stopping himself from pointing out that they were going in a circle multiple times. He could tell that Boothill was trying and genuinely trying.

For his own part, his eyes emanated a faint azure glow as he cast a net of cloudhymn echolocation around he area to try and scan it in his own way - but to no avail. It wasn't surprising to him - cloudhymn wasn't exactly compatible with heliobi - but in that moment, it was the only way he had of attempting to assist his companion.

When Boothill turned back to him with a shrug, Dan Heng honestly could not decide in his mind whether the voice's disappearance was good or bad news.

"Probably," he admitted, dismissing the echolocation and holding back a sigh as he spoke. "Some of those... 'content creators' likely touched or opened something they shouldn't have, and that's what you get. I want to try and find out what damage was done before—"

"Hold on."

Dan Heng froze and fell silent right on cue, immediately on high alert as he watched Boothill scan the area anew, his expression maybe - possibly - likely more serious than he's ever seen the cowboy look. When the other suddenly bolted off, the Vidyadhara, who had already been prepared for anything, followed suit immediately.

Well, he thought he was prepared for anything, anyway. It was debatable whether he was truly prepared for the sight of several people - three young men and two women - lying on the ground, unresponsive, her eyes closed...

and one of the aforementioned women, except in ghostly form and enveloped in light green glow, standing over her looking around, seemingly not noticing her body at all.

Upon seeing them, she tilted her head, but then smiled and waved cheerfully.

"Hey there! Have you seen my camera around here? I was juuust about to get some good shots of some ghosties, but then some idiot ran into me and I lost it! I can't leave this place without it..." Her expression turned pleading, despair in her voice increasing as she repeated like a broken tape. "Can't leave without it, can't leave without it, CAN'T LEAVE WITHOUT IT—"

And if one listened carefully, one might hear a shadow of laughter in the echo of her screaming.

[crackshct]

”Your camera?” For Boothill, his mind didn’t always work as fast as the rest of him. He dropped his guard and looked down, a long-buried desire to be helpful not yet entirely snuffed out by all the gunsmoke and steel of the outlaw life. It was just a bunch of kids anyway. Kids who were lying on the ground, he realized belatedly when his eye swept from the paving stones beneath his feet to the nearest of the group. She was on her back, her dark hair splayed out around her head like a halo, her hands clasped over her stomach as if she were a corpse at a funeral. Other thoughts began to crest the surface in a jumble, the gravity of the situation dawning on Boothill, but not before the only one standing began her desperate screeching.

Heading snapping up, Boothill flicked the muzzle of his revolver toward her heart on instinct, then he self-corrected, angling its sight slightly off target. It’d be less lethal that way, if he wound up having to pull the trigger.

“It ain’t so important that you gotta go ‘n disturb the peace now, is it, gal?” The girl didn’t seem to hear him. Over and over again, she shouted for her missing camera, her wide eyes stare through them, crazed, as she seemed to drift across the ground toward them.

Boothill retreated back a step to rejoin Dan Heng, gun still aimed. He glanced over his shoulder. 

”Is this one o’ them hilly-oh-whatsits?”

But there wasn’t time for questions.

”MY CAMERA! MY CAMERA MY CAMERA MY CAMERA! BRING IT BACK TO ME! NOW,” cried the girl, her voice pitching into hysterics. Flying over the bodies of her friends, she came careening toward Boothill and Dan Heng, pupils all but slits, a jagged smile ripped open across her face.

”Watch out, partner,” came Boothill’s only warning. He leapt out of the way, trusting Dan Heng to have the battle wherewithal to do the same, and spun around to fire a shot into the girl’s leg.

”What in tarnation?!”

The bullet missed.

So he fired two more shots, but both hit a stand of bamboo on the other side of the grove. The girl, growling, reached for Dan Heng.

”RRAGH!! STOP IGNORING ME!!”

[generalforesight]

𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝐴𝑟𝑒 𝐷𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 | 𝗃𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗎𝖺𝗇/𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗅𝗅 | 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗈𝖻𝗈𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝗆

[generalforesight]

“Ghhh…ah,” Truly, it had been too long since he’d manned any sort of battlefield on the front lines. His body remembered, keenly aware of the vantage points his opponents held down. Their number grew in waves that only a stellaron might aid, viscous war cries that twisted a once-human voice until it was unrecognizable, like nails raking over metal.

Thunder answered at his call, cutting off a feral creature with one decisive downward swing of his weapon. The general let it rest on ice long enough to look back to his ally. They had been too badly misinformed. The fragmentum creatures were not swarming – they were invading. Unchecked. Spawned at a relentless pace for hours with no sign of slowing down.“Boothill, we will need to fall back!” Effortless authority carved a neat path to said companion, a final sweep of aeon-aided thunder creating dangerous rifts in the earth underneath his feet.

It granted a moment of reprieve, but as before, Jing Yuan’s grand strike only prompted their enemies to triple right in front of them. “Until we know what nurtures them, I fear this is a battle we must concede.” He knew little of this particular Galaxy Ranger. Only the details relevant to his access or denial to walk freely on the Xianzhou Luofu…but the man was sturdy. Not prone to the fatigue that came with average flesh and blood, upon observation-

The next enemy struck unlike all the others. The others – who moved like mindless militia of a bygone generation – were predictable. If not for the sheer inexhaustible number, the two of them would have been enough. This enemy, Jing Yuan could see the strike but not save himself the damage. Knowing it was useless to defend, he allowed the gauntlet to shatter into the armor of his shoulder, burying his weapon through a swiftly dissolving stomach. We’ve failed… It whispered, as if the initial pain hadn’t already winded him. You’ve failed.

That same combatant materialized again. Just as swift, just as deadly. Echoes of despair hissed into his head at every new strike. Did Boothill hear them when the enemy attacked him? “This foe comes back stronger.” Like many blunders, he realized it only when it was too late. His gaze widened, grip tightening on his weapon as the being with the iron gauntlets slammed the ground at their feet with incredible force.

Once solid ground shattered as if it were glass. They were falling into an abyss, illuminated by crystals of ice that sparked like small suns. Jing Yuan forced his eyes open, the darkness full of those whispers assaulting them on the battlefield. Begging, pleading, screaming, until the ice finally melted to leave them falling in the dark.

Soon after, his body met solid ground. “…quite unusual.” He coughed, once the initial shock of pain rattling through his bones subsided. Gingerly, he found his footing, dusting fresh, powdery snow from his hair and clothes. A quick glance confirmed that they stood somewhere new, landscape unrecognizable but blessedly free of enemies. In the snow between them, the eerie, glowing gauntlets. Ordering his priorities, he picked his way to the Ranger, offering a hand. “Are you well enough to make it back?”

@crackshct

[crackshct]

"Other than feelin' like I just woke up after a week-long bender." Had Boothill still had bones and joints in his body, every single one of them would have cracked as he reached half-blindly for the General's hand and allowed him to drag him out of the drift. The soft creaks of grating metal were his steel body's own way of complaining about the whole ordeal they'd just come from, but that in itself was rare. He was built for the quick in-and-out guerrilla tactics he'd mastered on the plains of Aeragan-Epharshel, not the frontline marathon, and rarely let himself be caught in situations so unprepared as they were just a moment ago. It'd been a long while since he'd last felt like he'd been better off for a scrap heat.

Wearily, he opened his eye. The Xianzhou General hardly looked any better off, but after that last blow, Boothill was more surprised to find him back on his feet. With his mind still reeling, he patted himself down. Revolver. Belt. His ammunition was low, but he still had a round left. Hat. Hat?

"Where'd it go..."

Whirling around, he plunged his hands back into the snow to dig around until he felt something. Not his hat, as it turned out. He fished out a blue crystal about the size of his palm and held it up for Jing Yuan to see.

"Don't this look kinda like what those creatures were made of?" He looked around. They were still out in the middle of the snow plains, but it wasn't the plains they'd just been on a second ago. There were no signs of monsters anywhere, for one, and the dead, ice-capped mountains that had surrounded their battlefield were now coated in lush, evergreen forests.

"That last muddlefudger probably had some kind of... dimensional warpin' ability. The place still looks like Jarilo-IV, but like we got thrown all the way onto the other side of the planet."

All of a sudden the hand holding the crystal went limp with a dying sputter of sparks, dropping it into the snow.

"This dadgum body," Boothill muttered tempestuously, grabbing his wrist with his other hand. "Falls apart whenever it forkin' wants. Would be nice comin' across a screwdriver on our way back, but I'll settle on just gettin' to Belobog in one piece."

[balemouns]

an unfortunate happenstance.

amber investigations with @crackshct.

[balemouns]

she catches the subtle note of disbelief in his tone --- it doesn't change her atteniton turning partly to the side while he speaks. arlecchino quietly orders one of the agents from the house to escort her colleague's direct report to investigate the sealed amber outcroppings up ahead --- and allow the researcher a moment to document the state and condition of the amber before it was shattered and the captive inside freed. how exactly would these people survive the conditions within? it makes sense right now that this mercenary had managed to survive, if he is indeed some sort of automaton or other form of mechanical being... but genuine humans being trapped inside seems risky.

arlecchino turns back to the mercenary in question just as he finishes explaining the situation from his point of view, hammering home the cynical, transactional lens this man seems to view the world with: she finds herself wondering too if it was at all possible to live through that sort of captivity. "I don't believe I caught your name, mr. mercenary. would you mind sharing it, so I may refer to you more properly? you have such a colorful vocabulary, it seems a shame to not have a name to associate with it. I'd hate to recall our encounter as merely being with 'the man who says fudgehead'..."

while she waits for an answer, she hears her agents at the next outcropping move ahead with shattering it --- then, a sharp thud as a body falls out and hits the ground, lifeless and unresponsive.

[crackshct]

”Ahahaha! ‘Man who says fudgehead’ or even just ‘fudgehead’’s alright by me.” What is a name, really? The only one that had ever mattered to him had been buried long ago, on a planet far from this one. All the others were just convenience.

”But if that don’t suit your refined sensibilities, then Boothill will do just fine.” Probably also an odd name, but what room did a woman named ‘Arlecchino’ have to judge, anyway? With introductions out of the way, a second body flops audibly out of another crystal and cuts short what might have soon just become blow-for-blow banter. For Boothill’s sake, it was better that his attention go to something less volatile.

Like identifying the captain of the missing expedition. Boothill recognized the red bandana tied around the unconscious man’s left arm, but when he was heaved over onto his back, the sand-colored moustache and prominent scar across his left eye sealed it. He didn’t move, and if he was breathing, then it was so shallow that his chest didn’t even rise.

”Well.” With a frown, Boothill approached the fatui agent and the body on the ground. For a moment, the word just hung in the air over the body.

”… Looks dead as a doornail to me.” Callous though the observation was, Boothill hadn’t exactly been close to these men, and he’d had a gut feeling that they were trespassing for illegal, if not downright sacrilegious goals. Still, he removed his hat and held it to his chest with one hand as he knelt to check vitals with his other.

”That’s one down. Unfortunately, this was the forker with the money.”

[crackshct]

Birds of a Feather

Harmony | Belobog Tournament - Boothill & Robin

[hopetune]

She felt his hand pull away, but she chose not to reach for it again. For she felt that Boothill was going places where she could not follow—a feeling that only solidified with his eager statement. Yes, she caught his drift, but she did not quite know what to make of it. Diplomacy, peace, compromise—these were things that Harmony exemplified. She did not wish to let them go, but neither did she wish to let go of Boothill. Suppose she was naive to think that their Paths were so similar.

Hands tugged at the lapel of her coat. She found herself wanting to shrink into the dark fabric—as if it would make this any better. The television buzzed with commentary—the tournament was back on. There were no signs of the man who was injured previously. Robin silently Hoped he would be alright, that he would be fairly compensated for his work. But she knew how the World moved, even if she was still so childish to think certain things of it. He would mean nothing to the IPC, or to the cold Universe he was born in.

She glanced back to Boothill. Looked down at the back of his hand, the one she had so tenderly touched. Even if she did not ultimately agree with him, people like him… they were much needed in times like this, where violence was entertainment and bodies were sold as commodities. Their Paths were different but were their destinations really so far apart?

She decided, then, that where the eagle flew, the songbird would follow with voices singing. Diplomacy, peace, compromise—they existed within Harmony, but perhaps they could exist with Boothill too. She did not see why she should not try.

"...I think we have very different approaches, but I'm still willing to accompany you in this endeavor. Maybe you've accepted living a certain way, but I haven't yet. Let's go, then." Robin said, smiling Slightly, before taking a deep breath, "But, Mr. Boothill," she looked down at the space between their hands, the drab and dirty tabletop. She felt the urge to reach for him again, but stopped herself "if I ever ask you to stop what you're doing, will you do so?

[crackshct]

”Huh?” Jaw falling slack with surprise, Boothill leaned back in his chair and tried to reconcile what the pop star had just offered with what he knew of her from the incident on Penacony. Never in a million years would he call her a liar, nor reckless, but if this wasn’t the former, then it was definitely the latter.

”You sure about this, gal?” he asked, and for once it came with deadly seriousness. They might have been pitching ideas back and forth a second ago, but he’d only half-expected anything real to come of it, the least of all from Robin’s involvement. There was too much for her at stake to risk getting tangled up in an outlaw’s quest for revenge, but Boothill also wasn’t one to turn away help, especially when it was offered so willingly. Besides, it’d been a long, long time since anyone had been so earnest about protecting him. All the more reason he had to be sure that he wasn’t leading Robin blindly into danger.

Silence overtook their table then as Boothill bowed his head in contemplation. She’d brought up a caveat of her own, of course - would he stop what he was doing if she asked him to? It was reflex to declare his willful independence, that no man or woman had ever tamed him before and part of being a Galaxy Ranger was always making one’s own decisions. But Robin was more than just another one of his unreliable acquaintances he was using for the sake of convenience; she was a friend, and this was a matter of trust more than anything else. If she asked him to stop what he was doing, it would be for a good reason. Wouldn’t it? Even if it meant letting an IPC cockroach scuttle free.

”Alright,” he sighed and raised his head again. “You got a good eye and a smart head on your shoulders. We might not have the same kinda approach to our business, but that ain’t stopped us from accomplishin’ all sortsa good together when it matters most. At the end of the day, what I need from these IPC forks is information. Fillin’ ‘em full of lead’s just the icing on the cake, so if y’tell me to yield, I’ll yield.”

He offered his hand across the table again, this time for a handshake, but his playful smile hadn’t come back to his face yet. His eye met Robin’s.

”Just one thing I gotta be sure of: don’t put your reputation or your safety on the line for my sake. If usin’ you to get to the higher ups’ll backfire on ya later, we’ll go a different way.”

[crackshct]

Put the Pedal to the Metal

Boothill & Rappa - Preservation | Roboball

[dazzlebreak]

"Understood. This Wicked Scammer Ninja will know the taste of justice."

The Dazzling Ninja took the wad of yen from Lord Silvergun Shura with both hands, then bowed deeply as a sign of respect to him. He entrusted her with this mission—it was her duty to see it through.

A thumb ran through the stack, fanning the blue paper. Though one might assume that Ninja Heroes only pursued their own marks, she felt it would be a great injustice if she allowed evil to promulgate. No ninja would allow an innocent village to be swindled out of their hard earned yen.

She glanced warily outside. The streets beyond them glowed golden, and buzzed with the distant rumble of Roboball Ningu. Pinecany's City of Stars: she had never been here before, and found it to be quite the departure from Paperfold Town. Here, people lived fast and raced even faster. This Wicked Scammer Ninja was likely eager to ride the momentum. But she would not let him.

Thirty minutes before the race.

Inhale, exhale. The Dazzling Ninja Hero was set to race in a half hour. She chose to spend this time meditating in her den, though it was difficult given the rectangular box in front of her which screeched with commentary. She had exhausted most of Lord Silvergun Shura's yen getting to this point, and stamped her seal on several scrolls (many of which spanned several meters and were written in a script she didn't understand.) It was now or never—and for a ninja, "never" was not an option.

"Alright, Dazzling Ninja," The Wicked Scammer Ninja slapped her on the back, rousing her from her zen state. A warm anger rose from her chest, but she stayed silent. Inhale, exhale, "you're up soon. Go make the SoulJoy Surfers proud!"

Rappa clenched and unclenched her fist. "Yes, master. I will uphold the great legacy of the Seishin Warriors. As is said in the Cosmic Ninja Inscriptions: after rain, the ground hardens."

"Yeah, sure. Hey, I'll just be watching from the box, okay?"

Rappa nodded. The Wicked Scammer Ninja turned and left. When she heard the click of the shut door, she stood up and quickly locked it. She looked around. It was just her and the commentary. From her pocket, she brought out a small, antennaed beacon. She put it to her ear and whispered.

"Lord Silvergun Shura, it is I, the Dazzling Ninja AKA Rappa. I have finished my final preparations and am ready to release justice onto the track. Is your communication ningu working? What are your final instructions?"

[crackshct]

“Ninja Gal!” boomed Boothill’s voice through the crackling speaker. “That you? Almost had me start thinkin’ they’d done kidnapped ya fer good!”

It’d been two weeks since their last real talk, when Boothill had sent his partner into uncharted waters with a handful of cash. They couldn’t be seen with each other from that moment on, in case Eliseo had eyes on them. Still, the communication hadn’t been cut entirely. The Dreamscape had more than enough ways to send discreet messages, and Boothill had used just about all of them collecting updates from Rappa, but the closer they got to the race, the more careful they had to be. It’d been a few days now since their last correspondence, and he was happy just hear she was alright on the other side.

”You feel like a racin’ star yet? Those clockstuckers better’ve made that cash halfway worth spendin’! Hahaha!”

From high up on a skyscraper, the cowboy peered through a pair of binoculars at the gleaming track far below. Bright stadium lights cast the entire twisting ring in eye-searing, artificial daylight, but beyond it the Moment was still snuggled in lush darkness. Boothill preferred the stars, however fake they were here, to the racetrack, and was more than glad to avoid the spotlight this time, even if it meant Rappa had to be the one thrust in front of the cameras in his stead.

Up here, he’d made himself comfortable - a folding chair pulled close to a metal fence, the heel of one boot caught on one of its rungs, elbow across his knee as he scanned the track, and a whole case of malts he’d had Jessie whip him up to go. His sights drifted to the huge television screen staked in the stands and settled on the face of a man in a SoulJoy Surfer jacket caught in the camera lens.

”Think I found yer trainer,” he murmured, his voice transmitting through his communications module straight to Rappa’s radio. His lips pulled back from his pointed teeth. 

“I’ll be keepin’ a close eye on that son o’ a nice lady. No doubt he’ll be feedin’ ya instructions while you’re drivin’ but if he’s usin’ ya for somethin’ more’n just your down payment, you can bet yer bottom dollar he’ll show it on his forkin’ face. That guy don’t look the type to hold it in when things’re goin’ his way. Or when they ain’t.”

He pulled the binoculars away and leaned back to pluck a bottle from the plastic crate by his chair, popping the lid on one of its armrests.

”Anyway, there ain’t nothin’ you gotta do just yet, gal. Drive like they taught ya, and try to win. This is the qualifyin’ race, so SoulJoy Surfers has gotta make top ten if we’re gettin’ any closer to Eliseo. Don’t you worry though. I got a nice view of the whole track.”

[empyrean-reflections]

One Normal Vacation? Please.

Boothill & Kaveh

[empyrean-reflections]

“Wait just a-!” And he was gone. Great. Lovely. With a few mumbled curses Kaveh took control of the wheel. Can’t be that hard, right?

The blond made a sharp left to avoid a ship coming right at them, hoping his new found acquaintance had held on and wasn’t on his way down a rather... steep fall. But he didn’t hear any screaming, so it was a win in his book. Even that didn’t last long for them though. He vaguely registered the sound of at least 3 ships speeding up on them.

Kaveh had a choice. He could surrender and plead victim or get him and the weird mech man out of this. Hopefully. “Can’t believe I’m-” He sighed. “Hold on! It’s about to get a whole lot faster!” The sudden change in speed almost gave him whiplash (and would most certainly give him a migraine later) but choices had to be made. 

[crackshct]

"Huh? What was that?" The wind roars up here, and Boothill had only managed to catch snatches of words from inside the starskiff, the voice of the man he'd entrusted with the steering wheel all but thin sounds. It whips his long hair back from his face as he digs his heels in and finds his balance at the center of the domed roof - whatever that kid's complaining about down there, it's not half as important as getting back his stolen property. The cycrane is still pretty far, but there's no way it can outfly a whole ship. Just a little closer and he can lasso it out of the air--

Then the whole ship bucks and were it not for the magnets in his heels, it would have sent him flying backwards, probably into the windshields of those security skiffs hot on their trail. He owes it to his reflexes for managing to catch the fin jutting from the roof and dropping down into a crouch even as the wind threatened to tear the red cape from his shoulders too.

"Dadgum greenhorn!" he shouts to his unwitting companion, but if Boothill could barely hear him earlier, there was probably no way his words would make it over the gale now. Gritting his teeth, he tosses a glance over his shoulder. The three starskiffs following them are fast - probably designed for pursuits like this one - and all of their alarms are blaring for them to slow down or stop.

"Hah! Alright, kid, looks like I got ya wrong." He laughs loud over the whipping wind - after all, his partner could have turned on him the moment he took the wheel - and levels two fingers at their pursuers. The ring in his eye glows as he takes aim, then fires, the recoil kicking him back against the starskiff's fin. A dark cloud of smoke plumes in front of the trio of security ships, giving their own getaway a few seconds to lose them. Boothill grabs the edge of the roof and swings back down inside.

"Gonna have to lose those shirtbags first," he says as his feet hit the metal tiling of the floor. "Veer left around that building up there."