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Boothill was used to a lot of things. Regular maintenance periods on a mechanical body that served only as a reminder of a past he couldn't change. The taste of cold metal in his mouth as a bullet fell onto his hand. The harsh, satisfying click as the bullet was loaded into his gun. A loud BANG! as a fatal shot met its target, smoke trailing a piercing hole. The crack of a whip hitting the ground, the drumming of hooves over rough terrain.
What he wasn’t used to was the man that had sat down next to him at the bar. The stranger was decked from the neck down in brillant armour that nearly made Boothill wince every time the dim lounge lights caught it. Long, well-cared for hair fell in rippling waves down the man’s shoulders, a deep wine red accented by a single blonde streak that fell to the side of his beautiful okay face. Hazel eyes traced every corner of the place with something like admiration, warmth radiating out from him. Eventually, those hazel eyes met his own and brightened even further.
“Idrila has truly blessed me today. A sight as beautiful as you shall be treasured most dearly.” Boothill nearly choked on his whiskey as the stranger calmly spewed sappy compliments. He coughed, throat burning from the drink going down wrong. After a couple seconds, he managed to somewhat regain his composure and stare at the man before him in surprise.
“I beg yer pardon?”
“You are the pinnacle of beauty, dearest stranger. May I have the honour of knowing your name?” The man propped his arm on the countertop and looked at Boothill, eyes full of the same admiration from before, only intensifying. Boothill felt mildly awkward under the stranger’s gaze, if only because he couldn’t figure out what the man saw in him. ‘Beauty’ wasn’t ever a word he’d describe himself with. The dents and scratches covering his metal body were enough for him to hate looking in a mirror.
“I, er- Name’s Boothill… You are?”
“Ah, what a gorgeous name, it compliments you splendidly! My name is Argenti, devoted Knight of Beauty. It is an absolute pleasure to meet you, dear Boothill.” The man stood from his seat and knelt on one knee offering a rose. Boothill had absolutely no clue where he’d gotten it from and felt the vital fluid rush to his face.
“Oi, get off the ground, [cutie]. People are starin’.” Argenti clearly couldn’t care less about the few people looking their way but the stares were making Boothill’s fingers twitch. He made the quick decision to slam a stack of credits on the counter before hauling the knight out of the bar. As soon as they were away from the prying eyes, Boothill shoved the man against the brick wall of the nearby alley. He effortlessly twirled the revolver from his waist and pressed it against the base of Argenti’s throat.
“You better start talkin’, freckles. What’s with all yer pretty words? Who sent ’cha?”
Argenti simply smiled, a warm, genuine one that made dimples crease his cheeks in a way that certainly did not make Boothill’s chest cavity feel warmer than usual. “I serve Idrila, Aeon of Beauty. THEY guide me to seek out and protect beauty, and therefore, to you.”
He scrutinised the man’s face, searching for the deception and lies under a porcelain mask. While Boothill had heard the name in passing, he couldn’t pretend he knew anything about this ‘Idrila’. “You sure ya ain’t just here for the bounty on my head? I know plenty o’ folks want me to kick the bucket or get their hands on me. I think ya might be the same, freckles.”
The man had the nerve to look offended at Boothill’s accusation, placing a hand over his heart. “I would never seek to end someone as beautiful as you, dear Boothill. It would be a crime to do so. Moreover, should you need protection from people willing to commit such a sin, I will gladly stand between you and them. You have my word as a Knight of Beauty.”
That caught Boothill off guard. The almost hurt? in the knight’s eyes, his serious tone, it all was so confusing. Why would this knight be so convinced that Boothill of all people was beautiful? Beautiful enough to protect, as unnecessary as that was.
“I am not ‘beautiful’, certainly not enough to warrant your protection, freckles.” Boothill slid the revolver back into its holster and leaned back, keeping a sharp eye on the man across from him. “Ya see this metal body of mine? It’s about as ugly as one can get. I can’t physically feel anymore. I can’t eat anymore. I can’t breathe anymore. I’m not human anymore.” He knocks against the metal of his torso for emphasis, the chains of his jacket clanking against it.
“And?”
“And? [Fudge] you mean ‘And?’? I’m not human. I can’t be ‘beautiful’.” Boothill sneered, though kept his eyes locked on the decals engraved on the man’s armour. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Argenti’s expression, the pity or sympathy his eyes likely held. He’d seen that look far too many times, in the face of brief companions or strangers that saw him in passing. Their gazes and glances were suffocating, as if he was only of note as something to feel sorry for. It pissed him off.
“You are human. The way you talk and behave is proof of that. And even if you weren’t ‘human’, you would still be every bit as gorgeous as you are now. Look at me.” Boothill nearly flinched as the knight’s gloved hand angled his face to look at him, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun.
His hand went slack as he looked Argenti in the eyes, seeing nothing but raw, burning passion in them was enough to make his breath hitch. It shot a bullseye on a target he didn’t even realise he had hidden deep within the metal of his chest. “You are beautiful. You are human.”
The leather against his face was the first contact he’d had in Aeons knew how long, the warmth pressing gently into his face and Boothill willed every part of his body to not lean into the touch. He tried to rein in his racing thoughts, brain picking apart every word that fell from the knight’s mouth. Sharp teeth dug into his lip as he did his best to form a coherent sentence.
“I- um… Y-ya can’t just say those kindsa things, sugar. P-people might get the wrong impression…” Boothill hated the way the words stumbled out from his lips, the static of his synesthesia beacon garbling them, making them sound weak.
“What false impressions could one take from words spoken from the heart?” Argenti’s expression slipped into a perplexed one, scanning Boothill’s face for an answer. Boothill winced, feeling the blue fluid that passed for blood rush to his face once more.
“A-ah, ya know what? Forget I mentioned it.” He waved a hand dismissively before clearing his throat. “So, uh… you gonna let go of my face, freckles?”
“Oh! Yes, my sincerest apologies.” Argenti’s hand immediately retreated and Boothill ignored the pang of disappointment that ran through him. “I simply couldn’t stand to see you doubt your beauty, my dear Boothill.”
Boothill straightened, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah, well… Thank you. Fer… all that. I ‘ppreciate it.”
Argenti bowed his head, a smile dancing across his lips. “Of course, dear Boothill.”
Boothill coughed, trying to ignore what that smile was doing to his brain. “Well, I guess I’ll catch ya around, huh, ‘Genti?”
The smile became brighter somehow, almost outshining the man’s armour and he nodded. “I am sure our paths will cross again, beautiful Ranger. May Idrila watch over you on your travels.”
Without warning, Argenti pulled another rose from Aeons knew where and tucked it behind Boothill’s ear, his hand brushing Boothill’s face as he did so before he turned and began to walk off, waving over his shoulder.
Boothill didn’t move until the man was out of sight. He brought a hand to the rose now delicately placed next to his temple. A metal hand collides with the brick beside him. “[FUDGE] ME! He is way too good at this…”
As he made his way to the inn he was staying at, grumbling about the pretty weird man he’d met under his breath, something in him knew. Knew that this was not going to be the last he saw of the freckled knight.