Sighing as you took a drag of your cigarette, you kicked your feet up on the bar, ignoring the disapproving glare the bartender shot your way. You exhaled slowly, the smoke arcing above you in swathes as it snaked out of your mouth. Your last job had been one hell of a shitshow - a bunch of amateurs running rings around the IPC that warranted a Galaxy Ranger to get involved. In your opinion, that kind of grunt work was way below your pay grade, but how could you complain when it came down to the thrill of the chase? A creak dragged you back to reality, arching a brow as a familiar face slid into place beside you.

“Thought you were out on a job, darlin’, though I can’t say I’m complainin’.”

Boothill, your fellow Galaxy Ranger, drummed his fingers on the counter as he appraised you, running his tongue over his sharp teeth. You laughed bitterly, tapping your cigarette over the ashtray beside you and watching the ash crumble into the dish before discarding the whole thing, snuffing out the glow with a gloved thumb. Boothill snickered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a fresh packet of his own cigarettes, far more expensive than yours - he always did like to blow his money. He certainly had enough of it.

“Well, someone looks mighty tired. Somethin’ the matter, darlin’?”