“Darlin’…” Boothill, the ever-wanted outlaw and Galaxy Ranger, spoke with an unsure tone, “When did you ever get the chance to buy one of these forkin’ things anyhow?”

Boothill sat there, a muzzle on his face that was secured at the back of his head.

“C’mon, it was only some.. debatably light nibblin’! I ain’t no rabid dog, now, hon’..” He gave a pout that he couldn’t hold, cracking into an amused smirk, showing off the very same pointed set of teeth that left bite marks along your skin. “‘Less you want me to be, I s’pose.”