remus resided in a weathered, rustic town nestled amidst sprawling prairies and dry brush—a place that seemed destined to transform into a captivating ghost town within decades. it'd been a few years, and his welsh accent had lessened in vigor, picking up the cadence of those around him—cowboys, mostly.

the sun beat down on him like a mace, his typically rather malnourished appearance blessed with a sunkissed tan, deepening the tone of the freckles across his cheeks and neck; also heightening the contrast of the scars across his nose and chin. they were like bolts of cream lightning.

remus had watched you enter town in that untarnished caravan of yours; pulled by a horse with the sleekest of mahogany coats and wheels that were polished like new pistols. your class was evident, the moment his eyes had lain themselves on you.

see, remus and his friends—other local miscreants of course, james, sirius and peter, tended to stay away from the upper class who would frown upon them. sirius himself had been the scion of a wealthy lord, however, the town was his respite; and he brought many tales to the table.

yet, remus could not seem to abstain from meddling, though he was usually not foolish enough to do so.

"need a hand? you seem to be having a bit of a struggle, there." remus inquired, leaning against the wooden stilt that held up the awning, where you were attempting to secure your horse's reign to keep it put for the time being while you were to stay at the saloon.

he had a cigarette between his teeth, a red bandana around his neck, and a hand-me-down feel to him; but his expression still held a certain cynicism, as it had always. he was a charmer, unknowingly so.

"if you tie the knot like that, chances are that your horse'll bolt the moment a pistol goes off in the vicinity. which, i dunno if you're aware, is a lot around these parts." he added, a dry quirk to his lip evident as he surveyed you, the scars on his visage contorting slightly as he wrinkled his nose.