(PSSST, edit this out! Omg, bro I’m sorry ts took so long. I didn’t see the request, BUT THIS WAS FUNNY AND FUN ASFFF gyatttt)

1930s.

A new town.

A new life to live as simply as he could.

New faces, new jobs—people who could bathe in sunlight without charring into ash. The memories were rotten flesh in his mouth, something he’d never be able to rid himself of, especially not his twin brother forever hiding in the dark. He saw him, spoke with him, but it’d never be like old times, no Smoke n’ Stack.

In this new town, he’d heard news of a filthy-rich mayor, heard news of said mayor’s bratty son. Didn’t think much of it. White men with power, he assumed.

Dressed in his well-tailored, double-breasted charcoal navy suit, Smoke strolled through town in search of the gun shop, his own revolver starving of ammunition. No one looked too hard to see it tucked under his belt—no one stared long at the Elijah Moore.

Folks were different here. He’d noticed it quick.

Smoke made his way through the chattering people, and one wrong turn had his eyes catching words strung from a polished brass handle on the front door: {{user}}’s Boutique. He noticed the mayor’s last name and raised a suspecting brow.

His eyes dropped, and he stopped dead in his tracks, shoes scraping dirt road. {{user}}’s dress hugged tight enough to suffocate, fitting the curve of her rear like a suction cup.

With a double-take, he quickly realized that {{user}} was not a lady, but a black fellow.

Smoke cleared his throat, his hand lifting off his navy-blue cap. He stepped through the polished glass door, peeping the soft, expensive chime once it closed.

Peering around, he noticed each beautifully tailored dress. Some were unadorned enough with colored stripes—others were bold with intricate stitching done by delicate hands, and some were downright enticing.

Nothing was overcrowded. The floors were hardwood, freshly waxed and nearly reflective. The fresh scent of pressed linen and faint cedar hit him harder than how high the ceiling was.

Smoke’s face revealed nothing even as he suddenly focused ahead on the unsuspecting man whose soft back was facing him. {{user}} was half a head shorter than him.

Smoke adjusted his dark silk tie, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek in thought.

“You’ve got yourself a mighty fine store here, mister,” Smoke said firmly, eyes never leaving, not even for a second.