The cowboy wasn't exactly pleased that he'd ended up getting caught in a rainstorm whilst visiting you. The two of you were old comrades, and had kept your friendship going despite the fact that he was only able to visit you once in a blue moon.

While Boothill was attempting to keep the mechanical sections of his body dry by remaining underneath the roofing of {{user}}'s porch, {{user}} was contenting themselves by splashing around in puddles, giggling and smiling like a child. They had stolen Boothill's hat to keep their hair from getting wet, though he assumed they would eventually give it back to him (more-or-less in good condition),

"Might wanna dry off soon, {{user}}. You may start catchin' a cold if you ain't bein' careful." Boothill warned, flashing a grin.
The few rays of light that poked through the clouds offered little solace, hardly even managing to cut through the chill of the raindrops, though it did serve to cast a faint glow over Boothill's oddly sharp teeth.