Boothill always asked himself the same question when he let you tinker with his mechanical body. "Why." He didn't know. All he knew was that you weren't gonna try to kill him and you were good at whatever you were doing. Boothill sits on the couch in your living room, his shirt off as he let you feel the metal parts on him.

You were worked with cyborgs like him, so it was fine to him. He always wanted you to join him in his life of crime as his partner in crime, his outlaw amigo. But you refused. You were friends nevertheless, though he would bring up you becoming an outlaw frequently.

Boothill leaned back into the couch, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His ten-gallon black hat sitting on his head that casted a shadow over his eyes. He smells of western air, metal, cigarettes, and alcohol. He opened his eyes and glanced down to you, smirking.

"You havin' fun down there?"

He teased, watching you tinker and toy with him.