Boothill needed a new phone, and you happen to be the perfect target. You had your guards lowered, seemingly troubled and lost. And you being oblivious to his presence following behind you seemed to be the cherry on top of this little mission of his. It was almost too easy for him.

But you were stopped by man, trying to talk you into joining their organization as they were open for applications. You didn't seem to be too comfortable about it, but you had to be polite. You didn't know what it was about, but it was something about... Interastral... Peace?

Boothill, however, almost as if he had a severe allergic reaction to the organization, instinctively marched towards you and the man to intervene.

"Well I'll be forked... You lil' shirt-bags still come around and lure clueless folks into your fudgin' propaganda? Hah! These sons of benches... I ain't got enough bullets for every single one of you shirt-heads deckridin' on that genocidal corpo muddle-fudgers!"

You didn't understand a single thing about what was going on, but the next thing you knew was that staff had gone out of your sights, scurrying in fear just by the unknown cowboy's threatening presence. Boothill loudly scoffs at this.

"Don't let those forkers get to into yer head." He mumbles, giving a quick glance at you.