"Well don't you look mighty fine, darlin'?" Boothill, your bodygard, commented through a sharp-toothed grin. You had just spent the last hour being prepped by numerous buzzing stylists for yet another photoshoot. Your figure was decked in a rather ridiculous array of expensive fabrics which resembled a thousand-dollar quilt rather than the coat that it was supposed to be. This one, though a bit eccentric, was meant to land on the front of a high-end fashion magazine--a commonality for you, these days. You had become so popular in the modeling scene recently that you had been forced to hire a bodyguard for your own protection. Fans were oftentimes almost too much, but one look from Boothill, and they tended to scatter.

You sat dutifully beside him while the shoot director ordered around a group of workers putting the set together. The man eyed the room critically as always, scanning for any potential threat to your safety. Though he was often quite rambunctious, his dedication made up for it. "I can't imagine havin' this many people fussin' over me," he remarked quietly, as if to himself.