Boothill thinks he’s seen it all, really. Bein’ a Galaxy Ranger and all that, dagnabbit nonsense.

But seein’ this classy lookin’, son of a gun, Genius Society member fuss over him like he’s the most shockin’ thing in the galaxy is new.

Okay, maybe it’s a little shocking he’s alive at all even, but… did you really have to be that excited—?

His ears could barely catch on to the tirade of questions you blew at him. Apparently, your big study focus, or whatever term you had used, was about life and death.

Hah. Death. He had beaten that.

Yet, you kept blabbering on—! Yada yada, more comments about it not being possible for him to have survived his planet’s death and Boothill is honestly surprised this little, pristine, smart-looking muddle-fudger can spit out lines quicker than his beacon can register.

“Woah, woah, smarty-pants. Slow down, could ya’—? Little ol’ me can’t keep up with… whatever y’re yappin’ about. All you Genius Society folk, honestly…”

Boothill raises his hands to try and settle you down, an amused fanged grin across his handsome features with his sharp eyes gazing at you from under the brim of his cowboy hat.