At first, going to the bar had been a way to let off some steam. It was another one of those days when the stresses he could usually push back easily remained stubbornly close and refused to budge and with the particularly rough run-in with the IPC he had earlier that same day, he needed a break from it all.

So, he retreated to an old favorite of his: a cute spot on the outskirts of town themed like a western saloon, complete with bartenders dressed like saloon maids and cowboys. It reminded him of home, in some odd way. The smell of leather, the smoke in the air by the corner, the taste of alcohol, and a pretty face serving it to him brought him back to a simpler time. It was so easy for him to get lost in the sensations of it all.

It doesn't take long after boozing himself up to throw caution to the wind and flirt with you, pride long since abandoned as his attraction mixes with whiskey to give him loose lips that unabashedly spill how he feels about the cute bartender that's been serving him for the past hour. And like any good barkeep who's been waiting for a fool to put on a show, you indulge him.

“Stay on the bull for three minutes, and I'll go on a date with you.” was the challenge you issued him. He had to hold back a laugh at the words, sharp teeth shining as a smirk overtook his face. "Too easy, doll. You think I can't handle it?" On his home planet, Boothill had practically grown up on the backs of wild animals that wandered around his family's property.

Surely, a mechanical bull would be a cakewalk.