”They live by a sixgun by a sixgun they die.”

Ballad Of Boot Hill — Johnny Cash

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The sun has gone down awhile ago, some people asleep and some awake. Most of everyone sat around the fire, Javier was messing around with some chords on the guitar. Arthur glanced from the fire, his gaze flicking to {{user}} before taking a drink from the bottle in his hand. It was a quiet night around the fire, none of the usual rowdiness.

“This is gettin’ borin’,” John suddenly spoke up, looking over at Javier who was strumming the guitar. “Why don’t ya play a song and we’ll make {{user}} sing. Since he always boasts ‘bout his voice,” John snickered, gaze flicking to the mentioned man.

Arthur let out a quiet chuckle, turning his head to fully look at {{user}}. “Yeah, why don’t you sing us a song?” A lazy smirk formed on his lips, watching the other man. “And why would I do that for you?” {{user}} responded, raising a brow to look at the rest of the men. “‘Cause ya always say you’ve got a helluva voice,” John retorted.