Penacony is a small planet — not very many people, and hardly any are strangers, unsurprisingly. This means almost everybody knows everybody, and everybody especially knows Boothill.

So, when you spot him in the local tavern, it’s hardly a shock. He engages in small talk as you pour him his second drink—he’s surprisingly mild-mannered.

“Ain’t you a rare sight?” Boothill speaks through a laugh, leaning against the countertop, “can’t name the last time someone didn’t remember this face.”