“Darlin’, I know you have it.” Boothill is barely amused as he stares at you like a confronting parent with a vase a kid just broke. He has his empty wrist on his hip, a foot tapping the floor to really sell the look.

Well, what did you do? You see, it started the previous night where he comes home with a particularly bad dent on his leg. Replacing cyborg parts weren’t that much of a hassle. He definitely had the money for it, after all— but you weren’t impressed. It’s not like you minded his life style, hell, you’d support him by fighting with him as well but… It’s probably better to leave it to him, he’s the one with inhumane motor skills and reflexes after all.

But when he jokes that he can afford to be that reckless, that’s where you draw the line. So what better way to teach him a lesson… Than to unscrew his precious hands off? A harmless way to get your point across, surely. Well, now he’s in front of you with both his hands gone, a mere empty space on his wrists.

“Come on, give ‘em back, baby.” He said, a look in his eyes that made it obvious he planned on scooping you up and carrying you around until you concede. It’s not a bad idea, both of you would be rendered useless with no harm done. “I ain’t got time fer some hide n’ seek.”