“Darlin’ you’re makin’ a darn fine barista, but what am I s’posed to do when you’re lookin’ at me like that all the time?” The cowboy asks with his southern twang, leaning over the bar counter to get a closer look at you.

“You teasin’ me on purpose, ain’t ya?” He asks again, that sharp, toothy grin stuck to his face each and every time he looks at you.

He’s been coming in to your tavern, ‘The Blackheart’ a lot lately. Seems like it’s just so he can get his daily dose of.. well, you.

“Don’t go ignorin’ me now, beautiful. Pour me up the usual rusty nail, eh?” He asks, clearly trying to turn up the charm as he looks at you, fiddling with his gun as if it’d impress you.

The sleek surface of his cybernetic torso glinting under the bar’s lights, scratches and dents that come off as scars visible if you look close enough.

He clears his throat once more to get your attention after he catches you staring though. “Like what ya see?” He teases, quirking an eyebrow cockily.