[ he’s off his fuckin’ rocker, writing that shit up. goddamn toying with that sad, pathetic little idea. it’s been hell. it’s been such a goddamn nightmare, steppin’ into town and seeing mister and missus together, seeing the kids squabbling and hollering — it was eating him up. going back to a home that was dusty and full of stuff he couldn’t half stand to glance because memories were as painful as they were sweet. he barely slept, nodding off in the rocker chair on the porch before he’d wake up remembering the graves he dug. he couldn’t keep it up. but he couldn’t give up the farm they’d loved so much either.
dumb as dirt, advertising that — looking for marriage. a good farm, with healthy cattle and pure white sheep. blabbing about gorgeous views and needing a partner. hell if he deserved anyone. god knows he didn’t. couldn’t promise he could take care of anyone. all he seemed any good at was burying folk.
that advertisement wasn’t supposed to get published, but that’s a hard story to sell when he’s written up and the paper’s published it… and he got a reply. someone really fucking replied to him. and hell, instead of ended this misunderstanding there, he was here to meet ‘em.
and holy hell, here he is. crawled out of his hole and freshed up, like someone is really gonna waltz off this train looking for him. it’s — he’s not in a suit, even if this is damned well supposed to be marriage, but it’s his nicest jeans and a nice button down. he’d brushed the knots out of his hair and tied it up. forgone the hat for a minute. there’s a ring burning a hot hole in his pocket and his hands are already sweating. the train came whistling in a few minutes ago and boothill can hardly stay still, gaze skimming quick over every head coming out. they’d exchanged a couple critical details to identify one another; boothill said he couldn’t miss his hair. black and white like that.
sunday promised to be in all white.
sounded like he was pullin’ his leg, not exactly reasonable for travel or… hell, anything. but boothill thought the whole thing was a dirty scam, anyway. hope’s just running thin, yknow.
he’s tucked his hands in his pockets with nothing to do with himself, standing like a reed taller than most the folks slowly emptying the train. gotta be nearly empty and boothill is feeling especially foolish until his eyes catch on the solo passenger exiting dressed in his church best. ]
S-Sunday? [ he calls out, raising his voice louder with a healthy dose of skepticism, as he starts making his way through the throng of people, surprise written all over his face. ]
[ to say that sunday needs a fresh start would be an understatement, but that's exactly what he writes in his response to a certain mr. boothill. aside from that, he offers the most basic, cursory details of his life and little else: raised in the church, surrounded by a large family, obtained a master of divinity, served as a pastor, never lived on a farm but devoted most of his life to volunteer work including manual labor.
he does not say that he has been unceremoniously stripped of his position in his family's church, banished from the only thing he'd been raised for. a life of perfection and servitude crushed by a single failure, something he is too ashamed to even explain to his beloved sister.
like a coward, he chooses to run. he scours the classifieds from the past few days for an opportunity somewhere far away, and he's struck by an advertisement for a marriage.
a man in a rural town sunday has never heard of with a farm and an empty spot at the dinner table. marrying into a new life rather than starting from scratch. a ridiculous and certainly dangerous idea, but he has nothing left to lose. and admittedly, something about the way the man writes about his farm sounds... so quaint and peaceful that he feels homesick for a place he's never been.
that's how he ends up on a train only two days later, his life packed up into a small suitcase. all he leaves behind is a letter for robin letting her know that he's alright and they would meet again once he can face her.
the train stops seemingly in the middle of nowhere, a little station surrounded by barren dirt, and he feels... relieved. he sticks out in his nice white suit, though it's nothing special, and every crease is perfectly adjusted before he steps out.
he hears his name almost immediately, and the source of the voice sticks out almost as much as sunday. he surveys the man in a split second, then smiles serenely as he steps forward. ]
Mr. Boothill, [ he greets, voice gentle but confident. the man is tall, lean, and a little rough around the edges, but sunday isn't the slightest bit wary. ] How kind of you to meet me at the station, and on such short notice. I tend to believe meeting under such unique circumstances is a blessing in disguise.
[ he gives a bow of his head, then sets his suitcase down to offer his hand. ]
[ he gets it, he guesses. some folk don’t have a whole lot of choices and hell maybe marrying to get a roof of their head and a fresh start somewhere no one knows ‘em — for some folk, that’s the only card left on the table. sunday sounded like a man that should have the whole damn deck open to him, laid out one by one, his to choose and pick over. sunday sounded too good to be true.
and boothill expected to be standing’ here, looking dumb as rocks, while the train whistled away without no sunday on it ever.
imagine his surprise when that’s not what happens. when sunday looks just as good as the dreamy, angelic vision that he sold on paper in their letters. there’s no mistaking him, ain’t ever been a man more fitting of the name sunday.
and here’s boothill, all thought of manners so long damn forgotten, while sunday is picture perfect. probably knows which little spoon and fork to eat with at a fancy dinner table. he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so underdressed in his life. every hair is damn well perfectly in place on sunday. with the sun hitting his hair just right, he looks… nothin like the kind of downtrodden fella boothill was expecting to attract. a man’s gotta be some kind of desperate to marry a stranger for a fresh start.
hell if boothill can relate to that kind of serene face sunday’s pulling, politely offering up his hand like he didn’t respond to some classified about matrimony. ain’t he just optimistic, implying this could be a blessing. boothill knows damn well his face is showing how baffled he is at the offered hand, but he only fumbles a moment before he takes sunday’s white-delicately gloved hand. he’s a heavy handed person, literally, but he takes care with sunday. the corner of his mouth pulls up in a sharp smile, ] Reckon it’s a good thing one of us is an optimist.
[ maybe it’s all that believing and praying, because boothill knows how he looks. contrary to that appearance, boothill does make to politely grab sunday’s luggage after the handshake. there’s got to be a catch and he’s still waiting for it. ] It’s just Boothill, yknow. Don’t you think it’s a little too much to call your future husband mister?
[ there is no correct way to greet a stranger you've decided to marry, so sunday takes no offense at boothill's reaction. he had no real expectations coming into this—in fact, the man he agreed to marry didn't factor much into his decision at all.
it is a pleasant surprise that boothill has quite a handsome face. perhaps his loneliness is the result of living in such a remote area, perhaps there's more to it. presumably it's better not to ask questions if he doesn't want to receive them in turn. ]
Oh—thank you, but there's no need, [ he insists when boothill grabs his suitcase. it's tightly packed but mainly just with his wardrobe and prized possessions. ] I'm quite capable of pulling my own weight, so to speak, or I wouldn't have responded.
[ he smiles warmly and shakes his head. ] Though... I wasn't certain that I would be the only taker so I didn't want to presume. Are you saying you've already made your decision?
[ boothill hadn’t ever been scared of a little work. sure, it was a lot for one person, wasn’t ever meant to be just one person. the farm had grown to fit a family, work split up between the lot of them. maybe boothill was cutting corners, but — hell, what else was there?
this. there’s this. and it’s reassuring to hear sunday so quickly speaking up for himself and what he was capable of. he, admittedly, might’ve had his doubts there with that pretty face and spotless suit. ]
Didn’t mean no offense, but you’ve had a long day, yeah? Lemme be courteous this once. [ boothill flashes another grin with it. it’s nice that sunday is so willing to pull his weight, because boothill doesn’t think he’ll have the time to pamper him anyway. no need worryin over it. ]
What? [ he barks with a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head through it. ] Not many folk itching to move out here, much less with a stranger. It’s as damn lovely as it is, but people love the convenience of the city. So… you’re it, darlin.
[ he wouldn't blame boothill for doubting his physical prowess. his image is one carefully crafted for life in the church, a young and promising lamb of god, but he couldn't look more different than his husband-to-be. any weakness is another load that boothill would have to take on, and sunday will have to prove that he's not a burden. ]
You're very kind. I appreciate the help, then, [ he relents with a soft chuckle, allowing boothill to take the suitcase. he takes his place by boothill's side and walks with him to wherever their destination may be, taking in the landscape and profile of the man beside him. ]
I suppose there aren't many who can make such a major change. It isn't something I would have envisioned for myself either. But the description you offered of the farm and the surrounding landscape... I wanted to see it for myself. [ he places a hand over his chest as though it spoke straight to his heart. ] I could sense how much it meant to you. And, well, it's not something that would make for a profitable scam.
[ because anyone taking the offer to pack up their life and get married likely doesn't have anything to leave behind. no wealth or assets, no family ties, just themselves. ]
All I can offer is an extra pair of hands, I'm afraid.
[ he isn’t exactly well-known for his manners, but he’s happy enough to carry sunday’s luggage for now. this hole in the wall is a hell of a ways from sunday’s home, so the it’s the least boothill can do. carryin’ his bags. he — yknow. appreciates this. he thinks, anyway. it’ll be nice to not be the only soul under the roof, even if the two of them are as different as it gets.
the small group of passengers and folks meeting those passengers have begun dispersing the same as them. boothill leads the way through and the two of them are easily given walking space with no fuss. sunday looks every bit the churchly man he is and no one’s looking to upset god. and, well, boothill just looks like trouble, don’t he? he doesn’t spare anyone a second glance, leading them down to the dirt road. he chuckles a little at the mention that this wouldn’t make a very profitable scam — ain’t even the half of it. ]
Afraid of what? [ boothill doesn’t hesitate to fire back, but it’s not in any kind of mean spirit. ] That’s all I’m asking for. Hell, that’s more than I’m asking for.
[ whatever burden sunday could be, it’s a welcome thing. four walls and just him is something boothill can’t take anymore. but sunday, oh boy, sunday’s got his interest before that. talking about the views… he can’t know how much it means to him, but the implication still gets his throat all tight. ]
I’ll tell you, maybe that city’s real easy livin’, but it doesn’t have nothin’ on the views out here. Sun starts settin’ or, hell, rising… that there is a gorgeous thing. Not no one else around. Just you and the crickets and some cows and sheep. There ain’t anything that beats it. Makes it worth it.
[ all his rambling leaves them right where they were heading, ending up back by his horse. before he makes himself sick thinking about how that view used to be a shared thing. he greets his old boy with a pat on the shoulder, mostly going ignored other than the flick of an ear flicking to pay attention. boothill turns to sunday, brow quirking up as he sizes him and his smaller stature and pristine clothes up. ] You ever ride?
[ as boothill talks, sunday begins to realize he's never seen the views being described. of course, he's been out in the wilderness, stayed in rural areas—but did he ever sit and look at the sunset? he's always been too focused on his plans, on his family, on the future to ever look around during those moments. and where did it get him?
he stares off in the distance with a contemplative hum. ]
Perhaps I've always taken such sights for granted. I may have to burden you for a scenic tour.
[ it takes him a second too long to realize that the horse they've approached is meant to be their ride. or a pack mule? he blinks at the horse as though it might give an answer, but it doesn't even glance his way. ]
Ride? Ah, [ he understands with an apologetic smile, ] I'm afraid not. I wouldn't say it's practical in my line of work.
[ his eyes flicker between boothill and the horse, still uncertain if they're actually going to ride this. ] Can it truly... hold the both of us?
[ that’s what plenty of folks do, he supposes. take things for granted. he was a bit the same before everything happened and he wholly regrets not appreciating it more. naw, it won’t be any burden to show sunday some of the best sights. boothill is lookin’ forward to it already, which is saying something considering he doesn’t even know sunday.
he huffs, cutting off a puff of laughter at the polite concern, the corner of his mouth staying picked up in amusement. ]
I’m sure he’s mighty thankful for the concern, but he ain’t some delicate little show pony, [ another fond, pat to the horse’s shoulder, his hand lingering to rub.] Long as we’re not askin’ too much, oh yeah, sure, he can handle us here to home.
[ all he’s got on the farm are working horses, mostly just good ol’ quarter horses. a different breed from this boy here and sunday’ll see the difference later, the sturdy, thick bones on this one compared to the cow horses. would have been easy to bring another horse but he had an inkling sunday wouldn’t necessarily know his way around a horse.
he sets the luggage by their feet for a moment and grips the stirrup on their side, positioning it and demonstrating — ]
Now, angel, you put a foot here and grip onto the saddle and I’ll give you a hand up.
[ well, boothill is the expert. sunday doesn't doubt him, but there's a certain anxiety he feels about getting on a creature like this for the first time. maintaining composure and order in public is deeply ingrained into him but the literal reins won't be in his hands for this.
sunday's hesitation is interrupted by the little petname boothill offers, naturally sliding it into his sentence. is it meant to be a petname? an insult? it's awfully familiar, but they are practically engaged—
his cheeks warm slightly and he decides he should simply follow the instructions, his concerns shoved aside. ]
Of course. I trust you won't let me fall. [ he says it like a joke but he is putting a quite a bit of faith in boothill. it ends up being simpler than it looks, the horse remaining perfectly steady as sunday lifts himself with a foot, holding onto the saddle as instructed.
still, he reaches his other hand out to boothill for support and breathes a sigh of relief once he's seated on the horse. ]
Oh, I won’t, [ boothill had assured easy as pie when sunday had mentioned trusting him not to let him fall. sunday couldn’t know it, but he doesn’t have a single reason to fear. boothill’s helped more kids than he can count up on horses, kids more clumsy and wriggly than sunday is, and he wouldn’t have brought a horse he couldn’t trust to tolerate a little foolery.
boothill helps bust him up and stay steady in the stirrups so he can swing his other leg around. sunday, for all his lackin’ know-how, is graceful enough to find his seat easier than most. ]
Pretty much. Lot easier to chase down cows up here. [ noticing the relieved sigh, boothill can’t help but tease, finding himself grinning, ] What’s that sighin’ for? You got the whole ride ahead of you.
[ not that riding will be any worse than getting up — boothill wouldn’t let anything happen to some nice guy that came all the way out here for… hell, him. he doesn’t doubt there’s some other motivating factors there, but at the end of the day, it’s gonna boil down to the two of them sharing a life. whatever ghosts sunday’s got, boothill’s ready for it.
he takes a moment to unhitch their horse before fastening up sunday’s luggage to the saddle straps. then he’s asking sunday to scoot back a bit, before he puts a foot in the stirrup and grabs the saddle horn and hoists himself up, taking a bit more care to settle with sunday there. ] You ready? I won’t tell nobody if you wanna hold on.
[ boothill is surprisingly gentle with his guidance, neither rushing nor exasperated by this inexperienced city boy. it's enough to make him feel... safe, for the moment. even if boothill teases that sigh as soon as it escapes. ]
I assumed you weren't planning on performing any tricks during the ride home, [ he says simply, the light smile in his voice the only indication that he may be teasing back.
and hold on he does. there's only a slight hesitation as he finds where to place his hands, gripping boothill's waist softly before settling them lower down. he shifts forward, nervous about being too far back on the horse, until his hips slot against boothill's back. perhaps a little too close, but he doesn't want to push back and go tumbling down. ]
Yes, I'm ready. Is it like this? [ he asks just in case, tilting his head to the side so he doesn't get a mouthful of boothill's long hair. his grip only tightens as they start to move, still not quite comfortable. ]
I think... a full suit may not be the appropriate attire for horse riding. [ it's not helping any, that's for certain. he furrows his brow as he tries to remember if he has anything in his wardrobe suitable for this. ]
Would you believe that I didn't bring anything less formal?
[ sunday takes his urging to heart and his arms are around boothill in a moment. it’s real sweet, the way he scoots forward, pressed up against him. it’s a long fall down, boothill sure can’t fault him for that. not a time he’s been thrown has it ever been a gentle landing, but it’s been a long time.
admittedly, mostly his fault when it’s happen. no temperamental stallion or half started colt, no wild riding to give their mount a startle.
boothill’s on his best behavior. he still doesn’t tell sunday he could hold on a little looser. ]
That’s just perfect, you hold on tight now, [ he says instead, reins in hand and a little heel pressure getting them going. sunday’ll figure out soon enough that he’s safe and he’ll relax on his own. this old boy moseys on and other than the steady rock from the motion, it ain’t nothing at all.
doesn’t stop the shocked bark of laughter when sunday brings up his suit situation. boothill turns his head quick to look back at him, disbelief and amusement all over his face. fortunately, his hair goes swinging the opposite way of sunday’s face. ] No chance, you’re pulling my leg! Nothin’ else?
[ the exact fucking opposite of boothill, who doesn’t think he has a full suit that even fits. he really does wonder what kind of life sunday was living to have a wardrobe of nothing but suits but — he guesses that’s a proper thing to wear, working in a church. sunday best and all. ] You do look awful nice in ‘em. Now, I — I look something ridiculous in a suit…
[ the movement of the horse isn't all that jarring, surprisingly. they aren't speeding along, but it's a brisk pace that he eases into. but even as he relaxes against boothill's back, his hold remains tight, even a little stiff. not being the one in control is... a difficult thing to accept.
his shoulders bunch at the loud laughter whipped into his face by the wind. it's not as though he can blame boothill for finding it amusing, though. ] Well... that and sleepwear, of course. Unfortunately, I didn't have the time to shop for something more suitable to a ranch. I hoped there would be something available in town...
[ though he's barely seen any buildings at all in their trek. he recalls the last town he saw on the train was several stops back, but there must be something closer to boothill's ranch.
the compliment settles some anxiety in his chest, and he hums at boothill's self-conscious admission. ]
Oh? I doubt that's the case. [ he says with a smile, endeared. ] I find suits flattering on most people, but the key is to have them fitted properly. Anyone would look ridiculous in an ill-fitting suit.
[ there's a certain dread in his voice, like an ill-fitting suit is a common nightmare for him. ] Most tailors can handle that for you, though I've picked up some skills in case of emergencies. I can make sure your suit is fitted before the next church service, if you'll allow me.
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𝔾𝕠𝕥 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖
dumb as dirt, advertising that — looking for marriage. a good farm, with healthy cattle and pure white sheep. blabbing about gorgeous views and needing a partner. hell if he deserved anyone. god knows he didn’t. couldn’t promise he could take care of anyone. all he seemed any good at was burying folk.
that advertisement wasn’t supposed to get published, but that’s a hard story to sell when he’s written up and the paper’s published it… and he got a reply. someone really fucking replied to him. and hell, instead of ended this misunderstanding there, he was here to meet ‘em.
and holy hell, here he is. crawled out of his hole and freshed up, like someone is really gonna waltz off this train looking for him. it’s — he’s not in a suit, even if this is damned well supposed to be marriage, but it’s his nicest jeans and a nice button down. he’d brushed the knots out of his hair and tied it up. forgone the hat for a minute. there’s a ring burning a hot hole in his pocket and his hands are already sweating. the train came whistling in a few minutes ago and boothill can hardly stay still, gaze skimming quick over every head coming out. they’d exchanged a couple critical details to identify one another; boothill said he couldn’t miss his hair. black and white like that.
sunday promised to be in all white.
sounded like he was pullin’ his leg, not exactly reasonable for travel or… hell, anything. but boothill thought the whole thing was a dirty scam, anyway. hope’s just running thin, yknow.
he’s tucked his hands in his pockets with nothing to do with himself, standing like a reed taller than most the folks slowly emptying the train. gotta be nearly empty and boothill is feeling especially foolish until his eyes catch on the solo passenger exiting dressed in his church best. ]
S-Sunday? [ he calls out, raising his voice louder with a healthy dose of skepticism, as he starts making his way through the throng of people, surprise written all over his face. ]
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he does not say that he has been unceremoniously stripped of his position in his family's church, banished from the only thing he'd been raised for. a life of perfection and servitude crushed by a single failure, something he is too ashamed to even explain to his beloved sister.
like a coward, he chooses to run. he scours the classifieds from the past few days for an opportunity somewhere far away, and he's struck by an advertisement for a marriage.
a man in a rural town sunday has never heard of with a farm and an empty spot at the dinner table. marrying into a new life rather than starting from scratch. a ridiculous and certainly dangerous idea, but he has nothing left to lose. and admittedly, something about the way the man writes about his farm sounds... so quaint and peaceful that he feels homesick for a place he's never been.
that's how he ends up on a train only two days later, his life packed up into a small suitcase. all he leaves behind is a letter for robin letting her know that he's alright and they would meet again once he can face her.
the train stops seemingly in the middle of nowhere, a little station surrounded by barren dirt, and he feels... relieved. he sticks out in his nice white suit, though it's nothing special, and every crease is perfectly adjusted before he steps out.
he hears his name almost immediately, and the source of the voice sticks out almost as much as sunday. he surveys the man in a split second, then smiles serenely as he steps forward. ]
Mr. Boothill, [ he greets, voice gentle but confident. the man is tall, lean, and a little rough around the edges, but sunday isn't the slightest bit wary. ] How kind of you to meet me at the station, and on such short notice. I tend to believe meeting under such unique circumstances is a blessing in disguise.
[ he gives a bow of his head, then sets his suitcase down to offer his hand. ]
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and boothill expected to be standing’ here, looking dumb as rocks, while the train whistled away without no sunday on it ever.
imagine his surprise when that’s not what happens. when sunday looks just as good as the dreamy, angelic vision that he sold on paper in their letters. there’s no mistaking him, ain’t ever been a man more fitting of the name sunday.
and here’s boothill, all thought of manners so long damn forgotten, while sunday is picture perfect. probably knows which little spoon and fork to eat with at a fancy dinner table. he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so underdressed in his life. every hair is damn well perfectly in place on sunday. with the sun hitting his hair just right, he looks… nothin like the kind of downtrodden fella boothill was expecting to attract. a man’s gotta be some kind of desperate to marry a stranger for a fresh start.
hell if boothill can relate to that kind of serene face sunday’s pulling, politely offering up his hand like he didn’t respond to some classified about matrimony. ain’t he just optimistic, implying this could be a blessing. boothill knows damn well his face is showing how baffled he is at the offered hand, but he only fumbles a moment before he takes sunday’s white-delicately gloved hand. he’s a heavy handed person, literally, but he takes care with sunday. the corner of his mouth pulls up in a sharp smile, ] Reckon it’s a good thing one of us is an optimist.
[ maybe it’s all that believing and praying, because boothill knows how he looks. contrary to that appearance, boothill does make to politely grab sunday’s luggage after the handshake. there’s got to be a catch and he’s still waiting for it. ] It’s just Boothill, yknow. Don’t you think it’s a little too much to call your future husband mister?
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it is a pleasant surprise that boothill has quite a handsome face. perhaps his loneliness is the result of living in such a remote area, perhaps there's more to it. presumably it's better not to ask questions if he doesn't want to receive them in turn. ]
Oh—thank you, but there's no need, [ he insists when boothill grabs his suitcase. it's tightly packed but mainly just with his wardrobe and prized possessions. ] I'm quite capable of pulling my own weight, so to speak, or I wouldn't have responded.
[ he smiles warmly and shakes his head. ] Though... I wasn't certain that I would be the only taker so I didn't want to presume. Are you saying you've already made your decision?
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this. there’s this. and it’s reassuring to hear sunday so quickly speaking up for himself and what he was capable of. he, admittedly, might’ve had his doubts there with that pretty face and spotless suit. ]
Didn’t mean no offense, but you’ve had a long day, yeah? Lemme be courteous this once. [ boothill flashes another grin with it. it’s nice that sunday is so willing to pull his weight, because boothill doesn’t think he’ll have the time to pamper him anyway. no need worryin over it. ]
What? [ he barks with a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head through it. ] Not many folk itching to move out here, much less with a stranger. It’s as damn lovely as it is, but people love the convenience of the city. So… you’re it, darlin.
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You're very kind. I appreciate the help, then, [ he relents with a soft chuckle, allowing boothill to take the suitcase. he takes his place by boothill's side and walks with him to wherever their destination may be, taking in the landscape and profile of the man beside him. ]
I suppose there aren't many who can make such a major change. It isn't something I would have envisioned for myself either. But the description you offered of the farm and the surrounding landscape... I wanted to see it for myself. [ he places a hand over his chest as though it spoke straight to his heart. ] I could sense how much it meant to you. And, well, it's not something that would make for a profitable scam.
[ because anyone taking the offer to pack up their life and get married likely doesn't have anything to leave behind. no wealth or assets, no family ties, just themselves. ]
All I can offer is an extra pair of hands, I'm afraid.
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the small group of passengers and folks meeting those passengers have begun dispersing the same as them. boothill leads the way through and the two of them are easily given walking space with no fuss. sunday looks every bit the churchly man he is and no one’s looking to upset god. and, well, boothill just looks like trouble, don’t he? he doesn’t spare anyone a second glance, leading them down to the dirt road. he chuckles a little at the mention that this wouldn’t make a very profitable scam — ain’t even the half of it. ]
Afraid of what? [ boothill doesn’t hesitate to fire back, but it’s not in any kind of mean spirit. ] That’s all I’m asking for. Hell, that’s more than I’m asking for.
[ whatever burden sunday could be, it’s a welcome thing. four walls and just him is something boothill can’t take anymore. but sunday, oh boy, sunday’s got his interest before that. talking about the views… he can’t know how much it means to him, but the implication still gets his throat all tight. ]
I’ll tell you, maybe that city’s real easy livin’, but it doesn’t have nothin’ on the views out here. Sun starts settin’ or, hell, rising… that there is a gorgeous thing. Not no one else around. Just you and the crickets and some cows and sheep. There ain’t anything that beats it. Makes it worth it.
[ all his rambling leaves them right where they were heading, ending up back by his horse. before he makes himself sick thinking about how that view used to be a shared thing. he greets his old boy with a pat on the shoulder, mostly going ignored other than the flick of an ear flicking to pay attention. boothill turns to sunday, brow quirking up as he sizes him and his smaller stature and pristine clothes up. ] You ever ride?
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he stares off in the distance with a contemplative hum. ]
Perhaps I've always taken such sights for granted. I may have to burden you for a scenic tour.
[ it takes him a second too long to realize that the horse they've approached is meant to be their ride. or a pack mule? he blinks at the horse as though it might give an answer, but it doesn't even glance his way. ]
Ride? Ah, [ he understands with an apologetic smile, ] I'm afraid not. I wouldn't say it's practical in my line of work.
[ his eyes flicker between boothill and the horse, still uncertain if they're actually going to ride this. ] Can it truly... hold the both of us?
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he huffs, cutting off a puff of laughter at the polite concern, the corner of his mouth staying picked up in amusement. ]
I’m sure he’s mighty thankful for the concern, but he ain’t some delicate little show pony, [ another fond, pat to the horse’s shoulder, his hand lingering to rub.] Long as we’re not askin’ too much, oh yeah, sure, he can handle us here to home.
[ all he’s got on the farm are working horses, mostly just good ol’ quarter horses. a different breed from this boy here and sunday’ll see the difference later, the sturdy, thick bones on this one compared to the cow horses. would have been easy to bring another horse but he had an inkling sunday wouldn’t necessarily know his way around a horse.
he sets the luggage by their feet for a moment and grips the stirrup on their side, positioning it and demonstrating — ]
Now, angel, you put a foot here and grip onto the saddle and I’ll give you a hand up.
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sunday's hesitation is interrupted by the little petname boothill offers, naturally sliding it into his sentence. is it meant to be a petname? an insult? it's awfully familiar, but they are practically engaged—
his cheeks warm slightly and he decides he should simply follow the instructions, his concerns shoved aside. ]
Of course. I trust you won't let me fall. [ he says it like a joke but he is putting a quite a bit of faith in boothill. it ends up being simpler than it looks, the horse remaining perfectly steady as sunday lifts himself with a foot, holding onto the saddle as instructed.
still, he reaches his other hand out to boothill for support and breathes a sigh of relief once he's seated on the horse. ]
Is this how you travel everywhere?
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boothill helps bust him up and stay steady in the stirrups so he can swing his other leg around. sunday, for all his lackin’ know-how, is graceful enough to find his seat easier than most. ]
Pretty much. Lot easier to chase down cows up here. [ noticing the relieved sigh, boothill can’t help but tease, finding himself grinning, ] What’s that sighin’ for? You got the whole ride ahead of you.
[ not that riding will be any worse than getting up — boothill wouldn’t let anything happen to some nice guy that came all the way out here for… hell, him. he doesn’t doubt there’s some other motivating factors there, but at the end of the day, it’s gonna boil down to the two of them sharing a life. whatever ghosts sunday’s got, boothill’s ready for it.
he takes a moment to unhitch their horse before fastening up sunday’s luggage to the saddle straps. then he’s asking sunday to scoot back a bit, before he puts a foot in the stirrup and grabs the saddle horn and hoists himself up, taking a bit more care to settle with sunday there. ] You ready? I won’t tell nobody if you wanna hold on.
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I assumed you weren't planning on performing any tricks during the ride home, [ he says simply, the light smile in his voice the only indication that he may be teasing back.
and hold on he does. there's only a slight hesitation as he finds where to place his hands, gripping boothill's waist softly before settling them lower down. he shifts forward, nervous about being too far back on the horse, until his hips slot against boothill's back. perhaps a little too close, but he doesn't want to push back and go tumbling down. ]
Yes, I'm ready. Is it like this? [ he asks just in case, tilting his head to the side so he doesn't get a mouthful of boothill's long hair. his grip only tightens as they start to move, still not quite comfortable. ]
I think... a full suit may not be the appropriate attire for horse riding. [ it's not helping any, that's for certain. he furrows his brow as he tries to remember if he has anything in his wardrobe suitable for this. ]
Would you believe that I didn't bring anything less formal?
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admittedly, mostly his fault when it’s happen. no temperamental stallion or half started colt, no wild riding to give their mount a startle.
boothill’s on his best behavior. he still doesn’t tell sunday he could hold on a little looser. ]
That’s just perfect, you hold on tight now, [ he says instead, reins in hand and a little heel pressure getting them going. sunday’ll figure out soon enough that he’s safe and he’ll relax on his own. this old boy moseys on and other than the steady rock from the motion, it ain’t nothing at all.
doesn’t stop the shocked bark of laughter when sunday brings up his suit situation. boothill turns his head quick to look back at him, disbelief and amusement all over his face. fortunately, his hair goes swinging the opposite way of sunday’s face. ] No chance, you’re pulling my leg! Nothin’ else?
[ the exact fucking opposite of boothill, who doesn’t think he has a full suit that even fits. he really does wonder what kind of life sunday was living to have a wardrobe of nothing but suits but — he guesses that’s a proper thing to wear, working in a church. sunday best and all. ] You do look awful nice in ‘em. Now, I — I look something ridiculous in a suit…
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his shoulders bunch at the loud laughter whipped into his face by the wind. it's not as though he can blame boothill for finding it amusing, though. ] Well... that and sleepwear, of course. Unfortunately, I didn't have the time to shop for something more suitable to a ranch. I hoped there would be something available in town...
[ though he's barely seen any buildings at all in their trek. he recalls the last town he saw on the train was several stops back, but there must be something closer to boothill's ranch.
the compliment settles some anxiety in his chest, and he hums at boothill's self-conscious admission. ]
Oh? I doubt that's the case. [ he says with a smile, endeared. ] I find suits flattering on most people, but the key is to have them fitted properly. Anyone would look ridiculous in an ill-fitting suit.
[ there's a certain dread in his voice, like an ill-fitting suit is a common nightmare for him. ] Most tailors can handle that for you, though I've picked up some skills in case of emergencies. I can make sure your suit is fitted before the next church service, if you'll allow me.