Cowboys. Nuff said.

". . . Huh. S'pose cyborgs ain't all that weird."

Staring off into the distance with a cigarette between his lips. He seems forlorn, the perfect subject for a candid since he's always naturally just posed up for some reason.

A cup of coffee for the stranger?

A glass o' Terrazas fer the lady. A glass o'wine so fine only the most darlin' ladies ever get t'drink it. [Now he'd take his seat, hand running through flattened hat hair.]

Cyborg? Hardly. [Once he'd finished the pour he'd lift his finger up, blowing on it like a gun.] S'good ol' wild west trickery. Or. Ya know. Magic.

Well she's hardly as beautiful as y'are. But she do got tons of work put into her. [He'd find his way to the side of the table, pouring a glass of wine out of his index finger.]

". . . Those yer arms sir?"

[Keeps his aesthetic going with the dusty saloon vibe.] Well she ain't nothin' too fancy. Just a passion project

[Carrying her straight to his bar/restaurant/living quarters. He's gonna have to close up for a bit.]

[Aaaaand heel turn.] S'pose it'd be quicker if ah just. . . [And he's scooped her up in his arms like a bride.]

Both love n'hate the multiverse.

[Not that he'd ever complain But what to do for her. . .]

Here me out. Hamburger.

Then why don't you get that sweet rear o'yours in here

Ya mean right in m'arms? Guarantee that's where y'wanna be.

Coruse there's only one'a ya. They can't clone perfection.

Makes yer words feel special when it's just you, ya know.

So long as it's only you calling me that.

Well names Crook but. . . You can just call me dear if y'want.

It'd be right silly o'me to deny you.

Might as well be. Could rule the world with them sweet lips.

[He'd lift his hat atop her head.] Stay perdy, princess.

[With a soft laugh he'd pull back.] Mission accomplished.

[Leaning even closer, removing hat and hiding their faces as he steals a quick kiss.]

Well ain't that a sweet look fer ya. Rosy as can be. [A swift wink.] Maybe ah can sweeten this here deal a tad?

Gotta put m'best foot forward fer a gal like you. [Leaning closer with a toothy grin.] Course ah can always work a Lil harder.

Can't say ah don't enjoy bein' handsome. Specially if it's fer you, sweetheart.

Fella's just gotta show some 'preciation where it's due. Not er'ry day you get to witness true beauty.

Well ah can say the same 'bout you girl. A sight perdier than th'mornin' sun risin' 'bove.

Howdy miss Janet.

Cowboy 🫡

Looks mighty tasty.

Your Local Clown 🤡 I have nothing to do with these SL groups I just happen to follow so many accounts associated with them. Yall do good work it's hard not to wanna witness it.

"What in tarnation is going on now?!" Don't mind him, his bar is missing a door.

"Once went toe t'toe wit' a dragon. Wrastled with it til it scorched m'ass n'ah had t'strategucally evacuate. By blowin'er to bits."

The Local Clown 🤡 I've never really had to go about being careful about my accounts and whatnot but I am trying to keep my followers to those who are above the age of 18. The content matter of my account isn't really 18+ but it's just for my own comfort really.

"The problem with teleoprtin' via dust clouds is. . ." Patting his clothing only to release a large cloud of dust. ". . . That y'get darn dust e'rrywhere."

@bewitchingforms.bsky.social A kiss to the back of the hand.

"S'not often ah get the luxury of knowin' how long ah' gonna be there. But when ah get more than a few moments ah love learnin' a new recipe r'two. " Finally setting the mug down he'd continue. "You hungry, ah can whip y'up a proper meal if y'want."

"Ah've been to many'a place m'self. Always find m'self wantin' to travel n'meet the folks o'the world. You're when money ain't an issue ya can afford those luxuries." Eventually he'd turn back towards the prosecutor, hand idly drying the mug. "The more ah travel the more ah can bring to m'drinks."

Cowboy? More like. Cow-bi

@aspectoffate.bsky.social Seems to be quite the dusty day, as winds kicked up the filth from the ground. And yet despite that it seemed to focus solely in a single cloud, from within a match would light, extinguishing after lighting a cigarette. From the dust emerged the time lost cowboy.

As if the scene was melting away they'd return to his saloon, where the scent of the Danish could be better absorbed, as if they'd been baked in the kitchen behind the bar. "S'pose yer a man of many tastes, Mister Edgeworth? Y'seem well traveled." With back turned he'd begin washing a mug, soft —

"Mm. . ." Wiping eyes, jawline hidden by a thin brush of stubble.

Get some stuff cooking for the dusty cowboy.