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"They don't... burn, right?"
You turn around to look back at the source of the voice, raising your eyebrows. You already know where this is going, but it wouldn't hurt to make sure.
"What doesn't burn, now?"
The star-headed sheriff tilts his head downwards, maintaining eye contact with you.
"You know. When they run into the giant fiery ball."
"The cowboys and horses?"
"Yyyup. They gotta be fireproof, right?" he asks, a small smile forming on his eager, curious face.
Rather than facepalming or sighing out loud, you opt to close your eyes for a few seconds before opening them again. There was a flicker of confusion in North Star's (or rather Starlo's) expression, but he simply adjusts his hat and beams back at you.
Why are his smiles so contagious?
"Now what makes you say that?" You wonder aloud, turning back to the saloon just a few houses away, walking briskly.
You swing open the saloon gates for the sheriff, but he stops right behind and motions for you to go in first. Even after your own gesture of gratitude, he simply has to be such a gentleman (gentlemonster?) and one-up you. As if he is trying to start another contest. Or mission. You simply give in and take up on his gracious gesture, uttering a "thank you" before making your way inside, an intrigued sheriff just trailing right behind.
The bustling saloon in the middle of this little town never seems to change. The same lively crowds, the same cozy atmosphere... The Wild East has cemented itself in your heart as a sort of second home, and it seems that it won't change any time soon. At least it will stay that way for the time being.
Having settled on the seats nearer to the stage, you and Starlo order a couple of drinks off the menu, making small talk with Dina about the general mood and some rumors before she busies herself with their orders and other customers.
"Right, so about that..." you turn back to Starlo who straightens up immediately as he stops fiddling with his thumbs.
"Hm...? Oh right, that. You said, uh... how'd I know all that?"
You nod. "Yeah, where did you learn that from?"
The moment you ask, the sheriff's eyes grow bigger, and his grin wider. There is a sort of glint in those eyes that you can't help but notice.
Oh boy, he’s excited.
"Glad ya asked! Don't mean to toot my own horn 'ere, but I'm what they'd call... an expert of sorts. A human expert," Starlo starts explaining with such an abundance of passion and pride, he's practically glowing.
Hah. A star sheriff glowing and beaming. You can't help but be amused at that image in your head, and a chuckle escapes your lips.
"Like how humans get these four-legged monsters to do the traveling for 'em. Incredible, I know. Whuzzit called again...? Think Ceroba said 'horses' or somethin'."
You raise an eyebrow and hum in interest. This is enough to prompt a lecture's worth of exposition from the sheriff.
Monsters... You can't blame him. Or anyone who has lived in the underground for so long. The surface is such an obscure concept for the dwellers of the underground—to humans, they may be nothing more than mundane everyday occurrences, but to monsters, they are objects of marvel and mystery. Foreign ideas that one cannot even begin to understand. Of course, some monsters may mistake the surface animals for their own kind.
Recollection of a muscular horse-like creature roaming around Waterfall seeps back into mind. You shudder.
Well, there are a few who are aware of human culture and traditions. Surely the Royal Scientist must be aware of such things. Not to mention how Ceroba seems to be aware of what the four-legged monsters really are: horses.
And then, there's Starlo. Your focus shifts back to your seemingly one-sided conversation, and you thank Dina as she slides your drinks across the counter with ease. Even while he's mid-banter, Starlo catches his drink without breaking eye contact.
"...he gets all confident and steady-like, then his gun pops out six more of 'em! Shoulda seen the look on 'em bandits, hehe...!"
You start wondering how it went from fiery spheres to self-propagating guns. As much as you love to watch Starlo go on all day about westerns with boundless excitement, there may come a day he will have to learn the truth. The image of such a happy, passionate sheriff crumbling to pieces weighs on your heart.
He did ask you personally, so...
"...and it all turned out just like a certain someone said. Something about uh... using guns to solve problems."
...what? You momentarily stop sipping your ice water.
"'And if that don't work, use more gun.' Somethin' like that. Sure worked out for 'im in the end."
You swear you've heard this line somewhere.
"That's terrible advice, Star. Don't actually follow it."
...Hm? Someone else has joined in on the western exposition. You realize Ceroba has taken a seat just near Starlo, and the two of you share a brief exchange before Starlo goes on.
"Oh, don't get me wrong, Ceroba. I know ya can't always use guns for all yer problems. Even I draw the line somewhere."
"That's a relief..."
"Come on, have a little more faith in this sheriff, why don't ya!"
And just like that, the "conversation" derails into a back-and-forth between childhood friends.
"There they go again," snickers a voice behind the counter. You glance at Dina who shakes her head in disbelief, though the corners of her mouth curling upwards seem to suggest amusement.
Your gaze falls on the two friends poking and lightly shoving each other, unable to tear your eyes away from them for a bit.
"They really are good friends, aren't they?" You mutter almost incoherently, taking another prolonged sip as you savor the coldness of the water, playing around with the drops of water forming on the cold glass surfaces. Yet no matter how much or how long you sip, it won't be enough to quell this... feeling within your chest.
Without warning, your drink is snatched away from you, leaving a clear straw dangling from your mouth. You hurriedly search for your glass to find that the bartender has already refilled it with fresh ice water, placing it back where it was snatched from.
"Seems like you need it," Dina says with her back turned, slowly making her way over to the opposite side of the counter, inspecting surfaces and wiping glasses.
You stare at the freshly prepared drink incredulously, and the moment you open your mouth, Dina’s distant voice calls out, "Yeah, it’s on the house!"
Well. You were read like an open book. May as well take the offer and enjoy the moment, so you take a moment to appreciate the refill before taking a long sip. Ah. No calories, no sugar, no health risks. Maybe if the occasion was a little more special, you could settle for something sweeter. Maybe that adult soda they have here? You decide that’s best saved for later.
“Enjoyin’ that free drink, I see.”
The mention of the word ‘drink’ caught your attention, and you shake your head as if to snap yourself completely from daydreaming. Seems those two have finally stopped their friendly banter now that Starlo’s attention is back on you again.
“Mm, yeah. Wasn’t expecting it, but I’ll take freebies any day,” you answer in a slightly amused tone, hoping that you haven’t spaced out too much from listening to his ramblings.
Though the background chatters continue to resound within the saloon, you notice a rather awkward silence following your response. Your gaze happens to land on Starlo with his hat tilted down, obscuring his eyes a bit, before you shift your attention over to Ceroba. She’s cupping her head in her hands, staring into space like you were moments ago. You hope she’s at least open with Starlo more so, since you can’t help but wonder if she’s dealing with her own baggage. Well, everyone has theirs, but...
Out of boredom and a small desire not to fall back into awkwardness, your eyes continue to dart around the saloon for something potentially interesting, something that will give you a reason not to re-engage in conversation. The stairs leading to the second floor, the monster folk enjoying themselves upstairs, the other visitors (one of them still slumped over for a few days you notice), the center stage...
You wonder if they have a piano in here. Maybe you could have a little jam session with Moray. Not that you’re willing to perform on stage—an intimate get-together session and a public performance are two different things.
Out of things to ponder and gape at, you begrudgingly shift your attention back to your drink and then to the sheriff, still in the same stance, his hat pointed ever slightly downwards. Maybe he’s asleep.
That’s when you notice something. You dip your head a little lower...
...and he’s staring right back at you with a knowing look? Yeah, that’s got to be a knowing look, now that you see his smug look grow ever smugger.
How long has he been watching you?
“...What?” You start lamely, laughing a little nervously at this sudden shift in attention.
Starlo leans over closer to you, still smiling.
“You know, you still haven’t answered that question of mine yet.”
...Oh.
Though you shy away from the question (and the sheriff for some reason), in the corner of your eye, you notice his figure has shifted a seat or two. You glance up. He stares back, the eagerness to know written on his face, now weighing on you like a dumbbell. Doesn’t help that he’s closer too.
You merely sip from the ice-cold water that seems to grow warmer with each passing second, hoping that your drinking will buy you some sort of excuse not to answer.
He starts, “Well—”
“Six Shooter, best two out of three.”
Another awkward silence. Ceroba, nonchalantly swirling a colored liquid in her glass, glances over at the two of you.
“Wha...? Come on now, what’s this about?” Starlo laughs lightheartedly, raising an eyebrow.
You narrow your eyes and grin mischiveously.
“You wanna know the answer? You gotta play against me then.”
You know you see a spark of defiance in those eyes gleaming. Probably getting back at him for one-upping you earlier by the gates.
“As a human expert, I was just gonna say I gotta verify the truth, but... that’s fine by me, pardner! Don’t bother backing out, you hear?” the sheriff challenges you as he hops off his seat and heads towards the door. This, for a reason only you know, prompts you to run towards the gates first before stopping abruptly before them and gesturing towards the horse stable.
“After you, sheriff.”
Your smile ends up being a little wider than necessary, and oh did you see the fire in his eyes. The sheriff walks up to the gates as well, but he mirrors your gesture and shakes his head.
“Oh, no, yer the guest here. I insist you go first.”
It’s on.
“No, really, it’s okay. You first.”
“No, you first.”
“No, you!”
“After you—!”
And then you realize that a certain redhead fox has already waked out the gates, dryly remarking, “Move it, ladies.”
...
You swear you hear a little snicker from her as you both look at each other with widened eyes, speechless.
“North Star: 42 seconds. Human: ... 39 seconds.”
You shake a clenched fist in victory, whisper-shouting a “Yeah!” to yourself. The sheriff in front of you stares wide-eyed at the dealer, then at your little smug victory face, and finally the cards. You watch him speak half-sentences and incomprehensible words with furrowed brows before he shakes his head briefly and regains his composure.
“Gotta admit... You got me there. I ain’t holding back no more this time!” declares Starlo in a gruff voice, his tone lined with hints of embarrassment and defiance.
“It’s on, cowboy!” you sneer with newfound confidence, feeling the excitement course through your veins, ready to make a comeback.
The chance-themed dealer swiftly gathers the laid-out cards and shuffles them with unparalleled dexterity, tossing and spinning cards from hand to hand. A memory of this enigmatic figure resurfaces as you watch the cards dance within their hands: you recall suggesting illusions and street magic as a sort of entertainment job or even a new hobby.
You couldn’t exactly forget that hesitation in their movements the moment you proposed it. They seemed thoughtful and even intrigued.
Their dexterous performance is likely evidence of their serious consideration.
One by one, the cards are laid out on the wooden table in a 4 by 5 grid, the rest of the cards piled up in a deck.
You are about to make your move when the sheriff slides up and raises his hand, offering to go first. He’s getting real serious now, but you don’t hate that part of him.
A tense silence settles in the small barn room, all waiting for the dealer’s signal to start, and that’s when you realize there’s a sort of audience forming around the table.
Moray’s sitting on the haystacks on one side of the room, and Edward can be seen standing farthest from the table, towering over everyone else. Mooch rushes into the barn just in time for the third round, where Ed offers her to climb on his back for a better view. To no surprise, Ace is found standing nearest to the game table. Anyone can tell his attention is all on the game. Ceroba is, of course, nearest to Starlo, but she keeps her distance so her friend can focus.
You note to yourself that the sheriff is keeping a pretty firm grip on either side of the game table.
“3, 2, 1... GO!”
Without any hesitation, Starlo begins picking matching pairs of cards at breakneck speed. Any hesitation from choosing cards is gone, and the sheriff continues his undeterred matching streak, his eyes more furrowed than before, along with a drop of sweat sliding down his cheek.
That’s the part you admire about him. Even in a trivial game of cards like this, he gives his best, though you can’t help but stifle another laugh at the thought of him taking everything seriously.
Your smile does fade, however, when you realize the table is now devoid of cards. Sooner than you think too. You steal a glance at the dice-themed dealer whose little ‘eye dots’ seem to widen looking at the timer before them.
Did... did this sheriff just set a new personal record?
“Human.”
You jump a little. The dealer is now looking back at you, and you realize it’s your turn to play.
“R-right,” you stutter. Stutter? Getting cold feet already? You shake those thoughts out and prepare yourself. You may not know exactly what time Starlo got, but that won’t stop you from winning this set.
You settled for watching the dealer shuffle the cards once more. Watching them fly and spin about in the dealer’s hands has this sort of soothing effect on you, and you hope this is enough to calm your nerves for this remaining game.
Four rows by five columns, and the sixteen remaining cards in a deck as usual. You note how the cards are neatly aligned despite all the dealing so far, and the satisfaction of seeing that in such a tense game...
Well, you know the line.
“3, 2, 1... GO!”
You are more of a thinker, so rushing really isn’t in your game plan, but perhaps the time to act before thinking is now. This time, just match the pairs in the bottom right. When in doubt, match the top-left ones so the whole board gets shuffled. You have to place your trust in this method for now.
Two pairs here, one pair to shuffle them up, another three pairs... Your eyes dart around the grid of cards, desperate to find the closest matching pair. Every passing second without a matching pair is a second lost, and you drive that bothersome thought away.
Just three rows left. You see a path straight to victory within those cards, and so you discard any shred of doubt convincing you to think a little more.
A Moray with a Moray, Ace with an Ace... all members of the Feisty Five. Then, there’s Ceroba. That’s nice of them to include her in the cards.
...
You wonder if there will ever be a card with you in it.
...
You realize you aren’t hearing cards sliding and being picked up but rather your own breathing.
Curses!
You hurry up to match the remaining cards—Ed to Ed, Mooch to Mooch, Starlo to Starlo, Ceroba to Ceroba.
It’s done.
It’s over.
You shake your head out of it and set your sights on the dealer, now eyeing the cards and timer. Their gaze meets yours, and you feel your heart sink a bit.
“North Star: 37 seconds. Human: 40 seconds.”
You shut your eyes for a full five seconds. Well, that’s it. Done messed up in the final round. A pang of frustration eats away at your heart as you bite your lips, wondering what happened.
Why did you hesitate?
A rouse of applause erupts in the room, a stark contrast from the deafening silence hanging over the barn earlier. The sheriff takes a couple of bows, chortling away at his imminent victory all while throwing his smug looks your way.
“You know what that means, pardner!”
A heavy sigh escapes your lips along with a defeated chuckle. Guess it’s time to let him hear it.
“Yeah, I get it,” you raise your hands in surrender, embracing your apparent defeat.
You watch the cheery sheriff waddle over to Moray, asking for one of the bundles of hay before sitting on it. Once procured, he proceeds to drag it by alternating between standing a bit and dragging it with his feet before sitting down again. He does this a few times, and you turn your head away in a (poor) attempt to mask your amusement at this childlike sight.
His thumb-fiddling has started again it seems, just not out of boredom this time, and it takes a few moments before Starlo finally asks the question with a sort of finality in his voice:
“So... they don’t burn, do they? Right?”
Everyone in the room turns to look at the sheriff in equal measures of confusion and curiosity. The dealer, though busy with the cards, darts their eyes towards the commotion.
“...What burns now?” Ed grunts, drawing closer to the group.
“...Oh, right! The fiery sphere!” Mooch interjects.
“Wait, we’re still talking about that?” Moray tilts their head, slightly amused they all have come back to square one.
“I think I know the answer already,” Ace quietly remarks... to which Starlo excitedly shushes him with a smile on his face, still waiting to hear the answer from... you.
You swear his smile never stops growing. Or stops being contagious.
Ceroba simply stares at you, though you have a feeling she’s probably the only one who really knows the answer in this room. You close your eyes and shrug, simply stating:
“...No, they don’t.”
You open your eyes, and the sheriff is now doing fist pumps in the air and lifting his legs like he is doing a sort of cowboy(?) dance.
“Iiiiii told ya! Clover back then said the same thing too! Hooo-wee!”
“...because they’re not close enough to the ‘sphere’.”
Again, silence settles back in the room, and you watch the sheriff freeze mid-dancing, turning his head round to meet your knowing gaze with a deadpan look.
It takes every ounce of your being not to break into laughter, not to mention that the whole room seems to be looking at you.
“It’s not a yes or no question to be honest, but...” you start explaining, unsure how to present this new information to the Wild East inhabitants.
You feel as if the room just got a little smaller.
“It’s not possible for them to burn up or even reach the sphere. It’s really big, but it’s way too far for any being to reach on foot.”
You hear hay being dragged across the rough floor again in small increments, and you see Starlo is now the closest and most attentive of the bunch attending your talk, his gaze intense and even more curious.
You continue explaining the ‘phenomenon’ to your avid listeners.
“So... yeah. They’re not actually riding directly into the sun... well, that’s what we call the sphere up there. It just a sort of illusion, a visual effect for the show.”
You straighten up and nod as if to mark the end of your talk, and the room is once again draped not only in silence, but in what seems to be awe. You look around the room to observe each person’s reactions:
Edward is simply scratching his head, the frown on his face deepening. Mooch makes an ‘o’ shape with her mouth, intrigued by the explanation given earlier. For Moray... you swear you can see their brows go up behind that fringe of hair. The dealer continues to shuffle the cards, but in a way that tells you they were a rather keen listener. You catch Ceroba nodding away, smiling to herself, not to mention that Ace’s eyes are slightly (but definitely) larger compared to earlier.
Bigger than those eyes, though, are those belonging to the starstruck sheriff before you.
Starstruck sheriff... pfft. You just want to burst out laughing, especially with that childlike wonder on his face.
“...Oh. Ohhh. Hm. Well... I’ll be,” Starlo remarks in amazement, once again at a loss for words.
You hear words being repeated within the room: “illusion”, “burn”, “pretty far”. They seem to get it, so you nod to yourself with satisfaction.
Well, almost. Not entirely satisfied, there’s still one part you fail to mention.
“It’s just that...”
Immediately, the smaller conversations break off, and everyone’s eyes are on you once more.
Here we go...
“Say somehow, through sheer will or some sort of device or magic gets you close enough to the ‘fiery sphere’.”
That’s the bait, and they’re taking it. You go on, stretching your words for a little bit of that dramatic effect.
“Well... you know what they say, sheriff.”
Immediately, everyone shifts their stares from you to the... pfft, starstruck sheriff. He fidgets about in his hay seat, meeting their gazes with a nervous laugh.
“Oh, heh... um... I uh...” he trails off.
Silence. He starts fiddling thumbs a third time. Yep. You got him.
He finally breaks the silence.
“What... what do they say?”
Surprised he hadn’t heard that line before. But first...
“...Play another game with me and I’ll tell you.”
Immediately, you can see a whole variety of emotions in the faces looking back at you: surprise, disgust, amusement, disappointment.
“Y’know that ain’t what we agreed upon! That ain’t fair at all!” Starlo protests with a sullen face.
You can’t hold it in anymore and let your uproarious laughter fill the room.
“Just kidding! Pulling your legs. But yeah. The thing is...”
You take in a deep breath of air and muster up your courage to deliver the line the best you can.
“Get too close to the sun, and you’ll burn.”
You can’t stop thinking about that time you said a certain line to the Feisty Five. Every time you wake up in your bed, that memory pops up in your head, and you’d laugh till its novelty wears off. Seeing them so stunned and silent really threw you off so much the first time, you had to quickly brush it off as a joke (though you clarified that the sphere can burn almost anything).
You make a mental note to apologize to them once you find your way back to the Wild East after a long trip to Waterfall for some... source materials. What you found there seems to be worth the venture (though to be honest, it never ceases to amaze you with what ends up in the underground).
Picking up the pace, you make your way through Hotland and the Steamworks, grateful that the robot residing in the abandoned Steamworks hasn’t killed you. Yet.
“You’re pretty lucky we got it to treat you as a friend. Way before that, it was a murder machine,” Ceroba recalled rather unpleasantly, half amused that you weren’t forced to go through the same hell she and a human went through.
You had nothing to say to that besides giving her a horrified stare with wide eyes and a couple of long blinks.
Guess it’s funny now in retrospect, but not so much when you're running for your life.
Sprinting past the farm, you wave hello to Starlo’s parents and brother, noting that Orion has still yet to give a warmer response. Oh well. Baby steps.
You find yourself carefully treading across the precarious bridge that linked Sunnyside Farm and the Wild East, and on reaching the end, you sigh in relief before mentally preparing yourself to meet your friends.
Well...
If you could find them, that is.
The other residents are here as usual, but scanning the town square, you guess they are probably inside one of the buildings. Not in the barn, or the clinic, not near the jail...
Oh, here they are. The Feisty Fi—Four, asleep. Hm. Not here. You step outside.
Where are those two? You did see Ceroba at the saloon, but that just leaves—
“A human?”
You yelp, stumbling backwards on your feet before crashing onto the sand, spilling your belongings on the ground.
“A little warning next time?” you groan, rubbing the sore area of your behind before looking up at the sandy figure, whose silhouette is somewhat obscured by the Swelterstone’s sheer radiance.
Wait. Human? Someone didn’t recognize you here?
“Now I dunno where’d you come from, but waltzing into our territory just like that?” a demanding voice booms before you, and you feel a shred of fear just seeping into your being a bit. Dusting the sand off your clothes, you steady yourself and prepare for the worst.
“A little newsflash for you—I’ve been here a while. Where have you been?” you retort.
It occurs to you that that may not have been the best choice of tone to speak with. The cloaked figure gradually approaches you with an overwhelming sense of authority, and you ask your heart, now pumping rapidly, to steady itself.
“Could ask you the same thing. Just a word of advice...”
Looks like you may have to put up a good fight this time.
In a flash, the figure sneaks up behind you, catching you off guard, and you are frozen in place, be it by fear or something that this figure is using. You feel the figure close in on your face and register every word it has to say:
“Get too close to the sun, and you’ll burn.”
Curses. You don’t even get to have the higher ground or—
...wait. What. You whip your head back at this cloaked figure and stare back incredulously.
In three seconds, the figure starts wheezing.
You know who this is now. As much as you are relieved to know it’s not an aggressive stranger...
“I swear—” you groan in irritation.
“Sorry, sorry! You just kinda up and went, you know! Had to pay you back,” the ‘figure’ cackles deviously to himself before removing the cloak.
You can’t keep a stern expression when this starry sheriff gives you such a big, dorky grin back at you. You give in and let your smile grow, shaking your head in mock disapproval.
“Be grateful you’re still up and kicking, Starlo. You’ll never know if you’ll run into someone less forgiving,” you warn the sheriff.
“D’aw, you worry too much. Can handle myself just fine,” he reassures, striking a pose as if to say ‘Look at me!’, before twirling around with a gun—
Pleasedon'tfirepleasedon’tfirepleasedon’tfire—
To your relief, the gun twirling goes by without a hitch, and he puts it back in its holster.
‘Sides, I uh...”
You know when he trails off like that, he’s about to spill some rather juicy information. You pay full attention to him.
“The... I mean to say... That is uh...”
You step closer. The sheriff notices this movement and turns into a blundering stuttering mess.
“Wait, wha— hold up now, I...! Ahhh, dangit, don’t make me say it!”
You say nothing but keep on nodding.
“...Well, I tried it on a few folks here. Got their reactions, had a laugh. So I went to Ceroba.”
You are starting to regret not bringing the popcorn bag you saw at Waterfall.
“I did the thing! The line and voice and all. It worked!”
You narrow your eyes and stare some more at him. He gives in.
“Yeah, she didn’t really like that. Had the funniest scream, gave me a real whoopin’ right here”, Starlo confesses rather ashamedly, pointing at his lower right side of his gut.
Yep. That’s Ceroba for you.
“It uh... kinda still hurts...”
Right at this moment, a devious thought trickles into your head, and you smile to yourself, walking straight up to the sheriff.
“So, sheriff...” you ask plainly, smiling a smile that’s a little too innocent and too wide. Starlo picks up on this devilish intent, and he grows a little nervous.
“Uh, yeah? What can I do for ya?”
You blink a couple of times, feigning innocence (though you do it rather obviously on purpose).
“...where does it hurt again?”
The sheriff’s smile fades entirely, and he looks back with eyes as wide as saucers.
“Don’t you dare—”
“Right... here?” you poke at the area he pointed at earlier.
He winces and groans, covering his abdomen with his arms. Defenses are down.
“Hm? Or was it here?” You poke at the opposite side, and right away, he steps back, shaking his head and wincing in pain.
“No no, please, pardner. Not there...!”
Taking this moment to gather your things from the ground, you pat Starlo’s shoulder and stroll briskly past him.
“It’s a shame though. I thought we could spend some time studying together on... this,” you point to the rectangular box in your hand, at which Starlo turns and gawks at.
“But I guess it’s true. Stay too close and... well, you already know it best, don’t you?” you tease, walking away to the saloon.
You don’t even have to turn around to pick up on the dangling of metal and the hastened pace of clunky cowboy boots to know he’s hurrying up.
“N-now wait a minute. I... I didn’t say no to that...” the sheriff pants, holding out a wagging finger.
You stare for a bit and smile a bit wider before resuming your leisurely walk to the saloon. He goes on.
“As a human expert, I gotta be in tip-top shape in knowledge—whoa!”
You throw the rectangular box at Starlo, who barely manages to catch it after a few bounces in his hands.
“Oh sure, you can go watch it. I’ve got places to go to later anyhow,” you nonchalantly muse aloud.
“Oh no you don’t. You just got back ‘ere, and I need a real human to verify this right here information!”
You place a hand to your chest in mock surprise.
“You need me? A real honor. I thought you were an expert in all things human.”
“Well, expert or not, I... I thought you might want to... watch it together.”
You almost choke on hearing that. Well, he doesn’t seem to be lying, seeing him constantly look away, his nervous expression, quivering voice and—yep, there it is—twiddling thumbs.
How can you hate this sheriff?
You meet him face-to-face and discard any frivolities as you whisper, “You know I’ll watch it with you. Quit poutin’.”
The way he glows up (figuratively and almost literally) always brings a warmth to your face and chest.
He regains his confidence and declares “Well... I never was poutin’! Just testin’ ya!”
Cue the eye-rolling.
“But uh... yeah, thanks. You all right, though?”
The one thing you can never get used to, though, is Starlo dropping his mask out of the blue. Right here, right now, he’s asking a genuine question without any persona or underlying joke. What does he mean by that?
“Your last game in Six Shooters... you seem... distracted.”
You stare back like a slack-jawed village idiot before it dawns on you.
Oh. He noticed that?
“...Yeah. Kind of... got lost in thoughts there. All alone. Cost me my potential win, but I can’t exactly complain either,” you explain a little dryly.
You don’t really want to talk about this, but the way Starlo leans in with such a soft, kind expression, it makes you feel like...
Well...
“...Guess I got a little lonely. And thinking about the future,” you admit. Starlo nods, now intently listening.
“When I saw those cards, I just thought it was real nice to have your friends imprinted on something like that.”
His eyes widen a bit.
“...Do I really have to say this part?” you complain, slightly exasperated.
Starlo lightly shakes his head. “You don’t have to, but I’m all ears.”
Well, better to admit it. He did spill the beans earlier, so...
“...I saw those cards, and I... kind got lonely. Thinking how you’re all friends, even on those cards. That got me thinking... if I could...”
Your thoughts trail off, and you’re not sure what else to say.
“...argh! The point is, I just... really wanna be close friends with you all. I kinda feel like a stranger sometimes, even after all of... this.”
A warm hand rubs your back, and really, you aren’t expecting this, so you jump a little.
“Stranger? You’re a friend. A family. To all of us.”
That’s nice. To actually hear them acknowledge that... You close your eyes and bite your lips, hoping the waterworks don’t start leaking any time soon.
You wipe your face and let out a small but genuine laugh. “Thanks... pardner.”
The two of you relish in the silence that lingers on for a while, until one of you gets thirsty.
“That all said, I’m hankerin’ for a drink,” Starlo comments, fanning himself with his hat.
“I’ll pay for the drinks,” you offer, raising your hand before he lowers it for you.
“Ohh, no. That’ll be me. I’ll be treatin’ ya today.”
Is... Is he one-upping you? Again??
It’s on.
“Oh no, sir. After all you’ve done for this town, surely you gotta let me—”
He stares blankly before a realization settles upon him.
“I admit I’ve done some things for this town, but really, that ain’t no reason to deny my generosity!”
“I’ll pay.”
“No, I’ll pay!”
“Oh no, pardner, I said I’ll—”
“Yeah, I want an Adult Soda, put it on their tab. Thanks.”
The two of you, startled by a third voice, turn around to glare daggers at Ceroba, who doesn’t quite notice for a while until she meets your eyes.
“...What?”
Some things just don’t change, do they?
In other news...
“Hey, Star, have you seen... Uh, Star?”
Starlo turns around to Ceroba with a somewhat stern expression.
“What are you doing here?” she asks him, a little put off by Starlo’s unusual mood.
“Just waiting for the deputy to come out.”
“...Why?”
“Beats me. Just walked in there to play some games. Suddenly comes out lickety-split and disappears in this little house.”
Ceroba raises a brow. What is even happening?
“Even got ourselves brand new cards. Thought the deputy would’ve loved that, but...”
Ceroba picks up a couple of cards from Starlo’s hands and looks at them carefully. What’s so new about these ones? They’re the same as—
Oh.
It dawns on her.
“Star?”
“Yep?”
“Has it ever occurred to you to ask for permission first?”
“Well I—Oh. Ohh.”
Amongst the Six Shooter cards Ceroba is holding, there is one imprinted with your own face and theme color on it.