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The trot of horses on an old path was a welcome one as the trees covered the sky above, blocking out the beaming sun in a canopy of the most vibrant greens. Birds singing in tune with a stream nearby, one you know well from your many times running to it as the heat got the best of you just to kick at the waters for the chance of being splashed with a refreshing cool.
Fortunately enough, today wasn't unbearable. Hot, still, but that's nothing new.
“What's with ya and always takin’ it slow, princess?” A voice called out to you, trying to distract you from the task at hand. That being: getting used to riding a horse in the first place.
Your teacher for…well..the mare you were currently on top of.
“Cmon girl, I swear I taught you how to gallop by now. Less ya scared?” A snort came from him, unlike the ones the horses huff out after being ordered to go into a different direction than the one they wanted.
Stubborn creatures they were, but your teacher had assured you the one you were riding on, Crafty, was the least stubborn of the bunch. A ‘tamed lass’ or something along those lines. At least that's what he claims, but you've personally experienced being bucked off before.
It was unpleasant, to say the least. The moment you hit the rough patch of dirt, grass tickling your skin, you were unable to breathe despite your attempts to gasp for air. Quite literally knocked out of you as you choked on the spot. Your body refused to fill your lungs.
Now, you had never been much of a smoker but in that moment you would have gladly taken a puff from a spit covered end if it meant getting what you longed for.
It was only when you were breathing again that you noticed a certain someone (a complete prick) was standing above you holding Crafty's reins in hand and laughing.
“Well, it was bound to happen ‘ventually.”
Those words made you want to punch him as your teacher leaned down, hand taking your own, and helped you up.
Afterward, you immediately ran off to shower. The need for a break and a good wash far too tempting to resist after getting knocked off your ass.
Since then you had been dubbed-
“Princess?”
That.
You glanced over at him, despite knowing you should keep your eyes forward lest Crafty follows the direction you're gazing at, to catch the sight of his black and white hair thrown up in a messy ponytail. Hat, as always, perched right on top of his head.
“Everytime you call me that, I want to call you Cruella De Vil.”
Your teacher awwed at your words, cooing the harsh tone in your voice. “You wanna give me a nickname now? I didn't know we were at tha’ stage in our relationship yet.”
“We are in nothing close to a relationship.” You snapped.
“Wowy pardner, way to-” You glared at him, waiting for your teacher (Cruella) to dare and even try to finish his sentence when you both knew he was going to attempt to say something along the lines of ‘shit on my parade’- “rain on my parade.”
“Yeah, that's totally what you were going to say.”
“Obviously.” He said, drawing out they ‘ly’ the same way you would when mocking how a country singer says the word whiskey.
You found yourself going “uhuh,” nodding in agreement just to get him off your back. Shame it didn't work as well as you wanted it to as Cruella over there kept jabbering. Stuffing your ears full of words like a tamale.
“Ya know, if it gets any hotter I'm sure we could fry an egg just by puttin’ it on a rock to sizzle up real nice. Would you like that, princess, me cooking you up a meal? Maybe we can have a beer or two to top it-”
Eventually, you found your legs squeezing the horse below you, signaling her to pick up the speed. Your hips meeting the same beat hers did as she ran, just like you were taught.
it's easier that way, apparently. Puts less stress on your body.
Hoofs beating against the well-worn path, but your teacher was far more comfortable going at a faster pace, making him catch up with you easily as he whistled at the horse to slow down. Her legs were already betraying you as they moved back into a slow trot all the way to a stop. Crafty staring back at you like she was expecting you to give her a treat for the treacherous behavior.
Well, she was certainly well trained, at least. Maybe he did have a point in saying Crafty was a tamed lass.
“Tryin' to run from me now?” He asked, laughter in his voice even as your teacher clicked his tongue disapprovingly.
“You were the one complaining about us going too slow earlier.”
“Huh? Can't seem to recall that.” Reaching over, he took the reins from your hands, slipping them as easily from your gasp as any trained pickpocket might. “Mind getting off ol Crafty here so we can talk?”
“I'd rather not.”
“Course not. Real shame you're always so stubborn.” If he wasn't so close, you might have missed the part your teacher whispered about how he should have expected you to be harder to deal with than a newborn foal.
Yeah, fuck you too cowboy.
Running a hand over Crafty's neck, you couldn't help but cringe slightly at the feeling of her fur being so coarse. You'd have to remember to brush them down after cleaning out their hoofs. Something you like to do before and after every ride. After all, they deserve it for carrying you around like this.
“I don't know how you put up with Cruella over here.” You say to her. “Not when I'd never know when he's planning to turn my hide into a hat.”
Your teacher barked out a laugh as he picked his hat off his head, waving it slightly in front of your eyes so you could get a proper view of it. “It's not even made out of horse hide, ya see?”
“Yet.”
“Yet.” He repeated with a raised brow.
“Yeah, I'll give it until Crafty's leg finally gives out.”
The last thing you saw before your vision was covered was your teacher rolling his eyes right before he placed that dusty hat on your head. If you remember correctly, didn't that mean something like you were his girl or….
Ah.
Ah!
With a face as hot as the blazing sun shining down on you two, right in the midst of summer, no less, you shoved the hat back towards him. “That's sweaty and gross! I don't want it!”
Laughter caught on the wind as he took it back, holding it to his chest as your teacher pouted.
“Ya wound me. Here, a simple cowboy is offering you something to block out that blasted sun, and you don't even make use of it?”
“I can manage just fine without it.” You hissed.
“You have also been riding with narrowed eyes this entire time, princess. It kinda gives you away.”
“I said,” taking the reins from his hands you pulled them back into your grasp, careful not to accidentally kick Crafty up by startling her, “I'm fine.”
Turning around on the path you both had been riding down, you were met with the sight of the lush greenery you two had passed and two sets of horseshoe prints littering the ground.
“And I'm heading back.”
“All on your own? Didn't know you could handle that by yourself.”
“Yes, on my own, cowboy.” You said with a firm nod. “I'll fill the hay and everything so there's no need to worry about it.”
Even if it meant getting that blasted stuff in your bra. It always had a way of sneaking in there despite your best efforts and highest collar shirts.
“All covered then, eh?” He asked as Crafty nickered underneath you.
This time you didn't grace him with a response as you made your way down the path, the sound of the bird chirping and Crafty's tail trying to wack any bugs away from her your only company as your teacher watched you go.
“She's so stubborn, ain't she?” He found himself asking. Though the grin on his face was a clear indication that the thick headed nature of yours wasn't exactly minded.
“Guess I gotta try harder to build up a romantic mood to confess next time. I'll get her to listen for sure. I just need a bit of time.”
In return, your teacher was met with the huff of the horse he was sitting on as his hand moved up to block the sun in his eyes.
Back then his hand was flesh and blood.
But now?
His metal hand was blocking out the full moon, bright as it could be as he gazed up at the stars reflected on the aluminum coated surface he was still learning to get used to. The way they moved was nothing like real fingers that would hurt at the slightest papercut.
He would always stick the hurt finger in his mouth and say that would do the trick even as the little miss royal ass would insist he wash off.
Soap and water.
He needed a bath, or at least his hair needed to be washed off. The rest of him maybe needed a shining? Maybe a good wipe and oil capped off?
Boothill dropped his hand, letting it fall to his side as he looked back up at the sky.
If he closed his eyes right now, could he pretend it was sunny as can be? That the leafs above and Boothill’s hat were the only thing keeping his eyes from being blinded, that there was a stream right down the way he could hear just as clearly as the trot of two horses side by side?
Could he, just maybe, hear your voice?
Yet all he heard was his own breathing that was…altered in a way. Affected, just like the rest of him the moment he took on this hunk of a junk body.
It was agonizing to wake up from such a peaceful dream. One he wanted to go back to despite it long since having burnt to ash. Crumpled between warm fingers that had once touched your hand, now gone like the rest of him.
Grabbing his hat, Boothill got up where he was standing, trying his best to once again walk away from your memory. The same way he did as Boothill realized he had to flee that fateful day without erecting some sort of monument for everyone in their honor.
For Nick.
For Graey.
For his little girl.
For his princess.