Chapter Text
The sun shown down, hot rays of light heating the country side. An elegant horse-drawn carriage trudges across the dirt path, coming to a stop at the edge of Spit Bucket USA. The coachman steps down, ties up the horses, and goes to hold the door to the carriage open. A young man, clad in purple formal wear steps down, arms folded behind his back and head held high. There's a regal air about him. The sun gleams across a small crown atop his hair.
"Prince Matthew, are you quite sure it was the best idea to come about the states without your mum's permission?" The driver asks in a gruff yet concerned voice.
"Oh don't fret Reginald." The prince laughed light heartedly. "I doubt there will be any negative happenings while i'm out. I needed a change from the stuffy air of Britain anyways. Besides! You know no one can resist this face, not even my mum!"
Reginald rolled his eyes and shook his head at the prince's small show, fixing his unmessed hair in his pocket mirror. The prince had nice looks, he was a young prince after all, but he was incredibly vain. After doing a once over of the horses and locking the carriage door, the older man made his way over to the prince. Matthew, with some encouraging, finally put away his mirror and took a look around. His eyes settled on a near by saloon.
"This saloon looks like a good place to start." The prince smiled as he stepped toward the building, one hand beckoning the coachman to follow.
They both stepped into the 'Good Place To Start' saloon, to find it was mostly empty. Matthew hummed as he made his way over and took a seat at the bar. Reginald followed, taking his place beside the prince. The bartender, wiping down a glass, asked the men what they'd have. Matthew was eager to answer, before Reginald doused his hopes by answering water for both. While it may be okay for the young prince to have a sip or two of wine at formal dinners, Reginald would not allow him a drop otherwise.
Matthew rested his chin in his hand, elbow propped on the bar. It was as if his regal air had shifted almost immediately into that of a child. While the bartender prepared their drinks, he took another look around. The only other people in the building were a few men sitting at a table in the corner, and a woman nursing a glass of what appeared to be tea. She had a dog resting at her feet, and Matthew could have sworn it gave him a nasty look. He shrugged it off and turned back to his drink, taking a small sip before setting the glass down.
"You folks ain't from 'round here are you?" The bartender asked, looking over the pair's unusual clothes.
"Indeed we are not. I am Matthew, Prince of England!" Matthew's face was practically sparkling. "I am here on a personal respite."
This perked the attention of the men in the back. Their hats were tipped, but one could easily see they were listening in. Anyone, except the oblivious prince of course. Whom meanwhile kept rambling about his political status, face shining with glee as he was able to talk about himself and his luxuries. The three men at the table began to murmur amongst themselves, keeping their voices low. The tallest one, suggested something in spanish, causing the man clad in green to pinch the bridge of his nose and complain about not being able to understand his friend. The third, and shortest, clad in a blue dress shirt and old leather vest payed them no mind. Instead, he let his mind wander to the strange foreigner at the bar.
"Juan!" Said man practically jumped out of his seat at the quiet call.
"Y-Yeah boss?" He stammered, fixing his bandana out of nervous habit. The man in green glared at the smallest of the trio.
"You see that ginger fool up at the bar?" He motioned with his head toward the prince. Juan nodded, glancing back at the attractive man still chatting a mile a minute.
"A' course I do. Hard not to what with all his shiny whats-its and bright clothes." His accent was thick, yet had almost a tinge of british mixed in with the western drawl.
"Then you best be getting our horses ready, shouldn't you?" The boss was not one to be messed with, so with his head hung low, and a small apology on his lips, Juan excused himself from the saloon.
"Seremos ricos si sacar esto adelante." The tallest chuckled until the other almost growled.
"I literally have no idea what, you are saying. Why, why do you even talk?" He dragged his hands down his face and the other shrugged.
Minutes later the foreigners left the bar, two shady men followed them out. And eventually, followed a british carriage down a dirt path on horseback. One clad in green, riding by himself, in the lead. A second horse carrying one clad in purple, and one in blue. The man in the purple poncho rode first, eyes cast upon the carriage ahead, mouth in a wide smirk and head held high. The man in blue, was feeling quite so. His head still downcast, nervous thoughts running through his head, worrying over the fate of the handsome prince.