Chapter Text
It was a quiet day at the ranch, but he'd never speak such words out loud, he supposed he was superstitious in that way. Nails that scraped against his skin as he flicked a bug off his shoulder reminded him to cut them soon. The buzzing of locusts' wings told a story of a summer approaching too quickly reminded him to get off his ass and pick his daughter up. Sure the sun was only about a fifth of it's way down on its journey to the horizon, but with a ratty old truck and country roads for half an hour...
A grumble left his throat as he pulled his hat down further, shielding his eyes from the sun that assaulted him as soon as he left the shelter of his favorite tree. Along the way, he picked a piece of dried-up grass, rolling it between his fingers absently.
His good-ole truck was right where it always was, parked in the gravel driveway that was more like a road back to the barn that just happened to have his house as a stop. He stuck the hay in his mouth, just to have something to do other than listen to the radio on the drive to school. With a flick of his wrist the ignition turned on and the engine... sputtered to life, for lack of a better term... and he was on his way.
!
"Mr. Argenti!"
Small hands tugged on the flowy white fabric of his beloved dress shirt. The billowing sleeves seemed to be a class-favorite as well.
"I told you to simply call me Sir, you only use Mister for one's surname," A fond smile was already on his lips as his—admittedly favorite—student gazed up at him with wide, curious eyes. She always refused to call him anything other than Mister, citing her dad's wisdom as her source for it being proper.
After a drawn out moment, she pulled a paper from the low table beside her, shyly holding it up for Argenti to see. He squinted a bit before just deciding on taking it to examine closer. It was crayon on paper, her favorite medium. Grass that varied in coloring from green to yellow was dashed across the paper with care, the center of the page housed very abstract oval horses, one white and one tan.
His already wide smile seemed to blossom further as if watered by his student's art, words already spilling out of his mouth as his eyes darted across the page, "My, this is beautifully drawn! The pasture is artfully detailed, the variation in colors is marvelous thinking on your part as well, not to mention the horses! How did you draw this from only your thoughts? You must've had a reference!"
The girl giggled happily, shifting her weight from side to side as if the praise was too heavy for her to bare, "Thank you, Mister... I spend a lot of time with me and Papa's horses, so I remember them well."
For a moment, he paused, racking his brain for what this particular girl had mentioned previously about her life. Right, she lived on a ranch! How could he forget such an interesting piece of information...
He cleared his throat and handed the paper back, "You must love your horses if you can remember them so vividly, dear. Which one is yours?"
She pointed to the white one with a black mane, "This is Papa's horsey, I say it looks like him a lot. The tan one is mine, and he says it looks like me so I should have it since I'm so obsessed with his horsey looking like him."
As she stumbled over certain syllables, he couldn't help but feel incredibly fond of the girl. She voiced her thoughts adeptly despite her young age and inexperience, he mused.
"What's your papa like?" He moved to sit down with her as she began to doodle again, albeit a tad uncomfortably since the chairs were a bit small for his size.
She seemed to light up at that, only pausing her rambling to concentrate on drawing. From what she told him, this man seemed like a brilliant mind, one that took care of this girl remarkably well. Time passed just like that, with her drawing and them conversing amicably about her father.
He was so enthralled by the young girl that he even forgot why he was with her in the first place—they were waiting for her father to pick her up. He was always late, so Argenti never got to meet him, usually too caught up with papers to keep the girl company until he came.
So, when the door to the classroom flung open, he was understandably shaken up by the intrusion. It was late and he was zoned out, how could anyone blame him for flinching at such a disruption?
Before he could register who came in, the girl jumped up eagerly, running to hug tall legs hidden beneath dirty jeans, "Papa!"
Argenti smiled as he stood up, sore joints protested after sitting for so long. This must be the father he'd been hearing about for the past hour or so. He absently lifted his gaze upwards, still in his thoughts a bit. His eyes attempted to land on the man's face, but god, he didn't know where to even look.
"There's my Clementine! Sorry I'm later than usual, darlin', got caught up along the road we always take," He reached down to affectionately ruffle the girl's short blonde hair, earning a happy squeal, "How 'bout we get some food on our way? Will that make up for it?"
She nodded enthusiastically, grinning ear to ear, “Mickey Dee’s!”
He chuckled heartily, nodding to placate her before he got his breath back, “Sure, Mickey Dee’s it is, sweetheart.”
Finally, his eyes lifted to meet the emerald ones that had been drilling a hole—more accurately many different holes—into his skull this entire time. The edge of his mouth quirked up and he tilted his head forward with a tug of his cowboy hat, "Name's Boothill, pleasure to meet'cha."
Oh, Argenti must be a weak, weak man. His heart didn't feel right at all. He felt like a good kick from one of those horses Clementine chattered about would do him some good in kick-starting his brain.
"Nice to meet you too..." He sounded quiet and unsure, so he cleared his throat to try and regain that confidence he always exuded... to little avail as he sputtered out an introduction, "I am Argenti, Clementine's teacher."
Recognition sparked in Boothill's dark eyes, "Aye, it's you! Ain't it funny we're only just meeting as the school year's boutta end?" He mused with a grin, to which Argenti could only offer a dumbfounded nod, "Clementine's been nagging me bout meeting you all year, I figured you must be God 'imself, way she talked about you, I tell you, a God!"
Clementine was the actual god here, at least to Argenti. She tugged on her dad's pant leg just in time for him not to embarrass himself with whatever he was about to stutter out.
"Mister Argenti is super nice! I tell you all the time, don't I? Don't you think it's true?"
Another one of those deep, genuine laughs left him, "Sure is! Seems like a real gentleman. You must be city folk, huh 'genti?"
A nod is all he could give for a while, finding words was just hard right now-he was grasping at straws. He was supposed to be extroverted, damnit!
"Yup... Moved here not long ago, it's my first year teaching here, actually. Clementine's made it quite memorable as well, she has a brilliant mind," He finally let out a relieved breath. The train was back on the tracks, at least.
"That so? Say, you a model or sumn on the side?" Boothill leaned forward, squinting carefully to examine unblemished skin and rosy cheeks.
Argenti turned nearly as red as his hair after that one, stuttering out a meager denial.
"Huh! Maybe ya should, considering how much work you prolly put into your appearance. You look like a statue or sumn."
"Ahem, thank you... I never considered-" He paused, glancing away, "-that as a career path, honestly. Earlier on I worked as a mechanic while I was in college."
Thankfully, that got Boothill off the subject of his appearance, instead igniting an enthusiastic conversation about how to fix a crappy Ford truck and the best shops in town to take it to.
.
"Pa! Pa! Can you come early tomorrow?" Clementine chimed up, mouth still hald-full of chicken nuggets and little legs swinging as they hung from the edge of her seat.
"Want me to see your teacher again, do you?" He grinned, finger tapping against the torn-up leather of the steering wheel, "Why's that?"
"I-I forgot to ask since you two were having so much fun this time," She mumbled shyly, fidgeting with the soggy box her nuggets came in, "But we're having a field trip and today was supposed to be the last day to turn in the forms..."
Blue screening might be an accurate way to describe what happened to Boothill then. Well, maybe if he was a robot.