Chapter Text
— he sure was a shiny bugger.
Whiskey dangles from augmented fingertips as he watches the scene unfold before him. There were very few things that could surprise him anymore, but the sight of a man fully clad in armor with his own special effects (?) was surely a sight one didn't witness every day. His vibrant blood red hair is what had captured Boothill's attention first - even against the backdrop of all the dazzling drinks, screaming sounds, and lights in this corner of Penacony - and his boisterous mannerisms had come second.
Rose after rose was produced from heaven knows where as the stranger made his way through the crowd. Most visitors didn't humor his eccentrics and the few who did seem to quickly become overwhelmed by the nonsense he was sprouting. Something-something beauty...?
One particularly inebriated woman was all too willing to cling onto the silver clad arm as he spoke, pawing at his chest plate and damn near throwing a leg over his hip like a cat in heat ready to be taken right then and there. He expected them to suddenly disappear into some nook or cranny to do the nasty, but to the cyborg's surprise, all the man did was politely lead her to a booth and rush to the bar to procure a glass of water for her. The man was so focused on his task that he didn't seem aware of Boothill's presence next to him regardless of how he knew his eyes were boring into the stranger.
Holy baby, the armor clad weirdo looked like he stepped straight out of a fashion magazine. Boothill didn't necessarily find himself particularly moved by appearances - there could be too much ugly and evil hidden underneath a pretty face - but that didn't mean he was blind or couldn't appreciate aesthetics. The ginger was definitely living up to the tale of a Knight in Shining Armor. His enhanced optics automatically zeroed in on the little things ; a freckle here, a faded scar at his jaw, the little dusting of rogue at the corner of his eyes.
His eyes didn't stray as the man merrily collected the water with gratitude and clanked his way back over to the table. His companion appeared equally confused as Boothill as he coaxed her to drink and if his expression meant anything, expressed his concern for her wellbeing from a safe distance. Who the heck did all that schmoozing and ass kissing and didn't jump at the chance for said offered ass!? He watched them for a few more minutes with thin curiosity as the man went through the gentlemanly act. After all, what else could it be? No way he was actually a Knight and meant all that polite junk when he looked like that. Probably just wasn't into exhibition, or he was crafting an alibi.
Evidently, Boothill was soon to find out.
Their eyes met and he cussed internally as he dragged his gaze away with a grimace but already he could hear the distinct clunk thunk of heavy footsteps approaching. Both so similar and entirely different from his own. He debated on slamming back the remainder of his drink and making a run for it, but it's too late. Guy was swift for someone wearing a suit of armor.
"My eyes," His voice is smooth yet dangerous, like honey pouring over barbs, "they have been blessed this evening. Please, accept this heartfelt compliment — your beauty is breathtaking."
Boothill blinks dumbly. "What the fudge?" On second thought, he tips his head and knocks back the rest of his whiskey. It'd burn up uselessly in his system but it was the thought that counted. "Baby doll, what're yer talkin' bout?" Now he might've noticed the man didn't discriminate with his er.... affections, but surely he wasn't serious? He was a forkin heap of metal!
Most people were alarmed by his manner of speech the second he opened his mouth, sharpened teeth clicking away, but the armor clad smooth talker looked downright fascinated. "Forgive me, my friend. Where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself. I am Argenti of the Knights of Beauty-" no surprise there, Boothill couldn't help but snort- "and I was enamored by your gaze! Our eyes met and I believe it to be deemed fated by Idrila THEMSELVES for our paths to intertwine. If you would so grant me the honor, may I have your name?"
"Yer sure do have a mouth on ya..." Wasn't Idrila a dead Aeon? It'd been... an innumerable amount of years since Boothill had given a right damn about any Aeon's in existence, but he was sure he'd heard that one specifically was gone. He humored the idea that maybe the man before him was the Aeon themselves. He'd never seen a prettier one ; eyes as green as the hills he still vaguely recalled of home and hair as red and flowing as the rivers he wished to turn with IPC hide. If he was entirely honest, he could reckon he might just be a deep voiced woman. "Names Boothill, angel. Didn't ya ma teach ya not to lie so much? Yer wag ya tongue and it'll shrivel on up now."
Argenti gave him a downright scandalized look. Before Boothill could say a word, he was suddenly down on one knee with one hand crossed over his chest and the other scooping up his own. The cyborg couldn't repress his flinch, unveiled eye widening as he sputtered. His knuckles were kissed and he felt a dozen sensors firing off at once. "Holy-"
"- you misunderstand, dear Boothill. My words are sincere and from deep within my heart. I do not speak of ugly lies, only the most beautiful of truths! It is a miracle at all that I am able to speak in your presence, for you are undoubtedly one carved with Idrila in mind."
His fluster dried up immediately and with a scowl he wrenched his hand away. Argenti managed a look that was both surprised and hurt but Boothill was more focused on thumping a hand against the bar, gesturing for his drink to be refilled as the bartender shot him a glance. "Now thats downright blasphemous, 'm sure," he snarled. The venom in his voice surprised even himself and the armored knight carefully rose to his full height. Concern was now clearly etched into his features and it only riled Boothill up further. "Sproutin' all that flowery szzzzt-" His synesthesia beacon seemed to fizzle out entirely in preparation for his rant and he shook with barely repressed rage.
Shirt. His internal fans kicked on to combat the sudden overheating and a plume of smoke flitted out from between clenched teeth. An alert was going off in his peripheral, reminding him that anger was not an emotion that he was to exhibit while on duty — his client hadn't required a brat or a struggle. It only serves to fry his nerves more, shoulders trembling as he warred with his programming.
But eventually, as always, they won.
His inner workings were flooded with combatant hormones to quell the emotion overtaking him, his shoulders shuddering at the invasive feeling physically rushing to his head. Forcefully pumped into his brain, forkin with the chemicals or whatever, he'd never quite been privy to the cause, only the effect. It was all so easy, he might as well have been fully robotic. His shoulders sagged, expression blanking out.
Any sensible person would've turned around and quickly left the scene as they cyborg momentarily reset, but the ginger stayed in place with his stupid mug still pulled taunt with worry.
And now. regret.
"... forgive me, have I misspoken? Do enlighten to me to my slight, and my apologies will follow swiftly. I mean no harm, my friend. Idrila favors all things beautiful, from the smallest blade of grass to the largest star in our galaxies. THEY would not be offended to be compared to one such as yourself. You are a representation of Beauty itself."
Years (perhaps decades even, Boothill didn't bother to keep track anymore, couldn't) had passed since he felt anything like true shame, but this guy was laying it on thick. If he knew what Boothill was, he'd probably have to off himself in order to repent to his Aeon, or something. There was nothing mesmerizing about a common street walker. His presence made Boothill feel slimy in a way he hadn't since he'd first been confronted with this body and it's purpose. As if mere proximity had the potential of tainting this - so far to his eyes - innocent sap. Stupid, sure, and he certainly shouldn't give a darn, but he felt the phantom sensation of his wires crawling with unease nevertheless.
At long last his refill was produced and without batting a lash, the cyborg took it to the head in one go. "Keep talkin' like that and you'll hafta buy me the next one." he rasped.
Without missing a beat, Argenti's head bobbed in eager acceptance. He turned to the bartender with a beaming smile and a sweeping gesture, arms extended to either side. "My good fellow, allow me to take on my companions tab! Another for himself, and if you are amenable, milk for myself, or perhaps ice water. You have my gratitude."
.... what the fudge.