Outlaw || Boothill

IV

As the maid previously mentioned, a ball would be held soon. Why of course it would. I'm not interested in such royal... shit. I want to live my life alone and now I have to go act prissy in-front of a bunch of annoying noble people. Fuck.

The palace was alive with excitement as preparations for the grand ball reached their climax. She stood before the ornate mirror in her chambers, her gown shimmering in the soft candlelight as her maid, Adelaine, put the finishing touches on her elaborate coiffure.

"This sucks."

"You look absolutely stunning, Your Highness," Adelaine remarked, her voice filled with admiration as she stepped back to admire her handiwork. "It'll be over and done with soon..."

She didn't want to be to rude to Adelaine, it's wrong to take things out on others, so she smiled gratefully at her maid, her heart fluttering with unwanted anticipation for the evening ahead. Despite her royal duties weighing heavily on her mind, she couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement at the prospect of seeing a certain outlaw once again. The chance was very slim, but a girl can hope.

As she made her way down the grand staircase, the strains of music drifting up from the ballroom below, she couldn't help but feel a sense of nervous anticipation. The ball was a rare opportunity for her to escape the confines of palace life and indulge in a night of revelry and romance. Pfft, what a load of ballroom bullshit. She didn't care for such things. She didn't care to be royal. She would be much happier if she lived her life freely...and wilder.. obviously.

Freedom was the one thing she longed for, brutally.

"Aw... y/n, you look gorgeous." Spoke a familiar tone.

The tone of a man. This man... she loathed him. Despise was an understatement. But her parents were convinced she was the one for him.

"Care to dance?"

"Shove it. I don't like you."

"Your words burn me, but I'm not giving up so easily. After all, it's what your parents want..."

"...and what I want." He took her by the hand despite her protests.

Oh my god. Kill me, kill me now.

...

Meanwhile, on the flip side of town. (Was that country enough?)

Boothill leaned in close to his roommate and fellow outlaw Jeb, his voice carrying the twang of the open plains as he confessed his misdeed. "Jeb, reckon I gotta come clean 'bout somethin'," he started, his tone serious yet tinged with a hint of sheepishness.

Jeb raised an eyebrow, curiosity evident in his expression. "What's eatin' at ya?" he asked, his voice low to match the clandestine nature of their conversation. Even though, Jeb's accent was non existent, he claimed to have picked it up from his roommate.

Boothill scratched the back of his head, a nervous grin spreading across his face. "Well, ya see, Jeb... I kinda... forged me an invitation to this fancy shindig," he admitted, his drawl thickening with guilt... yeah no. He wasn't guilty at all, secretly.

Jeb's eyes widened in surprise, a mixture of concern and disbelief crossing his features. "You did what now?" he exclaimed, his voice a mixture of shock and admonishment.

Boothill nodded sheepishly, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I know, I know... it ain't exactly the brightest idea I've ever had," he confessed, his words slow and deliberate. "But I couldn't bear the thought of missin' out on seein' that Princess again. I ain't no mathematical genius, Jeb, but I'm tellin' you she will be there!"