[ at the other end of the runway, boothill is already stalking forward towards the dark, feathered figure standing saintlike at the other end, hunched, hands clasped. the colors continue to flash, climbing over the air around boothill, spreading through the floor.
his cold, iron hand reaches down to the holster at his thigh. it spins out his revolver in neat circles until he holds it beside his head, barrel pointed to the sky. his other hand is still at his side, fingers rolling into a fist.
boothill's emotions roil inside of his body like an angry sea. he can hardly contain it when he looks straight at anders, the crosshairs in his eye aiming true.
he doesn't say anything. he just comes closer, holding his gun. ]
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his cold, iron hand reaches down to the holster at his thigh. it spins out his revolver in neat circles until he holds it beside his head, barrel pointed to the sky. his other hand is still at his side, fingers rolling into a fist.
boothill's emotions roil inside of his body like an angry sea. he can hardly contain it when he looks straight at anders, the crosshairs in his eye aiming true.
he doesn't say anything. he just comes closer, holding his gun. ]