#A Pure Heart Of Resilience & Kindness (& One Fine Slice’f Cherry Pie!) // Artair.

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

It's when Butch goes home that his second gift is revealed. Artair has cleaned himself up and is wearing something nice. Slacks and a button-up with a men's corset and dress shoes. He's waiting at home for Butch, and when he comes in, Artair fiddles with a remote.

It plays music, a the beginning thrums of a guitar sounding in the air from the song. Another button lights up the house with a myriad of color from Christmas lights. They are wrapped around supports and hanging from guardrails and the banister overhead. Even Valentine is decorated with a little blue scarf and a red bow between her ears as well as a plate of christmas carrots.

Artair offers out his hand. "Um. May I have this dance?"

Gifts! // @townofcadence

Butch is surprised to say the least when he hes greeted by colorful festive lights and music the moment he enters the house; he looks all around with wonder in his eyes as he slides his jacket off, a smile curling at his lips as he spots Valentine all dolled up and gorging herself on carrots.

His eyes land on Artair next and while he suspects him to be the culprit of this pleasant surprise, he doesn’t expect to see him dressed up and offering a hand out to him to dance. Warmth surges through him at the sight and he tosses his jacket aside, his smile only growing and his face reddening considerably as he steps forward, slipping his gloves off and giving them a toss as well before placing a hand of his in Artair’s.

He almost doesn’t know what to say at first, but he knows exactly what he wants, and that’s to share this dance with Artair.

“Nothin’d make me happier~” A bubbly laugh escapes him and he already feels himself welling up with excitement if the Christmas lights weren’t enough to enamor him (and they certainly were).

“This’s… i’un even know what t’say!” He admits with another flustered chuckle. “It’s amazin. Yer amazin… an’ gosh, yer so gorgeous…” He gushes while soaking in the taller man’s attire once more. God, he was beautiful. He can feel his heart beat quickening and his stomach doing flips that are powerful enough to make him a little weak in the knees. He persists though, his want to share a romantic dance with his beloved far stronger than the urge to melt right then and there.

“Never thought this ol’ pauper’d have his very own prince charmin~”

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

Butch quickly finds that wielding flames is incredibly invigorating, despite his inner turmoil brewing a fierce storm within him. It made him feel powerful where his traditional weapons had failed him.

It doesn’t take long for him to realize that Resonance is relatively immune to his attacks and the most that they do is manage to distract him. That doesn’t seem to last when the creature reels in pain suddenly, his eyes and mouth leaking some kind of dark muck that emanates gold and green before his attention snaps over towards Artair.

Butch’s flames cease almost immediately and his attention follows Resonance’s; hope swells in his chest once more as he can feel the very faintest bit of magic surging through Artair’s crumpled form—so overwhelming that it almost makes him sick. He was alive. He’s much closer to Artair where he had landed and the moment he realizes the creature is barreling towards Artair, he too scrambles, feet nearly slipping out from under him as he rushes over to his counterparts side. He throws himself forward when he’s close enough, like a baseball player lurching for home base, and lands atop Artair’s form at some attempt to protect him—and that’s when it happens.

He’s not exactly sure how but there’s a vibration within him that tells his body what exactly needs to be done, even if his brain is still catching up. His blood boils, his skin prickles, and his eyes glow a brilliant blue. It’s as if he has no control over what happens next, desperation taking hold; it’s unfamiliar to him, even in his time so far stuck relatively stagnant with his transformation—but somehow, something within his brain pushes him forward, knowing the next of his actions are crucial if he wants to prevent Resonance from possessing Artair again.

Upon stumbling atop Artair’s form, he doesn’t manage to make contact with his wounded companion. His eyes squeeze shut and there’s a sudden surge of emotion rattling through him, something he quickly recognizes isn’t just his own. There’s a merge that happens between the two in a matter of seconds and when his eyes snap open, they’re not his own. He might have been in utter confusion if Artair’s own motivations couldn’t be felt, but they were very prevalent in the forefront of his mind—Resonance needed to be stopped. To be sealed away. To be killed lest it be them instead.

It takes him but a second to realize he’s possessing Artair rather than Resonance this time, something he hadn’t expected but he knows deep down for some unexplainable reason that this was the only way. That he’d much rather it be him than Resonance. He doesn’t have time to ponder the implications of it all nor does he wait. They had to act if they wanted to survive and goddamnit, they were making their way out of this one way or another.

He'd hoped that the fucking thing's human half would leave him a cindering stain on stone floor. Or cooked meat he could feast on, before using at least one of these bodies to learn someone new inside his cavern or something. But seeing him standing, smoldering, still very much alive and unscathed has him throw up his head with the most agitated, hard swing in the sheer frustration he was levied with at the sight. This bug would. Not. DIE.

The strike he aims at Butch misses when he comes close with that knife, but the explosion is unexpected. The blade buries in his scales and he hisses, before he too is knocked back from the force. He recovers faster than Butch, doesn't take to rolling with his size and the stability of a massive body like his own. He looks at the knife, considering pulling it, and then back at Butch with a venomous glare. But now the little rat's unarmed, and bleeding again. Between all of it, it's only a matter of time before he passes out and then he could really take his time picking him apart.

But getting his blood pumping would mean he kills him, or he runs on empty enough to pass out. So with slit eyes, he begins to move towards where Butch was recovering off the floor.

The fireball makes that hard.

He's resistant to fire as well, of course, but bright light in his eyes is blinding. It scatters in the air around him and swallows him in bright reds and oranges and yellows-- the heat does not hurt, but the impact and the light slow him down and throw off any trajectory. He rears back, swatting at embers. A second one hits and he lets out a bellow that has no words but echoes through the blood and veins from how deep it rumbles.

He slaps the next one before it reaches his face. He has every intent to move forward.

And then pain rips through him, like he was made of paper and someone too scissors through his body. Resonance doubles at the feeling, rasping as black ooze bubbles and froths from his mouth, pouring from his lips like blood as much as it expels from his eyes, his nose, his ears. He bends further over, curving and spattering the ground with ichor. Nothing the brat did could've done this! What--

The voice is quiet, but it bounces in the cavern. His puppet is there, nearish the fucking worm who started this all. He can see him from this angle, speaking low and clinging to a stalagmite with a bloody hand. His one eye is black with a green ring, spilling equally acid tears, while the other is an amber gold. He is looking right at him as he speaks.

The bitch is alive? Alive and ---- .

He feels another arc of pain sear through him.

...Alive and trying to fucking cast some kind of binding?

On him?

Resonance bares his teeth, jaw asynchronously flexing. Butch is still there, in his peripheries, but he sees it. His puppet. Some freak with wings and powers who won't stay dead.

A way out.

He does not hesitate, the scales scrape almost like metal as they screech against the cavern floor. Trailing sparks, he barrels towards Artair.

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

CON. // @townofcadence

Butch is giddy to pick up the phone for a change when Artair’s tone sounds and a smile grows on his face when he informs him that he’s on his way. He’d spent the last week showing his piglet how to do various tricks. She was smart, and picked up on them quickly too which made it even more fun for him! Now, he can’t wait to show Artair what she’s learned despite still being such a small chunky thing.

Unfortunately, he’s oblivious to his counterparts current mental struggle and he’s none the wiser upon seeing the response. He didn’t really have a sense for text tone in the first place even if the pattern in which Artair’s text happened to change for whatever reason. In this case, all seemed as it should be!

[TXT]: she jus ate lunch

[TXT]:

[TXT]: why she look like that

It seems Butch has just discovered his grandpa phone’s camera feature and he’s going hog wild with it—taking photos of anything and everything he can by accident and on purpose. Valentine though… he’s definitely going to have to ask Artair how he does that photo screen cover thing.

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

CON. // @townofcadence

“He had big mucus green hair, an’ he was wearin’ a leather jacket. Fucker knew my name somehow, an—an’ ‘bout my wings!” Butch tells him, almost exasperated.

Just thinking about the fact that someone else knew upset him greatly; he didn’t want these things apart of him as is, and now some stranger was taunting him about them. Making him feel like Artair had been pitying him afterall because he supposedly couldn’t handle it. Doubt eats at his mind, but anger far overshadows any embarrassment, and he too is ready to put this odd encounter to rest.

“F’I ever see that creep again, I’m gonna knock ‘is teeth out!” As if affirming his point, a fist comes crashing into his other open palm, his imp like tail flickering in agitation.

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

Artair comes in, metaphorically flying in and wrapping his arms around him. That's all the warning he gets until Artair's lips meet his in a rather intense collision, 23 dead and 70 wounded. He's a bit wild about it, hands in Butch's hair and teeth nipping his lip. The movement is intent and desperate and tempestuous.

And just like that, it's over. Artair parts, breathing hard. He kisses Butch's head between his horns with closed eyes. "Sorry. I just missed you a lot today...."

// @townofcadence

Butch starts a little at the incoming embrace but it’s not long at all before he’s melting into it; he’s not sure what’s brought it on, but hell, those arms made his heart flutter every time.

Now, he doesn’t quite expect the abrupt smooch so he doesn’t get much time to reciprocate but the intensity of it manages to make that flame within the cowboy burn even brighter, crimson engulfing his face. His spaded tail practically rattles behind him as Artair parts with a bite to his lip—oof! And that kiss between his horns? Triple kill!

“Mmf… I-I—you… missed—errghh….” He stumbles over his words like a dope before his arms move to wrap around Artair’s waist, pulling him closer and looking up at him with a bat of his lashes and a crooked smile. “Y’really came in hot… I like it~ heheh,l missed ya too!” He says, bouncing up on his tip toes to press a kiss to Artair’s jaw and then the corner of his lips. It felt good to hear he was missed in any capacity, especially from him.

“Mmm, I always miss ya when yer away…I s’pecially miss those kisses~!”

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

A bag is placed in front of Butch. Artair's expression is almost hopeful as he looks at him, placing it on the table between them.

Inside seems to be a lot of bullets! A whole bag of them. Runes in curling, decorative markings are inlaid on the bullets and casings. The lines look almost like a coppery gold, and have a glimmering prismatic sheen. There's a hum of energy to each one to anyone sensitive to magic.

"I ah... made these for you." Artair offers, fingers starting to tap together in front of him. "I don't know if you even need them? I mean you're always so resourceful and all." He shoves his hands in his pockets. "But ah... you know. If you're ever dealing with some supernatural bullshit and mundane bullets don't cut it.... I just had this thought that maybe I could give you a little magical boost, haha. And you know-- I need to improve on some of my skills too! So. It was good practice even if you don't use them. And you don't have to take them either! But.... I hope they help. If you do."

// @townofcadence

Butch can feel the magic radiating off of the bag as it’s placed before him. Curiosity piqued, he pulls the bag over to himself, looking between it and Artair before peeking inside.

He plucks one of the bullets out, surprise taking up his face as he turns it in his fingers, admiring Artair’s craftsmanship. He had handmade these…? For him? He can feel a sudden swelling in his chest as he looks back to Artair, a familiar feeling it seemed only the other man was able to evoke from him.

Artair speaks and he listens as the other tells him about what they’re capable of, a smile stretching across his lips all the while. When the taller of the two finishes speaking, Butch snatches him by the collar of his shirt to bring him to his height, planting a kiss on those lips of his.

“Course I want ‘em! This’s—… ya didn’t—er, thanks so much! I love it!” Dropping the shell back into the bag, he picks it up and holds it to his own chest with a smile, peppering a few more kisses upon Artair’s face before releasing his shirt. His spaded tail wags behind him excitedly at the prospect of using them if he’s ever in danger and facing something that happened to be magic or otherworldly (which seemed to happen an awful lot so he’s positive they’ll come in handy!).

“Y’did one helluva job, Artair! Th’ engravin’s… how’d ya get it so small? I didn’t even know y’could make stuff like this—an’ magic? Color me ‘mpressed! Hehehe, shoot. F’only we had somethin’ like this when we battled that snake freak, huh?” He snorts, wrapping his beloved in a tight hug, bag still in hand.

“Mmmm! Y’gotta stop bein’ so perfect’re yer gonna make me lose my mind~”

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

Artair leans his head on Butch's own, arms wrapping around his neck to rest over his chest. "Hey Butch? You know how a while back we were kind of... tussling with each other? And you used your lasso....? I've been thinking. Would you... ever show me how to do that?"

He tilts his head just a little back and forth, feeling the way it nudges Butch's own to follow suit. He stops after a few seconds, so it's mostly like being rubbed on like a cat. "I mean... I feel like having a skill like that could come in handy in a tight spot, with the kind of work I do. And I think I'd have a pretty great teacher. You can even demonstrate some of your tricks on me, if you want." He's sure Butch can hear his smile as he says it.

// @townofcadence

Butch feels those warm arms drape around him from behind while he’s in the midst of whittling what looks to be a crudely crafted horse thus far out of wood. Not that he minds one bit! He lowers his project, eyes sweeping over it as he listens to Artair speak, a small smile playing at his lips now at the prospect of showing him something he’s good at.

“Hey, I ain’t shy none ‘bout how t’work a rope an’ it sure’s done pulled me outta plenty’f sticky situations! Honestly, I’d prob’bly feel better f’ya did know some’f yer own rope work.” He muses, leaning back into the other man some after placing his knife and wood aside. The way he butts his head against him makes him chuckle warmly. He’s not sure specifically about the type of work Artair does but he’s all too aware of the danger aspect of it.

Butch’s face flushes ever so slightly at the idea of Artair being his volunteer for demonstrations… he’s certainly not opposed to the idea.

“O-Oh yeah…? M’ sure ya’d look mighty pretty tangled up in a mess’f rope, heh~ but I’ll make sure y’ain’t trippin’ over yerself anyhow.” He assures him. “I think I got all th’ patience in th’ world fer you, ‘fact… how would ya wanna give it go right now? We can take it outside an’ int’ th’ woods f’ya wanna have some more room since yer a humble beginner~” he teases. Butch wasn’t doing anything beyond working on a personal project so he certainly doesn’t mind dropping what he’s doing to jump into something a little more action oriented. He needed to stretch his legs anyway!

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

He's still simmering, but he can't do much to help in regards to the Shadowman. The powerlessness sits in his chest like a cold stone, and he hates it. But still, there were other means to help. Or at least do something. He approaches Butch with his hand already on his bag.

"Hey Sunshine..." Despite the fire burning at him, his voice comes out gentle. "I heard about how things went. I--- ah. I thought I could help. If you want."

// @townofcadence

Butch can tell even by the gentleness in Artair’s tone that he’s concerned about something, and what that something is, is made clear even without him having to specify. A gloved hand of his moves to absentmindedly rub at his own neck where the affliction still stung, a fresh wound he had bandaged up and hoped would look like nothing but scribbles when it finally healed.

That nickname tickles him a bit though and it’s hard not to smile a little at his offer. He can only assume Artair knows about it because that demon had been bragging or something of the sort… which wasn’t inherently a bad thing for him, it seemed.

“Pfft, this is th’ one boo-boo I’ll give ya that I know ain’t gonna look neat when it’s healed. I don’t want it!” Says the cowboy firmly; he’s already moving to untie his bandana. He wants Artair to get a good look at this mess! He needs someone else to see this shit. After stuffing his bandana in his pocket, he tilts his head some, pointing to his neck where he has it covered currently with a rather large bandage. Blood is dried on the outside where it had soaked through before it had finally stopped.

“Can y’believe this’s all ‘cause I wrote somethin’ silly on ‘is forehead!? Guess he took it personally, but serves ‘im right fer drawin’ on YOU! Y’don’t belong t’nobody an’ ya most certainly ain’t that freaks!”

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

😼 !!!

Send 😼 to turn my muse into a cat/kitten for a thread. // @townofcadence

Butch isn’t exactly sure how he had been turned into a cat, but somewhere in the midst of a ride on his horse, a transformation had occurred. Thankfully, he’s positive he knows just the fella who can help change him back! …Maybe.

Off he goes in search of Artair with nothing but his now small cowboy hat and signature bandana on. He sneaks in through a window that’s just barely open, impressed with how easily he can squish his body to fit, and scampers across the living room over to his companion who appears to be heavily focused on reading something. Surely his attire would tell Artair all he needs to know!

The cat hops up onto the couch and greets Artair by headbutting his arm for pets; he’s not sure why he does it but it’s just as natural as a handshake and just as sweet as pressing as a little kiss to his cheek instead. Then, he crawls into his lap to get his full attention, sitting on the pages of his book. He’s a little small compared to your average sized cat, but certainly not a kitten though that playful glint in his eye could easily convince someone otherwise.

“Mroooowlll.”

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

"Hey Butch," Artair leans a hip against the doorway, "I was wondering. Things have been so hectic, I was thinking--- what if we just went out? Like-- I mean-- to a bar or something. Maybe I could take you to that one with the bull we talked about? It could be fun, if you're interested."

// @townofcadence

Artair has all of his attention the moment he’s within earshot, the cowboy plucking leisurely at the strings on his guitar as he proposes an idea. His face lights up at the mention of going to a bar, and he’s even more delighted at the mention of that ol’ mechanical bull he had spoken so fondly of before.

“Interested?” Butch scoffs, grinning up at the other from where he’s seated on the floor. “More’an interested, gorgeous! I still gotta see how well ya fair on a bull, heheh! I mean, I’ve gotta bit’f ridin’ reference by now…” that part is said awfully smugly and a brief smirk accompanies those words. “But still.” He’s already setting his guitar aside and getting up, beaming at Artair.

“I gotta see that thing throw ya ‘round while ya fight it! Would be a nice way t’ unwind fer a bit an’ get some’f this energy out~” And he genuinely would like to enjoy the night with Artair so he doesn’t plan on getting absolutely sloshed for once.

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

Artair doesn't say anything. He crawls into Butch's bed, eyes averted. He barely dips the mattress as he lays down beside him, and Artair curls up against him, resting his head against Butch's chest. The prosthetic is off, and he lays on that side; his remaining arm hugs Butch around the waist as he buries himself against him. He listens to Butch's heartbeat, a steady rhythm that grounds him.

// @townofcadence

Butch had always been of the early to sleep, early to rise! mentality, and though he hadn’t quite nodded off just yet, he’s pleasantly surprised when his counterpart takes to joining him in bed. His eyes flicker open, tired and half lidded, curiously watching Artair as he moves closer, wrapping an arm around him and resting that pretty head upon his chest.

An arm of his moves to curl around Artair’s shoulders where he lay, his bare hand brushing through that thick hair of his tenderly. He’s accustomed to hugging and touching Artair by now but more often than not, Artair would only initiate affections in order to comfort Butch rather than anything having to do with himself. This time though, things are a bit different. The air had shifted. He felt… vulnerable, and boy does the cowboy feel lucky to be the one he’s seeking comfort from if that’s indeed the case!

“…s’everythin’ alright, darlin?” He asks softly, in just above a whisper. His free hand not buried in Artair’s locks grazes lightly over the skin of the arm wrapped around him; his fingers stop to trace ever so gently over any indentions and scars he can feel curiously all the while, just taking him in.

“Y’ain’t gotta talk ‘bout it f’ya don’t wanna… m’fine with jus… bein’ here with ya.” Maybe there wasn’t anything to talk about. Maybe he just felt a certain type of way, and that was okay too.

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

Butch’s smile doesn’t linger and instead seems to curl into a frown at the other man’s words; he’s tense, that much he can tell by his posture, the way his hand feels in his own and he almost regrets even bringing the subject up in the first place. That’s… more so what he had expected to feel initially, lo and behold. Artair’s being hard on himself again and Butch feels as though he’s the cause.

“….Dont…talk ‘bout yerself like that. Y’don’ jus’ hurt me. Yer an amazin’ person.” He insists. “An’ I’m—… I’m so lucky to have you ‘round. Y’only ever hurt me when… when ya hurt yerself.”

The last of Artair’s words move him somewhat. He had given him a chance, hadn’t he…? Despite all he’s done, the other had easily forgiven him, assured him his circumstances were at play. His belief in him was what pushed him forward, what made him want to be a better person too. Does that make him some kind of hypocrite?

The sandy blonde lowers his head, arms dropping somewhat with Artair’s hand still in his. He grip loosens somewhat as he processes the others words, his skinny tail wrapping around one of his own legs. A chance. He’s silent and his eyes rise back to Artair’s face at the offer. Atleast, he thinks it’s an offer judging by the way he says it. That hand squeezes his own and he has to squeeze back a little tighter. “Are ya… suggestin’ what I think yer suggestin?”

Now, Artair had offered to simply tell him but now he’s curious. Possessing Artair was an interesting sensation, being two souls in one form and all, and though his last experience with it was rather unsavory, he wasn’t able to process much beyond the situation at hand. The danger they were in. In a far less tense situation, with Artair’s permission, it sounds… a little scary but exciting. If he could see what he sees. Understand what he’s trying to say in a way that he’s currently unable to convey in words, his feelings.

“Well, ah… I do trust ya. W-With my life.” He states, giving a confident nod. Those wet eyes peering back at him make his stomach twist unpleasantly. He hated seeing him feel this way and he sure as hell wanted to make it stop if he could. “F’ya trust me, course i wouldn’t mind… f’ya think it’d help, I…I do wanna understand where yer comin’ from. F’i can.”

Artair is silent, an aching things that stretches as Butch speaks. He allows him to speak in full, throat bobbing more and more, the further he spoke, the more he touched him. At first he tenses under the gentle touch, and then he all but clings to it, his hand clutching Butch's in an even tighter squeeze. Like he might realize his error and wrench himself away, and this was all the lifeline he had between them.

This kiss has him shuddering, and he covers his mouth with the other hand. But his own does squeeze back. There's a strain to the way he breathes, a tension of control. But his fingers stay loose and pliable to Butch's. He still can't look at him though, head still angled away just a little. "Well-- I like you."

Artair clears his throat again. "I--- I know you're not mad at me. You....you just care. About Jonas, and --- and about me." The hand glides away from where it covered his mouth, moving instead to hang by a finger in the ring of his collar. "I-- I don't think you'll ever lose me, though. I don't know if that's possible. But--- but I know the point is seeing me hurting is problem too. I should....I shouldn't do that to you."

He tugs, intermittently. "You don't have to comfort me. I... I know you're not mad." Another lick of his lips. "I just....ah. Um. Mh."

One last, harsher yank and his hand goes into his hair, knotting and tangling itself there. The other hand stays limp in Butch's own. "I.... I think---Butch I..... I'm not. I'm not. A good person. I mean-- I just hurt you and--- and I don't even know if I can give you my word on what you want and I just--- there's other things, too many things. But... I have to believe that most people can be someone better tomorrow if they try. That even if you're unforgivable and you've done so many things that hurt so many people---- if you're willing, you can still be better. If some people--- they have something they never had, support or kindness or compassion-- sometimes that's enough to grow. To become better versions of ourselves."

Artair's posture is painfully tense and he's stilled, eyes shut. He seems ready for something, braced for it and holding his breath in small bursts. "If you---trust me.....if-- if that's--something you can give me a chance to show you.... I could show you. In here." His still entangled hand taps the side of his head. "O--or I can just tell you. I just..... I just know it's true. And there have been people who have hurt others in ways I can never forgive. Or hurt me, too. But I just..... I know that sometimes all you need is a chance."

His hand squeezes Butch's own and he finally looks at him, turning to face him again. His eyes glitter in their own eerie glow, wet. "I-if you don't agree after then--- I won't try to change your mind. But....please let me show you why I-- feel the way I do?"

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

Artair puts him down and he can’t help but notice the sorrowful look on his face—it just broke his heart. He’s not sure what all he’s feeling at the moment after all of that and he honestly can’t blame him for booking it. It was getting awfully tense, afterall.

Without warning, he slings his arms around Artair, embracing him tightly. He’s not sure how much it will help when he’s sure his sweet Cherry Pie is a mess of conflicting feelings at the moment if his lack of focus told him anything. Still, he had to show him somehow that he was unbothered, albeit a little pissed at that chick for prying but shit, that wasn’t Artair’s fault! And he sure hoped he didn’t feel responsible.

“No—s’okay. It’s okay, cherry. I’d… I’d follow ya t’th’ edge of th’ world.” He says softly, assuringly, squeezing him tightly in his arms. “I’m, ah… I’m sorry… y’had t’deal with all that. I woulda clocked that chick int’ next Tuesday f’ya didn’t pull me ‘way, heh! So… don’ even worry ‘bout it, ‘kay..?”

Butch wants answers. He wants to know who that creep is, who Elias is. He wishes so badly he knew more about Artair’s past but he respected him far too much to demand anything out of him, nor would he ever want him to feel forced to divulge such information if it made him anything close to as uncomfortable as he looked at the library. He wanted Artair to share that information voluntarily, when he felt right about it, when he wanted to on his own terms. It was his past and therefore, his decision. He wanted him to have that. That, and so much more…

Artair doesn't seem to hear him at first. He doesn't respond to the protest, dragging Butch along with him in tight, clinging arms. He's moving fast as if there's intent to go somewhere, but every turn is more erratic than anything. Cadence is a small town, maybe one that'd take about an hour to cross the entirety of at a walking pace. Yet in the time Artair had been running those streets and the minutes dragged on, he'd found no destination. It was constant movement, but no purpose.

He still doesn't seem to hear Butch, not responding at first when he speaks and asks his question. But a minute or two after, Artair slows down, first to a trot, then a walk, then a few more meandering steps that end in a full stop.

"......Sorry." Artair finally breathes. His voice is hushed, winded from all his rushing. "I....don't know."

With as much care as he can, he settles Butch back on his feet and relinquishes his grip. "I'm---I'm sorry." His arms hug over his chest now instead. He swallows and looks around, trying to figure out where they even were, but he can't focus enough to read the signs. He still wasn't really in his body. Artair refolded again near as fast as his arms had crossed, and his metal hand found a handful of hair to tug. The other stayed resting at the crook of his bicep and forearm, on the glowing sphere joint. "I-- you didn't come there with me. I shouldn't have dragged you away. Sorry."

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

Butch laughs at Artair’s words before standing up a little straighter and puffing out his chest. “In that case, I’ll pertect it with my life!” He says with playful confidence, giving a sure nod.

The cowboy follows Artair’s lead and his chest swells a little as he feels that squeeze to his hand; he always managed to do that so effortlessly. His comment earns another chuckle out of Butch and he swears he’s never felt such genuine joy at such silly and mundane banter.

“Lucky me, hehehe. I got plenty ‘xperience with bulls an’ horses but I can’t say’ve ever ridden somethin’ like that! An’ I ain’t ever gonna complain f’ya wanna be th’ one holdin’ th’ reigns~” he swings their hands a little as they walk, continuing to observe their surroundings. He’s glad when all the commotion slowly dies down; he truly wants to savor the time he’s spending with Artair, especially doing something he’s never done before.

The taller man mentions food once more, which is incredibly tempting so Butch has to heavily consider it. He peers upwards thoughtfully, tapping his chin with his free hands index. “Mmmm, that does sound pretty darn good!” He admits, blue eyes finding Artair again. “Buuuttt now y’got my mind set on this merry go round! Maybe we can grab some’f that after— when we’re nice an’ hungry after all th’ fun.” He suggests, flashing him a toothy grin.

“So long’s th’ kiddos keep off th’ giraffe, we ain’t gonna have a prob’lem.” He’s joking. Sorta kinda.

Artair ignores the flutter of warmth at those feelings levied his way. He hides it behind a laugh at the teasing that follows, ruffling the back of Butch's hair. "Hey now, holding my bag is a special honor! I can't just ask. It has to be bestowed. Like a sword to a knight or something." His words bounce with teasing lilts. He ends it with brushing his tied up hair behind his shoulder in small but dramatic flourish.

And then his hand is taken, and he squeezes the one in his. "Hey if I promise you a giraffe, there'll be a giraffe." He laughs. "And I'll sit right next to you so you don't have to be lonely up on that long-ass neck or whatever." With one more squeeze, Artair takes the lead back into the fairgrounds.

It's a lot more noisy than being in the small nook with Butch had been, and there's pockets of anxiety woven throughout the grounds, as word spread of someone pulling a gun. But the longer the walked, the more some of it died down, people deciding it was a stunt or whoever it was had fled.

His shoulders relaxed some the longer they walked, linked by the hand. "Are you sure you're not hungry? I know you topped off that ice cream, but we could stop and you could try something else, too. If you're feeling savory they have these like--- it's hot dog, which is kind of like a tube of meat? And then they bread it and fry it. It's pretty good. And if you'd rather something sweet, funnel cake is like-- a tradition. It's a sweet fried dough with some powdered sugar on top." He turns to look at him as he tugs him along. "If you're done with food for now, I'll just take us straight to the carousel though. But it might be less crowded later, since most of the parents will probably take their kiddos home for bed when it starts getting dark enough."

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

“Oh, hush-up. I’m gonna worry ‘bout ya no matter what an’ that’s jus’ how it is. That’s what happens when y’get a fella like me t’care ‘bout ya.” His words carry a certain playfulness as does the reassuring smile he wears, just so Artair knows he’s not seriously trying to hush him, that he’s insisting that this is what he wants. If Artair felt bad, he wanted to be right there with him feeling the same thing, if not to understand then to be there so the other didn’t feel so alone.

“….An’ what if I happen t’like when y’make me feel things?” Butch’s words turn soft and his fingers gliding from his forearm and to his hand to cup it with both of his. He curls Artair’s fingers into a lazy fist and brings those knuckles to his lips, still watching his face closely.

“An’ ain’t nothin’ wrong with ya… y’just gotta be warmed up a lil’, that’s all.” He mutters.

Artair hesitates and Butch remains quiet, hoping he chooses to continue. He does and warmth surges through the cowboy at those words. Knowing that Artair truly does trust him with information so personal to him. It’s another small thing he says that manages to make the cowboy feel special all over again, even if it’s for unconventional reasons.

“Oh, darlin, y’gotta way with makin’ me feel more an’ good ‘nough. I… I know it ain’t easy t’talk ‘bout stuff like this, but I—-…. I care ‘bout ya a lot, Artair. I wanna know… everythin’ yer willin’ t’share. I wanna know everythin’ I can ‘bout ya, even th’ bad stuff.” His voice is still soft but there’s an insistence in his tone. He can feel his chest swelling a bit with a certain fondness that only Artair managed to envoke within him. “An’, f’ya’d let me, I’d… I’d kiss all yer scars. I’unno how ya’d feel ‘bout it, and m’sure I ain’t seen ‘em all but, gosh, I—-…. I do think yer beautiful. Scars an’ all. Even th’ ones I can’t see. They, uh… they make ya you in a way, don’t they?”

He doesn't know how he feels, under Butch's tender ministrations and with his compliments. He watches Butch's fingers trace paths through the maze of white lines, swallowing at the tingling sensation of gentle fingers. What he's saying is kind, but--- there's melancholy too, and it squeezes so tight in his chest. It's good, but wrong. Nice, yet terrifying and vulnerable. But... it's also what Butch wants.

"The um.....the lip scar. It's from the same day." The words feel scattered, but he knows they're not. His voice is so steady. Each one just feels like a scrabble piece he's jamming together. "The friend I'd argued with.... they realized I was gone too long. They came after me with another one. I... don't know all the details. But they got separated trying to find me. There was this pool with currents they had to get through and... yeah." His gaze shifts, imperceptible except for the distance in the expression. He's not here, he's miles and years away. "L-- my friend. He found me when I wasn't conscious. I woke up being touched and-- and I reacted badly. Fought. Shoved him away. And someone like me, pushing someone like him....it set him off. He retreated and when I realized what happened, I went after. But... it wasn't him at that point."

He trails off there, but his mind replays the events without the words. Being begged to leave. Begging to stay. Silver eyes, sharp fangs, pinned and helpless. A hand around his throat, and the desperate need to survive. A kiss that sliced into his lips. The guilt. Regret. His hair grabbed by that thing, the words clever prey brushed against his lips.

He snaps to the present with a scattered laugh. "Haha-- Art piece? Me?" Another sound of amusement. It soothes his racing heartbeat. "I mean maybe. It is in my name." He sounds playful, but it screeches to a halt when Butch lifts his arm and his lips press against uneven, scarred skin. He's-- he feels so warm. So hot to the touch. Those words with those kisses have his heart in somersaults. His skin wracks with shivers and his mouth is dry. Artair can't find words, an adequate enough response. The impulse is to hide, and he turns his flushed face away. Butch's thumb against him is like a brand and electric all at once. He feels unmade for a moment in these soft touches.

His prosthetic curls into his shirt, right over his heart. It still thuds there, he can feel it, even if he feels like Butch has stopped it entirely. "Ah...I....... I hate... making you feel things. Like that. Bad." He struggles through the words. "I....But I trust you. I just.....don't know. How to..... be a person, sometimes, I guess." He laughs like before, but weak. "But it's not you. It's just..... me. Something wrong with me. I think you're just.... amazing. And I want....." He doesn't know how to finish that thought. He doesn't know what he wants, not really. Every piece he gives someone is more threads he binds them to himself with. But he's so selfish, selfish enough to do so despite the pain he know he'll cause.

"....I want to see you happy. For you to feel.... good enough. Because... you are." He finally answers. "And-- and if there's more you want to know.... I want to give it to you."

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

Those hands find his cheeks and he turns his head slightly to nuzzle one and then he leans his cheek into the other, his lashes fluttering some as he admires Artair’s features. A giggle leaves him at his counterparts joke and he blushes a little when those lips meet the bridge of his nose, his eyes falling shut momentarily as he savors that sweet affection.

Butch isn’t sure he can feel any happier than he does in that moment, as Artair assures him that it was something he wanted to do, not because he felt he had to. Not because he expected anything in return. He was so incredibly selfless and he had Butch’s eternal admiration for that.

“Yer too good t’me…” He gushes with a smile, his hands resting upon the back of Artair’s hands where they hold his face now. Honestly, there was a bit of shame in accepting this gift if only because he felt he didn’t deserve it. But Artair’s reassurance is enough to make him feel special enough…selfish enough to accept it.

He melts into that kiss and he can’t help but linger there briefly, getting a good look into Artair’s eyes before his hands release his face. He moves his own hands but before they drop to his sides, the other man takes them and he’s more than willing to follow along as he guides him back towards the door. He’s still smiling and his expression lights up at the mention of another surprise.

“More…? Gosh, I…” Before he can say too much more, his smile dwindles as he’s reminded of that period of time a while back. Not his proudest moment… in fact, he’s a little embarrassed. “Uh… yeah, I—…” he trails off, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Jus’ needed some time t’ m’self, I s’pose…” he mumbles, though it makes him feel a little less ashamed of that moment of weakness when Artair is quick to clarify he wasn’t mad but rather, upset by his absence. That thought makes him feel bad, that he was the reason Artair might have felt any negative feelings for any reason… but all the same, he relishes the idea that someone he cares so deeply for would miss him if he were gone. Not that he would ever willingly leave him, and especially not because he would ever wish to make him feel that way.

Butch is silent as Artair continues on, wanting to let him finish what it is he would like to tell him. He keeps up with the others stride all the while, just listening. Was he that transparent? Or perhaps it was Artair’s strange ability to read him like a book that told him all he needed to know. Either way, the more he goes on, the gears in Butch’s brain begin to turn and he slowly realizes what it is Artair is implying.

He… would want to give him a whole house? A whole piece of property that was once his own? They stop and Artair releases his hands; his hands feel empty all of a sudden without them there. His mind races as his companion continues, telling him about his past with the house, the glamour surrounding it (which was a thoughtful touch in his opinion as someone who didn’t sleep well because of anticipated danger at all times), the space, the garden, the land—it’s surprising. He doesn’t know what to say, how to react, though there’s a fond swelling in his chest he can’t quite control and it’s… weird. Artair was making a habit of making him feel all sorts of new feelings and… he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it, however foreign it might have felt.

Still, he’s torn. All he’s known since he was in his early twenties was traveling, being on the go, laying low so as to avoid enemies. It became a way of life for him, one he had began to enjoy after so long. The freedom of it all was the real appeal, the danger aspect, the wide range of everything. But… deep down, he had always longed for a permanent residence where he could settle down. A place to come back to. Just like the farm his father owned when he was young, the very one he refused to inherit for his own reasons. It wasnt like he couldn’t travel whenever he felt like it, and… it strikes something deep within him to know that Artair wants to know where he is—wants to know that he’s safe at the very least.

His brows furrow and his eyes fall to the key; the warmth of Artair’s hand upon his face is comforting and it makes him all the more mushy on the inside. His feelings are overwhelming all of a sudden, beyond his control. Artair ends his proposition with a birthday wish and his eyes dart to his face with a look of… disbelief, perhaps? Crossing his features. It was his birthday, wasn’t it? And he had forgotten… but Artair hadn’t. He has no words… he can only act.

He swipes that key out of Artair’s hands before throwing his arms around him and pulling him into quite possibly the tightest hug he’s ever managed. He squeezes his eyes shut, a deep frown on his face as he buries it into Artair’s chest. Not because he’s sad. He’s actually unbelievably ecstatic—it’s just…never felt like this before. So intense, so emotional. He can feel the onslaught of tears threatening the stability of the dam that are his ducts and he tries his best to fight them back. He wants to smile all the same, and laugh—he’s incredibly tickled by the gesture, it’s unbelievably sweet! But for some reason, tears begins to escape him instead.

If Artair tries at all to pull back, he would be unsuccessful. Butch is latched onto him like a padlock. He refuses to move for a long while and quiet sniffles escape him. How embarrassing! Here Artair was giving him a gift and all he can manage is pathetic sniveling? He would die before he would let anyone else see him like this. Anyone else but him.

“…T-Thanks… I… d-dunno what t’say, I—…” he muffles against the taller man’s chest. “No one’s ever…” he trails off, shaking his head. He can’t formulate a proper sentence at the moment, not with his emotions clouding his thoughts. “S-Sorry, I’m… ahah… I don’t wanna be…”

Artair--- he's always felt he's the moon, in a sense, in being darker, subtle, lonely, and mostly in being a reflection of those around him. He was no star, but the light from those around him, the feelings he felt from them made him... brighter, in whatever way that tended to be. And here, now? Butch was so excited, so enthusiastic, so happy, he felt like he could match the sun even just as the reflection he was. Joy thrums through and saturates him, and he brightens further with every word.

"Haha-- well there's a lot you can do if you put your mind to it and you have a month. Being up here made it easy to really throw myself into all the projects I had in mind and not get distracted away." His uncle had helped too-- between getting him contact with one or two of the farms near Cadence and bringing material and supplies to the gas station so he could collect it without going near town, he'd been vital to this whole project.

Perched where he is, he watches Butch take her into the space. He's so cute when he's doting on Val, and it's sweet to see the little piglet so excited about the space, too. He feels-- proud. Of the build, and of the fact they can enjoy it. Just feeling that elation about this alone made all the effort worth it.

He-- wouldn't complain though, when Butch comes up feeling so soft and warm and bright, and kisses him like that. His eyes flutter shut as he's overwhelmed in feelings and he kisses back for the moment Butch allows it. Then he squeaks as he's pulled from the fence into a hug, and kisses begin their onslaught. "Ah- hahaha - Butch! Hah-- I'm gonna fall over!"

He doesn't though; Butch's grip is strong. The laughter subsides when Butch turns tender. Artair offers him a warm smile and his hands move now instead, to take Butch's cheeks. "Hey.... she needed the space. No big birds snatching her up, right?" He kisses Butch's nose between his eyes. "I... didn't have to. But I wanted to. She is precious. And... I think you could've put together something really great. You don't give yourself enough credit. But I'm glad I was able to do it for you. So you could just--- have it, without having to do it all on your own. You're capable, don't get me wrong. But I like... spoiling you, a little, I guess. You and Val."

He kisses his lips, before his hands slide down to take Butch's own. Now he's tugging him gently towards the glass door they'd passed through earlier. "I ah.... don't know how to explain it exactly. But I have a few more things for you. Not-- a whole lot more, but just a couple." He grins, a bit sheepish. "Um. But to answer your question..... do you remember... that stint you disappeared for? You um. I think you wanted to be alone or something." Artair's eyes do part from Butch's as he says it, leading them to the kitchen by their linked hands.

"I... couldn't find you. And I'm not upset at you for it! Please don't feel bad, that's not the point. But it...ah, it made me realize....you move around. But you like... do it because you don't have a place to stay. You have to. And that's--- I mean, you talked about missing the place you grew up, and having a space and maybe-- wanting one again."

Artair licks his lips. "So ah... I mean.... I guess I like the idea of-- even if you need your space, knowing where you are. Being sure you're safe and not--- gone." The word comes out a little heavier than he means it. He clears his throat. "I... don't want to lose you. And uh.... you know. I kind of own this place? It's-- there's a glamour all around the place to keep people from coming up here that'd cause trouble. And it's out somewhere where it can just be you if you want. And-- and there's a garden in the back with the soil all tilled and it's all really empty but there's so much space!"

His hand lets go of Butch's hands, one rubbing at his cheek. "I.... I used to stay here. It can be really nice. I let it get the way it was, but..... but I think it deserves to be a place that's....alive? Like-- I think it'd be a good place to build something and live and... carve out your own space. One where you can just do what you want. So uh...."

He fishes in his bag, and pulls out a small brass key. He offers it to Butch, while his other hand touches his face. "You-- you don't have to own it, if you'd rather not! We could let people stay here who need it with all the rooms and-- and it could still be mine but you maintain it and can do anything you want to it--- but..... i-if you'd take it, I'd like.... you to have this place."

As the nervous energy builds while he waits for Butch to process and respond, another laugh leaves him. "Um-- just. Well.... Happy Birthday? I couldn't just give you something that's falling to pieces and all, haha. And-- you know! Had to sweeten the deal with a space for Val, too."