#tango probably gets himself a deputy badge

[tempesttroubles]

ok listen, the idea that hermitcraft and empires are linked is so entertaining because there’s so many dynamics available since the hermits remember everything while the emperors largely only exist in their own server.

the hermits keep referencing all their previous shared servers and the emperors are all like “who even are you” 

[yacinthemorning]

Mother Hen

Chapter 3 of 6

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Summary: 5 times Jimmy was almost the mom friend, if not for his other quirks.

Ships: Jimmy & Scar (Friendship)

Warnings: Temporary Death

Scar was a man of many loves, and not one to hold those loves close to his heart. Whether it was talking Grian’s ear off about Star Wars, explaining to Mumbo the intricacies of theme park trickery, or sending absolutely everyone he knew pictures of Jellie falling asleep to his explanations, People tend to learn quite quickly what Scar loved.

Scar loved westerns. Scar loved Toy Story. Scar loved Jimmy. Most importantly, Scar loved the adrenaline from violently one-shotting people mid-flight with his bow. Probably not unexpected of a vex, but true nonetheless. Becoming a deputy happened to allow him to indulge in all these loves, consequence free from the law at that.

So, Scar would become deputy. Nothing could stop him. Nothing.

But, well, they could certainly hinder him.

“I need you to kill the Goblin and reclaim his badge.”

Scar blinked, taken aback by the request. “I’m sorry, what?”

The Sheriff huffed, putting on the hardest look he could muster, and pointed to his own badge. “He is no longer deputy, yet he refuses to hand it over. If you want to be promoted to full deputy, I’m going to need to know I can trust you. So, I need you to kill him and get it back.”

“Do I have to murder him? I mean I’m sure he can be reasoned with.” Scar suggested. Not that Scar didn’t enjoy a jolly little bit of murder, but this was the Empires server. With the hermits, they could kill for fun and forget it entirely five minutes later. On Empires, though, lore magic threaded itself into every action. And an assassination of the former deputy as ordered by the Sheriff of his new deputy certainly wasn’t an act that would go unwoven by the world’s tapestry, so to speak. Not very conducive to keeping good relations with someone who had Jellie hostage, at the very least.

But the Sheriff seemed sure. His expression only wavered back to Jimmy slightly when Scar gave him sad eyes. “He disrespected the law, Scar. He’s parading around pretending to still be a deputy!”

“But can’t I just snag it from a chest, or something?” Scar tried to insist.

The Sheriff shook his head. “No, I know him. He’ll have it on him. He never puts it down. In order to get it and send a message we must kill him.” 

It seemed excessive, but if the Sheriff was sure… Well, Scar still wasn’t totally on board. Maybe he could find a different way to get it back and just lie to the Sheriff?

So, he tried talking to Fwhip. The only result was the Goblin now knew Scar was ordered to kill him. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the smartest move. Briefly, he considered asking Tango to reason with the pair. He didn’t have Scar’s silver tongue, but he was the only one who could repair Fwhip’s wonky redstone, and Jimmy would make any compromise to keep his rancher happy. Alas, by the time Scar considered it, the blazeborn was about five miles deep and seventy-two sleepless hours too far gone on a project in an entire other server. Until he snapped out of his redstone coma he was unreachable.

Maybe Grian could…?

But the only result of getting Grian involved was Jimmy fumbling out of his home half-dressed, wings still covered in pastel suds, screaming at them to put the wither skulls down. That, and a very disappointed look from Jimmy to Scar specifically. Hurt, betrayed even. Scar hadn’t even done anything that time, but he supposed that was the issue in Jimmy’s eyes. What was Scar supposed to do, though, tell Grian he couldn’t pull pranks? Didn’t Jimmy know parrots needed to be provided with plenty of mental stimuli?

So, Scar resigned himself. The least he could do was have a fun time with it and Hotguy the little Goblin. That surely had to impress the Sheriff. In-between construction of the trade street and appeasing Grian’s reign of terror he and the Sheriff formulated a plan.

“I’ll go in and distract him, saying I need to talk.” Jimmy explained. 

Scar nodded along while he placed planks. “And when you say the signal I swoop in and Hotguy him!”

“Exactly! He’ll never suspect it.”

“Oh, but he still has Jellie hostage…” 

Both men deflated. Jimmy’s feathers flatten, chewing on his lip as he tried very hard to think. “Oh, yeah. Um… You know what? We’ll save her while we’re at it!”

Well that certainly sounded like a plan Scar could get behind.

They snuck in at first, then the Sheriff went forth on his own to create the distraction. If Scar was honest, he was himself distracted most of the time by the gorgeous builds. The firs signal went unheard. Second time’s the charm. What Scar had not anticipated was how cramped and very underground Gobland was. Not ideal for flying and swooping and Hotguying a tiny little Goblin at all.

He missed.

The Goblin let out a shriek, at first diving for any cover, but then going for the lowest of lows. As Scar managed to knock at least one arrow into him he slipped between the bars of Jellie’s prison and used the poor darling as a kitty shield.

To his credit, the Sheriff stopped despite the seething rage in his expression as he shouted for the Goblin to hand over the badge. Scar landed beside him, trying desperately to line up a shot to finish the Goblin off, but it was far too late. Conniving, underhanded, and with a great eagerness, the Goblin took full advantage of Jimmy’s slip-up of kindness and stabbed him right through the heart.

Scar retreated, partly in fear but mostly in shame.

-

Jimmy woke up back in Tumble Town, alone and still reeling. How could their plan have gone so wrong? He didn’t bother to get up right away, instead just sending Scar a message to retreat and regroup another day.

Embarrassing seemed like an understatement. Of all things to stop them, it was a cat. Who knew if it was still alive, even? The Sheriff should have ignored it and gone for his enemy’s throat. He was the law, after all! Or his deputy should have done his job. How could he allow himself such a moment of weakness?

A meow echoed through the house. Norman pushed his way through the crack in the door, his deputy collar rattling as he leapt up onto the bed to greet Jimmy’s unexpected return. Despite his depression Jimmy smiled, reaching out to scratch Norman’s ears. “Hey big man. How’re the creepers doing?” He murmured.

Deputy Norman let out a long mrow. The Sheriff nodded. “I see. I see. Well, that’s good you were able to resolve it. Wouldn’t want any of our workers getting hurt.” He got a purr in response. 

Okay, so maybe there was room in the Sheriff’s heart for cat-related weaknesses. Maybe the Sheriff could stand to throw his deputy a bone when he tried, even if he failed. It was Jimmy’s role, he could play it how he liked.

That gave Jimmy an idea. An epiphany really. It was something Jimmy should have probably done long ago. With renewed vigor, he leapt to his feet, put on his hat, and went to find a lead.

-

Scar felt quite resigned to being fired when he met back up with the Sheriff the next day. How could he not be when he fumbled every step of the plan, resulting in his boss dying at his worst enemy’s hands? He even lost his sheriff badge in the chaos.

But the Sheriff didn’t ask to talk about that. The Sheriff asked to meet him at the trade street instead. When he reached the meeting spot Jimmy was already wandering around in awe at the buildings, poking his head around every corner. “Scar, this is amazing.” He said, excitement sparkling in his eyes.

Scar wasn’t quite sure what to do. He was expecting a hard conversation with the Sheriff, not compliments from Jimmy. But he was nothing if not a showman (conman), so he switched gears as smoothly as he could and threw his arms out towards the doors. “Well wait till you get a load of what’s inside! Come on, come on!”

More than movies or murder, Scar loved to build things for his friends. Things that would be useful, things that would make them smile, things that reminded both of them that they were indeed friends, of the fun times they had together. He liked to believe that shined through in his builds. At least, he hoped. When Jimmy’s expression lit up at every new part of the trade street Scar showed him, whether he understood what Scar was rambling on about or not, he felt confident it did.

“This is really something else, Scar.” Jimmy went on.

“This’ll make you one of the most powerful empires on the server, I reckon.” Scar tipped his hat with a grin.

There were a few more moments of wonder, but eventually Jimmy let out a sigh. His posture shifted slightly, placing his hands on his hips to hold himself a little taller. Ah, now Scar was going to have to talk to the Sheriff.

But the Sheriff’s expression hardly changed, even as he began to speak. “So, the assassination attempt…”

Scar quickly put his hands up in surrender. “I know. I’m so sorry, boss, I failed you.” He quickly admitted, hanging his head.

“No, no, don’t apologize.” The Sheriff insisted, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Listen, you did your best. Now I’m not gonna say that went well, because it went everything but. But! You did your best.”

“Really?” Scar replied, a bit stunned.

The Sheriff nodded, then pulled back to reach into his pocket. “Yep. And besides that, Tumble Town has grown so much because of you. I reckon you well earned this by now.”

He reached over, and before Scar quite knew what was going on, he had already backed away. Scar looked down to see a shiny silver metal placed over the breast of his jacket. He let out a gasp. “Oh! Oh, really?”

“Really, really! I promote you from in-training to full deputy, Deputy Scar!” The Sheriff announced proudly. “Congratulations.”

An excited giggle escaped Scar as he fiddled with the badge. “I’m a deputy!”

“You are! We may have failed but you did your best, and that deserves a gold star in my books. Er, silver shield, at least.” The Sheriff explained, hand rubbing his neck. “Oh! And I have one more thing for you.”

Yellow wings suddenly spread wide and darted right out of the canyon. Scar fumbled to follow after him, summoning his own gangly wings to give chase. They landed not too far off along a path. At first Scar felt confused – there didn’t seem to be any new builds not made by Scar himself – but it was quickly washed away by a familiar little meow. 

Scar sucked in a breath, trying not to scream and scare away the skittish little grey and white creature hidden behind the fence post. Slowly and carefully, as all Jellies did in every world they met, she crawled her way over to Scar’s extended hand to give it a welcome rub. A purr almost immediately started up, and Scar thought he might cry. “You found her.”

“Of course. It was your condition, right?” Jim- The Sheriff explained. “You’ve done so much for me, it’s the least I could do.” 

Happily scooping up Jellie into his arms, Scar gave his boss a salute. “And I’ll continue to do so! I promise I’ll protect Tumble Town with my life!”

“That’s what I’m hoping!”

“By the way, Sheriff.” Scar started while he rubbed Jellie’s belly, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Have you thought about what I said?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “What?”

“About the toy thing.”

“Scar.”

Scar pouted. “Woody’s my favourite character, though…”

A glare slowly melted into an amused smile. “Fine, I’ll think about it, Scar.” Sheriff Jimmy promised.

[scribbling-dragon]

ash-covered hearts

Summary:

“Hello to you too,” Pixl adjusts his glasses, the chain glinting slightly as he does so. “How’s it in Tumble Town?”

“Dry, dusty, the usual. And the guild?”

“Books, grumpy old people, the usual.” Pixl replies, smiling at him. “How goes, ah,” he looks around at their current company before lowering his voice, “How goes you and Tango?”

(AO3 Link)

(Masterpost)

(3,852 words)

this was done from a prompt by @faffodill, thank you for it! and, as always, reblogs help so much more than likes! (also, this is a series now! woo!)

He didn't expect much from the meeting that’s been called, in all honesty, promising Tango he’d be back by four at the latest as he left the house that morning. He might have left the house a little less presentable than he had started, in the end, but there was no one other than his Deputy to watch him judgingly as he adjusted his collar again and straightened his badge out.

He salutes her as he rides away, and she turns away with a grimace, walking back inside the office. Arrow’s eager to move out that morning, barely needing any encouragement before she’s galloping onwards, leaving the small town behind as they charge up the path and out into the open mesa.

It’s dry, and the dust swirls around him as he heads east, towards Sanctuary and the meeting waiting for him there. He’s probably left a little earlier than some of the other rulers. But some of them have the benefit of flight, and he doesn't. He continues onward on Arrow, pushing her a little faster when Pixl shoots overhead, with a shouted greeting that soon fades out, leaving him playing catch-up.

It’s fine, Pixl is normally incredibly early anyway, to organise whatever notes he’s gathered on the local ruins they need to avoid destroying. He’s not actually sure why the guild keeps sending Pixl rather than someone that has actually completed their thesis, but he’s not about to question people that have degrees when he doesn't.

Still, he arrives covered in dust. He brushes as much of it off as he can, shaking slightly like a dog to get most of it out of his hair and ignoring the judgemental looks from some of the locals. He’s not about to get another bucket of water dumped on him by Scott, thanks. One meeting of sitting through it soaking wet and shivering while everyone laughed at him was enough.

He pays one of the locals to keep Arrow in a stable while he goes into the meeting, giving them a kind smile as they take Arrow, leading her away gently. He’s spoken to them before, he’s pretty sure, and they were nice enough. They spare him a kind smile anyway, and point out that he’s got a small, ah, bruise, on his neck.

He turns away quickly when they point that out, pulling his shirt collar a little higher and hoping that his face hasn't turned too red. Still, he gives himself a minute outside of Sausage’s incredibly fancy office building, before stepping inside.

He always hates coming into these sorts of buildings, because he always feels so out of place, looking around the clean walls and neatly ordered files. It’s a far cry from the messy and dusty office they have in the mesa. But the sand gets everywhere, and it’s more of a hassle to sweep it out than just ignore it.

He hasn't missed how his town is the only one to not host one of these meetings yet.

Still, the nice man at the front desk directs him upstairs, giving him a kind smile when he has to turn sideways to fit through the door without scraping the paint off of it with his horns. He still feels a little awkward as he smiles back, making his way along the corridor then up the stairs.

He resists the urge to knock when he arrives at the meeting room, only a few people already sat inside, but he already feels out of place among the highly decorated emperors, with their fancy, billowing clothes and elegant postures.

His eyes find Pixl, and in that moment he doesn't think he’s ever been more glad for the historian. He’s half-hunched over a file of some kind, hair escaping the loose braid he’d put it into and glasses slipping down his nose.

He sits beside him, laughing a little when Pixl startles, looking up from the maps and diagrams he’s drawn for this meeting. “Heya.” He says, already leaning over to catch a glimpse at Pixl’s newest discovery.

“Hello to you too,” Pixl adjusts his glasses, the chain glinting slightly as he does so. “How’s it in Tumble Town?”

“Dry, dusty, the usual. And the guild?”

“Books, grumpy old people, the usual.” Pixl replies, smiling at him. “How goes, ah,” he looks around at their current company before lowering his voice, “How goes you and Tango?”

“Good,” he nods, ignoring the way his face warms at the question. “Doing good.”

“I can see,” Pixl’s eyes slip down momentarily, and he groans, rubbing a hand down his face, “You might want to do another button up.”

“Thanks, yeah. Didn't already get that,” he says, even as he does another one up, hoping it’s enough to cover up the bruise that lovely person had pointed out earlier. “Honestly, I tell him that I've got an important meeting the next day and this happens.”

“I think it’s sweet.” Pixl says.

“You would.” He sighs, “Tell me about your current project?”

Pixl lights up a little, shuffling closer to him so he can see the files as well, flicking back to the start. “Well, one of the interns was researching for their first project, and they came across a text that said there was some kind of shrine in the desert, to some sort of god, and it was like, a properly ancient shrine too, and it was basically unheard of. Only one person in relatively modern times found it, and he disappeared into the desert soon after, leaving his whole empire without a leader.”

“Just, up and disappeared?” He asks.

“Yeah!” A few people look over at them at Pixl’s exclamation, and he apologises before turning back to him, “There’s a few records of him, he was from a long line of prophets, though it’s incredibly vague about any prophecies he did give. But we have hardly any information on Pixandria anyway. It’s as though it just disappeared completely.”

“But I'm assuming you found something.”

“We did.” Pixl sounds so excited about it that he can't help but be excited too. “A few more interns began looking into it in their free time, finding any texts they had on Pixandria and reading up on the landmarks that were nearby, and, accounting for any wear and tear that might have occurred in the past thousand or so years, they pinpointed an area to look over.”

They both pause as another person comes in, the door slamming back on its hinges and causing all of them to jump as Joel strides in, puffed up in his dumb toga. He takes a seat near the head of the table, leaning an elbow on it and reclining. He doesn't say anything, and they all stare at him for a few moments before turning back to whatever they were doing before.

He gestures for Pixl to continue, turning back to the file and looking at the picture Pixl points him towards. “This was the map they constructed, comparing it to the sketches of a map we found in an old journal, but it looks like the lands around have shifted since, likely due to the cataclysmic event, I've told you about it before-”

“The Rapture?” He interrupts, and Pixl nods.

“The Rapture, yes, so we also had to account for that. At this point they'd come to me, because apparently I'm the least scary of the almost-researchers there, and we were working on it together in the evenings. I really should have been working on my thesis, but it was just so interesting and I could easily get another extension on it.”

“And you like inspiring the younger ones.”

“Also that,” Pixl nods, “So, we had quite a wide area in this map,” he taps on it, “But we had a smaller area in this map once we’d actually managed to have a trip out there, find some of the landmarks the King references.” He flicks over a page, showing him another photo, this time of a map with a much smaller area circled, smaller crosses within the circles. “The crosses are for the landmarks we had managed to find on that trip, meaning, we could easily cross reference and find what we were looking for.”

“So you found the shrine?”

“Ah,” Pixl deflates, “We didn't find that shrine, it was nothing like the one described, but, we did find another thing, that almost seemed like a shrine.” Pixl flicks over to the next page, landing on a massive photo of what looks like a candle. “It’s actual wax.” Pixl informs him.

“Actual wax?”

“Yeah! We don't even know how it survived that long, but there were engravings on the side of it in a language we have the cipher to, meaning we can-”

“Alright, pack it in you two.” He looks up at Joel’s voice, eyes landing on the self-proclaimed god. “We want to have an actual meeting, not listen to you two lose it over an ancient candle.”

Pixl snaps the folder shut, and he jumps slightly at the action. He keeps his eyes fixed on Joel and the way he’s splayed across the table, invading several people’s space. He watches them with a bored gaze, before turning to face Sausage.

“Well, there’s not really much to discuss at this meeting.” Sausage laughs, “Just a few things, nothing major. You know? More just to catch up and make sure everyone’s doing alright. We don't want anyone struggling, do we?”

He grits his teeth and ignores the eyes that turn towards him at that last bit, flicking his tail slightly, as though swatting some invisible fly. He knows they think of him as weaker, but they could at least be a little more subtle about it, right?”

“Well,” Pixl speaks up from beside him, drawing everyone’s attention in their direction again, “If no one else has anything to say, I have another place that I’ll be deeming off limits for a while now. I have a few copies of the map, which, I'm just going to hand around.” He hands a small wad to Jimmy, and he takes a few, passing the rest along to the person beside him (Shubble).

“As you probably heard, it’s a candle of massive size, and we’re interested in the implications it may have for Pixandrian history.”

“Why do you have a new discovery every month we come to these meetings?” Joel complains, peering at the map. “It’s like there’s stuff everywhere.”

“Because there is stuff everywhere, Joel.” Pixl says, a little sharper than normal. “And we’re working on uncovering the past so we can try and find out what caused the cataclysmic event during the Age of Empires. We don't want to accidentally cause another one by unveiling an unknown power.”

“As though anything could beat me, besides, what’s another event going to do? Split the land in half?” He sounds so incredibly self-satisfied, and not even in the kinda attractive way Tango is sometimes. Just in a conceited, self-proclaimed god way. “Not like it can affect me anyway, we’re in the sky.”

“We all know, Joel,” Pixl gestures around them, “Seeing as you like to prattle on about it.”

“Not my fault I'm better than all of you.” He shrugs, eyes trailing to land on Jimmy. It feels purposeful, and he has to take several deep breaths to keep his shoulders in the relaxed line they're currently in. No point in showing that he’s being irritated by him, it’ll only make it worse.

“Thank you, Joel.” Sausage hovers a hand over his shoulder, not quite touching him, but it's enough to get the god’s attention. He briefly wonders if the rumours about them having a secret child are true, dismissing it a moment later when Sausage turns to him.

Sheriff?” He says, “Have you got anything to add?”

“The creeper farm’s flourishing,” he sits up a little straighter, a lot more self-conscious about the dust on his shirt, he really shouldn't have worn a white shirt for this, with so many eyes on him than before, “It’s mating season, meaning we’ll likely have a few more creepers stumbling around over the next few months.”

“Nothing else to say?” Joel asks, prodding.

“Not that I can think of, no.” He turns to look at him. Joel looks…a little more smug than he did five minutes ago, grinning like the cat that got the canary. It makes him a bit uneasy as he watches him, waiting for him to make the first move.

“Well,” Joel breaks the silence first, everyone around the table waiting, almost holding their breath, to see how this is going to play out, “I heard rumours that a rather notorious bandit got caught the other day going after your creepers. I just wondered what happened to him, and if the creepers were fine afterwards?” He pauses, looking at Jimmy, “You do have him imprisoned right? He’s got enough offences, even petty ones, to be sent to one of the larger prisons.”

“We’ve got him perfectly contained.” He doubts Tango’s even left bed yet. He prefers to laze around in the mornings, only becoming more active as the heat of the day intensifies. Something about being a netherborn originally, depending on their environment to keep them warm rather than their central flame. He can't say he understood it completely, but he didn't mind the excuse to lay in bed with him when the opportunity arose.

“So I've heard.” Joel grins a little more, and he hears Sausage give a hiccupping laugh that lets him know he’s in on this too. He kind of liked Sausage too. “Tell me, Sheriff, do you normally keep well-renowned bandits prisoner in your house, or is this just something special for the Red Bandit?”

There’s a few gasps through the room as people twist to stare at him, obviously waiting for his reaction. He doesn't give them much of one, ears pulling back a little as he stares at Joel. Glaring is probably a little more accurate, but he doesn't want to give the man any more energy than is completely necessary.

“I don't think you know what you're talking about.” He says, trying to keep a level voice. He succeeds quite well, he thinks, and Pixl bumps his knee under the table. Just letting him know he’s there. He doesn't turn to look at him, no need to involve him in this when he’s got it nicely under control so far. “Maybe you want to elaborate a little?” He may be digging himself a deeper hole here, but he says it anyway, anger making the words bubble over before he can consider them.

“I mean, your little town is just in the path of another empire, so I'm regularly flying over it, you know, with wings.” He halfway stretches a wing out behind him, the golden and brown feathers glimmering in the light. “And I could hear someone talking about a lovely little bet they had going on in the town, and how the Deputy lost a bet because the Sheriff couldn't keep his hands to himself for another week.” He pauses, for dramatic effect, obviously. It makes him want to throttle the other. “And, well, I couldn't help but listen in a little more.”

“I’d be careful what you say.” He replies, “How does the saying go? Something about glass houses?” Joel doesn't even flinch, smirk staying so firmly glued on his face. He’s pretty sure it’s his default expression at this point.

“I don't have anything to hide.” He spreads his arms out, “We’re all friends here, aren't we? And we’re all so happy for your new…ventures in courting.”

“I'm sure there was a lot of courting between you and Sausage for that illegitimate child you two are passing back and forth like neither of you quite want it, but you're too afraid of the repercussions to stop. But correct me if I'm wrong.”

Joel flounders for the first time, and Sausage’s face goes a bright red. It’s almost enough to be worrying.

“Oh come on, Jimmy. None of us are judging you for it, we all know that a bandit is the best you can do with a town as small as yours. We don't hold you against you, we just…don't respect you for it.” Joel grins, and it’s sharp this time. Mean.

He stands from the table, chair skidding back but not falling over. “I'm done with this meeting.” He declares, looking around every person there. “Please, feel free to continue gossiping about me, but see how forthcoming I am with the resources that allow you flight when you're not as blessed as Joel over here is. Try wrangling creepers yourself,” he pauses in the doorway, turning back, “I hope they blow up in your face.”

He doesn't slam the door behind him, as much as he aches to do it. He wants to have a salvageable relationship with a few of the other rulers if they decide to take his side after this, and slamming the door like he’s having a tantrum won't help with that.

He gives the person at the front desk a nice smile, before exiting from the too-clean building and back into the humid jungle air, looking around for Arrow.

He spots her quickly, in a stall beside several other horses. She’s still saddled up and ready to go, and he mounts her quickly, thanking the person for looking after her while he was in a meeting.

He doesn't wait for their response, walking Arrow down the cobbled street and ignoring the dirty looks a few of the residents throw his way as he steers a horse through the throng of people. He’s polite about it, waiting until he’s far out of the crowds before picking up the pace.

Arrow’s shoes clatter against the cobbles as she trots along, echoing around them as the buzz of Sanctuary fades behind him and the evidence of civilization melts back into the forest, then into a grassland again.

Arrow takes to the grass with reckless abandon, and he allows her to, loosening the reins and allowing her to charge forward. He tries not to think about Joel’s words, but they circle his head anyway, an endless loop that just goes round and round, with nothing but the sound of the wind in his ears to drown it out.

He’s shaking by the time he arrives back at Tumble Town, several hours earlier than he said he would be. Arrow is panting when he dismounts her, his own hooves thumping into the dirt of the town.

His Deputy peeks out of the office, spotting him and darting across the street to come speak to Arrow. She adores his horse, stroking a gentle hand along her neck and whispering something to her he doesn't quite catch over the roaring in his ears.

“Could you take her for me?” He asks, and she looks up, before nodding and taking her reins off of him. She hesitates before beginning to lead Arrow away, giving him a long look.

“Tango’s at your house, Sheriff. I think he was waiting for you to be back.”

“Thank you.” He spares her a smile, before turning to return to his house. It’s a short walk. Everything’s a short walk in the town, and he finds himself appreciating that, as it leaves him with less time to be alone with his thoughts before he’s pushing the door open.

He can smell something burning from the kitchen, poking his head in and watching Tango cooking. He’s still angry, feeling like he might start burning at any second from the words Joel had so carelessly hurled at him. But burning is Tango’s job, and he’s not looking to steal it.

“Oh!” Tango startles when he turns around, a plate of incredibly burnt toast in hand. He doesn't understand how Tango can enjoy eating something that looks like a piece of charcoal. But he has also seen Tango eat a piece of charcoal. So. “I wasn't expecting you home yet.”

“Neither was I.” He mutters, and Tango frowns, tilting his head slightly.

“Everything go alright?” He sits down at the kitchen table, and he follows suit, resting his arms on the small and rickety thing.

“Probably could have gone better.” He pinches at the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “Probably could have gone a lot better.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” he hears a crunch of overly done toast, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Kinda?” He opens his eyes to look at Tango. Tango makes him feel better, with his jokes, and his pretty eyes, and his endearing smile. “I mean, it was Joel.” Tango makes a disgusted noise at that, and he can't help but agree with him. “I knew he didn't like me, but he was insulting you. That’s a step too far.”

“Oh.”

“He was just being rude the whole time, poking and prodding me until I was in the exact spot he wanted me in. It was all a set up from the start. He came in there looking to tell me that I could do better,” he spits, “As if you aren't the best thing to happen to me on this continent. As though he doesn't know anything about what he’s saying.”

He doesn't realise his hands are shaking until Tango takes them in his own, easing his hands a little to stop him from digging his nails into his skin. They hurt a little as Tango carefully pries them open, interlacing their fingers.

“And you know he’s wrong.” He says, “We both know he’s wrong.” He looks at him with searching eyes, looking over his face in a way that makes him feel oddly seen. He doesn't mind it particularly, he likes the way Tango just seems to understand him without judgement. “Oh Jimmy,” Tango frowns, “C’mere.” He stands from the table, coming halfway round to meet him.

He wraps his arms around Tango, holding him close and breathing in slowly. He breathes out again as Tango wraps his arms around him, pressing a kiss into his hair before stroking through it with gentle fingers, working through the knots in it.

���I wanted to kill him.” He says.

“From what I've heard, I'm of a similar notion myself.” Tango laughs, and the sound lightens him a little. He breathes in again, absorbing the smell of smoke and lava and crimson wood. Tango hums a little, a purr rumbling out of his throat with the sound as he brushes his hand through his hair again, scratching around the base of his horns slightly.

He feels Tango press another kiss into his hair, melting a little further into his embrace and the warmth that seems to wrap entirely around him. It’s not stifling, even in the arid mesa heat. He breathes, listening to the sound of Tango breathing alongside him.

There’s a smell of burnt toast in the air, but Joel’s still wrong because he doubts anyone could do better than Tango.