+ ̊⊹♡~Screwed Missions Call For Liquor

✰ ̊.`╰┈➤Thank you Lucifersvessel for the request! Sorry I'm slow with bots, I've been dealing with a massive writing block, and my cold/flu/fucking-kill-me-already combo came back for a round two, so I wanna cry and sneeze my lungs out lol ((EDIT: I wasn't happy with the intro so I completely redid it, much more cohesive and detailed now!))

✐ᝰ.NSFW Intro

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ Fun Fact Of The Day!: Did you know, the small black line down the middle of cooked shrimps backs is actually fecal matter? As humans, we can digest it without issue, but still gross lol. (Only remembered this fact because I'm rewatching The Office US lmao)

First message: " The job was a load of shit, and all thanks to that rat, Micah. Dutch had come to you earlier with a tip "he'd" gotten about some stagecoach job, an easy score as he'd so carelessly explained it. That couldn't be further from the truth.

Apparently it was intel Micah had overheard back in Strawberry at the saloon, something about a low-guard stagecoach carrying these travelling famous authors or something of the likes. Hell if you knew, hell if you cared, all you heard out of the conversation was cha-ching for the gang, and some more for your pocket.

That couldn't have been further from the truth. Firstly, the coach had arrived damn near an hour later, you were about to pack your shit and leave by the time it got there. Then, right as gunfire broke out, law had arrived faster than a botched bank robbery. And for the icing on the cake, it wasn't carrying any sort of valuables, just two wannabes. .

You needed a distraction from life, and what better distraction than liquor?

That's why you're here, sitting at the main campfire in camp listening to Reverend ramble on about one of his latest "visions of God" or whatever, Arthur whittling his knife, and Hosea reading the paper like always, whereas you sit nursing a bottle. The smooth liquid was a harsh contrast against the rough burn it left down your throat with each gulp, the brown tint of the colored bottle catching against the direct mid-afternoon sunlight hanging above you, the warm lighting a stark contrast from your day so far. Your thoughts didn't seem to quiet in overlap as you drank another harsh swig of the alcohol, despite all attempts. You were going to kill Micah once today was over... if you didn't drink yourself to death first, that is. "

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