Warren Galloway

Age: Immortal (34 years old)
Gender: Male
Orientation: Demiromantic Bisexual
Species: Entity
Ethnicity: Biracial (Caucasian/Mexican)
Occupation: Hell's Bounty Hunter
MBTI Type: ESTJ-T
Theme: Believer

"You can run, and run, Warren, but your chains will never be broken."

November, 1866

It was as hot as a whorehouse on nickel night. Too damn hot for a month like November. The saloon is bustling when he steps inside, eyes lowered and covered by his hat. No one gives him a second glance, and he's grateful to have a moment to relax. He makes his way towards the bar and is quickly attended to by the bartender.

"What can I get ya', stranger?" The man asks, eyeing Warren curiously.

"Whiskey." He replies, raising his hat up with his fingertip. The bartender nods and moves away to prepare his drink, and as he does, Warren pulls off his hat and places it on the stool beside him, sighing with exhaustion. The bartender comes back and slides his drink down in front of him, pausing for a moment. Warren looks up and smiles as he watches the man process just who exactly he was really looking at.

"You can call the sheriff if you want," Warren warns, "But if you do, I will kill you." The man gasps and steps back fearfully, a bottle falling and shattering to the floor as he does. Warren ignores him and tilts his head down, lips at the edge of his glass when the music suddenly stops, provoking him to lower his cup back down. This was a saloon, the music never stopped, especially at this time of night. He could tell that the other patrons were watching him. He could practically feel their eyes on him. The sound of a gun cocking pulls him out of his thoughts and he frowns, turning his body around on his stool only to come face to face with the barrel of a pistol.

Wonderful.

"I know who y'are." The man says, rancid breath hitting Warren, who wrinkles his nose in disgust.

"Is that a fact?" Warren retorts calmly, brown eyes watching the other man, who merely gritted his teeth in return.

"Poster over there says 'Dead or Alive'." The man grunts, motioning to a poster on the far wall with a tilt of his head. "10,000 dollars is a heap of money. If you don't want to die then I suggest you shut that fancy lil' mouth of yours, Gunslinger." There's a moments pause before Warren snickers.

"Is that really the name they came up for me? Oh, that's rich."

A growl escapes the man and he pulls the trigger.

Only to miss.

Warren had leaned away from the incoming bullet and now merely looks at the stunned man with a frown.

"Nice shot." He drawls, "Now it's my turn." Before anyone could react, the barrel of his own pistol presses against the man's temple, and without warning, he presses down on the trigger. Blood flies from the man's head on to the bar, and everything erupts into chaos. Guns are drawn, women scream in fear as they run out of the saloon, and Warren merely watches it all while sipping his whiskey. He eyes the men aiming their guns at him and he chuckles.

"I didn't want to waste any bullets tonight, but you all leave me no choice." He lifts his hands, pistols in both of them.

"Let's dance."

-♥-

despite what he once believed, a warm light seemed to be breaking through this frozen, soulless heart he had been burdened with.

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Overlay by shalashaska