#and so often they use Grian or Mumbo as a decoy to satiate Scar's bloodlust

[stitchthesewords]

Dearest 🍂anon, I heard from a little birdie [scrolling through my dash a few minutes ago] that it was your birthday! Unfortunately, on this day I am fighting my demons [executive dysfunction] so I do not currently have the brain power to write you a little ficlet. oTL however! I went digging through my wips folder and found a snippet of a cowboy idea I had that I never posted! Happy birthday dear 🍂anon! I hope you like it!

The boom echoed in the distance and the little shock-wave it sent out rattled the ground they stood on. Grian wasn’t even looking at the man holding them at gunpoint. “I haven’t done anything,” he said, tips of his wings brushing the ground. Smoke spilled from the doors to the saloon, a fire evidently catching on the dry wood. “Scar lit the dynamite, and I had to get it out of my hands, officer – it could have killed me!”

Grian cackled though he tried to keep up the innocent façade anyway, turning back to the nameless sheriff. The man hadn’t moved, or backed down, and he was honestly a little surprised. They were normally running by now. There was a woodsy scent in the air. Beside him, Scar shook out his match and Grian winced and rubbed his fingertips on his shawl as he felt the heat. The gun tracked his movements, but Grian wasn’t worried.

“Surely you know killing someone who’s still green is just blatant murder, Sheriff! They’ll try you like they do me!” Scar said. His voice had the hint of a drawl, completely fake. “I would hate for you to waste 2 lives.” The sheriff made to shoot.

Mumbo drew faster from where he was on the roof. Grian watched with interest as one of Mumbo’s patented grenades made contact with the ground and sent the sheriff’s body flying. He whistled and leaned on Scar’s shoulder.