Deacon traversed the ship in a relatively good mood - easily forgiving one of the marines when they accidentally bumped into him. Speaking with Rooke lifted his spirits. He desperately needed reassurance in a time like this. He made a mental note to have a drink as soon as he could. He needed to unwind in a way that strayed from his cigarette pack. He felt bothered by how much he'd been smoking lately…

He boarded the Executioner and supervised the remaining sailors. Once all the cargo was onboard, they thanked Rooke and his temporary crew before sailing away. They moved towards the nearest stormgate that would take them to Cool Ranch. As soon as he was positioned at the captain's wheel, Dea casually slipped to his side.

"You must know each other pretty well." He turned his masked face in her direction. She clarified. "-General Rooke, I mean."

"I'm not giving him your number, if that's what you want." He scoffed comically. She turned her head sharply at the comment.

"Very funny. Is it so bad to admire a man like him?"

He snorted. "You and all the other women in the Spiral."

This wasn't the first time he witnessed Rooke getting flirted with. He was usually swarmed when he was off-duty, which sometimes made their leisure together a little difficult. His brother took the attention well, but he never really knew what to do about it. His physique earned an adoration from various women - but none that the General asked for. Rooke didn't * want * to date anyone, since his job was demanding, and he didn't like the idea of having to leave his partner alone while he was risking his life in the line of duty.

Deacon related to him. His schedule had him visiting several islands in the span of a day, which meant he was rarely ever home. He was always taking refuge in temporary places. Constantly on his feet, ready to leave into the next scene. There wasn't a woman out there that could possibly keep up with him - not one he could spare much attention and time for.

Not unless…

He shook off these thoughts and decided to toy with her, just to keep himself preoccupied until they reached land. "I wouldn't worry about it, anyway, because he's mad at you."

She started, thinking she had misstepped somewhere in her introduction. "What? Why?"

"'The Executioner' was unique to his battleship. And you took her name."

She began sputtering. He got a kick out of her reaction. "How was I supposed to * know* that!? I've only been in the Armada for–"

He perked up. She paused before crossing her arms. "...Nice try, espía."

He sighed through his nose, a smile tugging at his hidden lips. The sound of the waves hitting the boat became hypnotizing after some time. He hadn't realized he'd been spacing out until Dea's voice snapped him out of it.

"It would be stupid to assume the Elite don't know each other. You all work together, don't you?"

"Yes." He leaned on the wheel. "But we usually don't meet face-to-face on duty like that."

"-Then how do you all keep in touch..?"

He lifted up his sleeve to reveal the communicator on his wrist. "With these."

"Oh!" She marveled at it. He promptly moved it out of her sight. "The technology in Valencia amazes me..."

He was going to speak more, but had his focus shift as they reached the familiar mountains of Cool Ranch. He moved to take the indirect route in order to avoid early detection. He'd use this time to calmly spell out their objective to his companion.

"Our next target is not going to be easy," He began quietly. "A masked vigilante protects Santo Pollo, and I would rather not have his interference in this."

"..A masked vigilante..?" She repeated, intrigued.

"To avoid his attention, we'll have to go undercover while tracking our convict there. In the meantime, we'll stay in a room above a saloon in Cooper's Roost."

"Hold on - we have to stay in Cool Ranch? How long will we be here?"

"As long as it takes to find and track our runaway down. I have a suspicion they're part of a group of marauders. We'll have to get to them before that 'hero' does."

She placed a hand on her hip, rolling her head to the side. "And who exactly is this 'hero'..?"

He paused. "...I would rather not say his name."

"Why not?"

"For a good reason." He responded, not bothering to elaborate. He turned the wheel until they were facing Cooper's Roost. He motioned to the crew to prepare for docking and summoned his cane when they were situated. "Let's go."

Dea followed him off their ship and winced when they stepped off the dock. Her boots had been dirtied seconds after stepping on the barren ground. It was awfully hot in this region. The sun burned just above the mountains in the pink-and-yellow-hued sky above them, clouds nonexistent no matter where she looked. She could feel the sweat forming underneath her clothes as they walked through the old-styled town.

The western buildings were charming, as were the tumbleweeds that skittered across the grounds before them. Vegetation was scarce as they stepped through weeds and dead plants. The people around them wore traditional clothing, and she was somewhat surprised that their appearance wasn't too highly-scrutinized here. She caught a man chewing a piece of grain who eyed them suspiciously, but others paid no mind.

Deacon led them to the desired saloon. It wasn't any better than the outside - crammed to capacity with cowboys, vendors, and saloon girls. All the commotion inside made it hot and humid. She peeled off her cape and removed her hat while Deacon audibly sighed with relief. It was almost funny with how quickly he rushed over to the bar - taking a seat at one of the unoccupied stools and ordering himself a vodka-orange juice cocktail. She followed after and sat a space away from him, asking for a cosmopolitan.

When they were handed their drinks, she looked at him in amusement. "A screwdriver? Really?"

"Best way to prevent scurvy," He answered, taking a swig. She tapped her mask thoughtfully as she looked at her own drink.

"That's…pretty smart."

The bartender came over and brought Dea the straw she asked for. She thanked him and took a drink as discreetly as she could. He turned to hand Deacon two pairs of keys to their room upstairs. The spymaster pocketed his, then offered her the other pair without a word. She took them and the server left to keep an eye on the two inebriated cowhands at the end of the bar.

"...Do we have to share a bed?"

He noticed her tone and waved it off. "There are two separate beds. Nothing too different from our current situation."

"Beyond the lack of privacy , you mean." She pointed at him.

"We'll only be here for a few days. I'm a returning guest, so don't complain about anything. It's just convenient since we're in the area."

"Fine." She swirled her drink around. "So…why won't you say the name of that vigilante? Is it a secret?"

"Far from it. It's just that…when you say his name, *something* tends to happen."

"...What? A group of thugs come out of nowhere and beat the crap out of you?" She asked sarcastically.

"Worse than that."

"Then what?"

Deacon stared at her for a minute. Then he set down his glass and took a deep breath. Before she could ask, he muttered the name. "...El Toro."

Without warning, a group of trumpets played right beside her ear.

"HIJO DE PUTA!" She screamed. She whipped around to smack the culprit - only to find that no one was there. She turned back and noticed Deacon with his head in his hands, trying to contain his laughter.

"You think that was funny!?" She snapped, clearly embarrassed. The people nearby looked away from the scene, apparently used to it. Her temper calmed down a bit. "What *was* that?"

He had to catch his breath before replying. "Non lo so. But it gets annoying pretty quickly, so I've stopped saying it."

"You're telling me that, somehow, a group of trumpets randomly start playing whenever someone says the name El T-"

Deacon quickly held up a hand to silence her. She got the message at the last second. She froze in her seat, blinking before shaking her head.

"...'The Bull'..? So that's what he's called?"

"Yes, and it's likely that he's on our criminal's tail already. We might be playing a game of who can catch them first ."

Conversation died off as they worked on finishing their drinks. There was the pleasant sound of chatter around them - people engaged in card games while watching the girls dance. After a minute, the spymaster realized something was missing. Usually, in a scene like this, he'd be hearing the ragtime melody of a nearby tack piano. He moved his head in search of the instrument and found it sitting on the back of the further wall.

He caught the bartender's attention. "Is the piano out of commission?"

"Naw. 'Fraid our usual pianist couldn't make it t'day. Bad case of hay fever." He nodded to him while polishing a glass. "You can knock yerself out, if ya' want."

Deacon downed the rest of his screwdriver and left payment for his and Dea's drinks. He picked up his cane and made his way to the end of the room, taking a seat in front of the piano. His co-captain quickly finished the rest of her cosmo and unceremoniously left her stool to follow after him. She caught him right as he was inspecting the keys.

"Wait! You can play the piano..?" She asked breathlessly. He didn't acknowledge her as he pressed the keys, listening closely to check if they were tuned. He soon let out a pleased hum.

"I was given lessons when I was a child," He soon answered. "I tickle the ivories whenever I can."

His gloved fingers flexed as they hovered over the keys. He flinched when he remembered a long ruler smacking his knuckles every time he pressed the wrong note. The bruises it left were painful. His instructor was a harsh and impatient one, and although he learned to play quicker than most, he didn't like reminiscing on those times. He recalled the long hours he'd spent at that old piano, repeatedly playing chopsticks while Kane watched intently in the background. He held his breath at the memory. Dea joined his side on the bench.

"Show me." She challenged him.

He played on a couple of tack pianos before - but ultimately preferred the grand piano back at Kane's mansion, or even his personal upright. He mostly learned classical pieces to play during his father's formal parties. Within his time in Cool Ranch, he had picked up on a few ragtime songs to appease his company there. He could never play anything like that in Valencia. In a way, it was a little freeing compared to his usual requests.

Getting into position, he decided to play The Entertainer, the most popular piece in saloons and a favorite in Cooper's Roost. The moment the song made it to their ears, there was a collection of whooping and hollering. Dea looked up in time as several cowboys grabbed the nearest damsel and began dancing in the middle of the saloon. A crowd soon surrounded the piano and clapped along as Deacon played - grins spreading on their faces as they stomped their boots.

It was… exhilarating, to say at the least.

One of the cowpunchers attempted to tug Dea into a dance - only for her to reject him with a slap to his hand. Deacon caught this action and chuckled. She was too mesmerized watching his hands work the keys to really move anywhere. It took a few minutes until he was done - and a great applause sounded from around them when he finished.

Her look was judgmental behind her mask, but she couldn't stop the small giggle that left her lips. "How many saloons have you been to?"

"It's a classic." Deacon responded, tugging at his sleeves. He looked up when a few began placing down pieces of gold on top of the piano. "-And a crowd pleaser."

The people around them retreated to their games and entertainment, leaving the two alone. Her partner mindlessly began pressing the notes, playing a small melody that blessed her ears. Her eyes were transfixed on his fingers, trying to memorize where they went. After a minute, he noticed her interest and paused in his movements. It forced her green eyes to meet his blue ones.

"What?" He asked. It was then she realized she'd been staring at him. The heat climbed to her face.

"...Nothing! I just…didn't expect this from you. I thought the only thing you knew how to do was shoot a gun." He 'hmphed' as he went back to pressing the keys. She fidgeted with her gloves. "...What else do you play?"

"The violin," He replied, his tone lifting. She lit up at this information.

"Really? That's amazing!"

"You're complimenting me right now," He commented suspiciously, looking at her as if she had grown two heads.

She grew offended. "What? I can't admire what you do? I love music! Why do you think I wanted to sing when I was little?"

Interest momentarily flashed in his eyes. He stopped playing to look at her properly. "Do you have any special requests?"

She responded instantly. "No."

"Come on. You sing all the time when we're sailing."

"In front of everybody?" She squeaked, motioning to the people around them. He arched a concealed eyebrow at her tone and she shrunk into herself. "I'll….pass."

He observed her a little more before turning back to the piano. He resumed playing and didn't miss the way she relaxed when he did. It made a little sense - they didn't have a big crew, and were sort of in their own world while out at sea. Singing a few heartfelt shanties with your team was different from entertaining a full saloon with expecting patrons.

He ignored the intense beating in his chest. "For the record, I think you have a beautiful voice. You shouldn't be embarrassed of it."

She let out an airy laugh, flattered at his words. She went quiet for a moment before sighing. "Maybe next time. But only if you'll play for me, espía."

He smiled under his mask. "It's a deal."