Alcohol is a desperately needed commodity in this place. Something that Bobo works hard to put together through wild yeast, the tubers that grow in the wilds, and peaches. Peach wine pretty much sucks, but it's alcoholic and that's all that matters, but he's been getting pretty handy at the vodka that while fairly dusty tasting, got him pretty well fucking wasted enough to pretend he isn't still hating on being close enough to human to be vulnerable to more than a cranky Earp hair with that damn pistol.

Which are thoughts that have crept in and alcohol is sorely needed. So he gives in, all fur coat - stolen, and heavy boots - borrowed from who the fuck knows where, and bright red scrub trousers because he's starting to like the look of them with the dark fur, and heads for the Inn.

Except the bottle of tuber vodka he's pretty sure he left in the kitchen is gone. Well, not gone. The bottle is still there. But now it is fucking empty.

"What the fuck?! Did I say anyone could drink that?" Bellowing to no one in particular. Anger coursing through him, as he swirls around, fur snapping with his motions. Hearing someone bitching about needing water, and it's a voice that sounds way too fucking familiar.

Edging closer to the voice, swallowing hard as he eyes the very familiar form.

"Wynonna Fucking Earp. What the hell did I do to deserve this?" He asks of no one, intoning it loudly so that she's sure to hear him.