Henry's home gave little indications here and there about his personal life. All the takeout suggested he didn't or simply couldn't cook. One or two pictures of him and his wife which he'd neglected to take down did seem to suggest he wasn't just some grumpy old hermit. Henry didn't look bad at all either. Bedraggled and unshaven though he was. The man was built like an ox and had a sort of animal magnetism that was hard to deny. It took the edge off his otherwise abrasive and almost anti social nature enough that Mary had decided to spend her life with him at least.<br/><br/><br/>But it was an old sheriff's uniform tucked into a mound of dirty laundry off to one corner of the living room that offered some evidence to suggest he was the man she had come to Keystone to replace. Henry moved to take a seat beside the island in the kitchen where three stools were positioned along a bar like eating space beside the oven and stove top. Turning away from the island to face Davis, Henry leaned back with his elbow propped up behind him on the granite surface of the island and gave the woman a bored expression that defied the still grisley wounds on his salt and pepper dusted chest.<br/><br/><br/>"Not exactly why you felt the need to come all the way up here…" He grumbled as he watched the woman passively while she looked around. And once she had gotten around to opening her med kit up and setting about cleaning and dressing his wounds, he showed what was either a seriously high threshold for pain or, at the very least, an example of the anesthetic properties of alcohol by not even so much as flinching from the treatment. Though it was likely a combination of both as upon reaching a more intimate proximity with the man's bare torso she would easily find a few old scars that were unmistakable bullet holes and stab wounds. Henry was clearly no stranger to pain or to neglecting his wounds for that matter. Throw a clean rag over it till the bleeding stopped then wrap it up and if that didn't work, get to a medic. That had always been his methodology. And yet another of the bad habits Mary had saved him from until now.<br/><br/><br/>"You know a scratch like this won't kill a guy, right?" He said passively as he waited for her to be through with all the cleaning, stitching and dressing of his injury. This was perhaps the root of his aversion to medical treatment: impatience. For a man who was happy to sit in front of his tv for hours on end he was definitely not the sort who liked to wait around. "You do much of this sorta work back home? Locals will love you here. No shortage of morons in Keystone peak mutilating themselves in their own bear traps or eyeing the wrong end of bottle rockets after all." Henry gave a dry chuckle at this, knowing full well the sort of headache Cedar was in for on this job. "I'm Henry by the way. Henry Flynt. The guy who had to herd these fucking cats before you. Thanks for taking em off my hands by the way."<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>