The Honest Mistake

One.

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A/N: Don’t ask, some things are better left unknown. O.o

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“VASH THE STAMPEDE!!!” The scream echoed throughout the dry stone walls of the houses that lined the road. “PREPARE TO DIE!!!”

Bullets rang out across the small hardened dirt pathway, ricocheting wall to wall before stopping their descent into to the ground and various other places.

The insane gunman looked up from his sight and down the street. A few bar and inn signs fell down. Still he looked on. Tumble weeds... well tumbled by. Still he looked on. “Eh?” he questioned, frantically looking for any signs of life. He took a deep breath, “COME ON OUT AND FIGHT LIKE A MAN! VASH THE STAMPEDE!!”

A bullet whizzed by his head and took off his hat. The gunman gulped.

“I don’t like my manhood insulted. How about you put your pee-shooter down and we can talk about this like civilized human beings?” came the sarcastic reply, as if knowing that reasoning with the other man was nearly impossible.

“NEVER!” the loony shouted, spittle flying from his lips, “I WOULD NEVER REASON WITH AN OUTLAW!! VASH THE STAMPEDE!!! PREPARE TO DIE!!”

More bullets flew through the air.

And with the pause; all the onlookers gazing from nearly closed shutters fearfully murmuring those three cursed words.

“Ok,” came the hidden voice, “That’s the third time that you’ve uttered that name. Who the hell is ‘Vash the Stampede’?”

“YOU CAN’T FOOL ME, OUTLAW!” Mr. Crazy screeched, “I KNOW THAT RED COAT ANYWHERE!!!”

“Red coat?” came the distant question, “You’re shootin’ at me because I wear a RED COAT!?!”

If the stranger was going to say anymore, it was lost in another round of bullets and gunfire.

The stranger huddled in his small cubby, the barrage of bullet making it incredibly smaller. He sighed and gripped the familiar handles of his two handguns, his vision just starting to clear up as the head wound that he received from the first attack started to heal. “Ok, asshole,” he muttered under his breath, “we’ll play by your game.”

With that he rolled out of his protective hole, red trench coat flapping in the wind, and fired three shots.

First shot. Ebony took the gun out of the man’s right hand.

Second shot. Ivory took the clasp of his gun belt and dropped it to the sand.

Third shot. Ebony took his pants down to his ankles.

The stranger groaned and covered his eyes, “UGH! Doesn’t ANYBODY were underwear anymore!! Perfect,” he grumbled, gracefully moving to his feet as he holstered the only two ‘women’ in his life that never left him, “of course I always have to get the free ballers.”

The stranger crawled back into his cubby and had the heebie-jeebies until the sun set.

TBC...

A/N: If you haven’t figured out who the ‘stranger’ is I feel sorry for you. L Just kidding!!!!!!