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"There's not enough room in this forum for the two of us." FM slammed his emptied whisky glass down on the wooden counter. "Step outside, Grix......"
Grix eyed FM carefully. They'd known each other for a long time, but things had been gettin' a little strained lately."
"What's this about, FM," he demanded, making his way through the packed but hushed saloon and pushing the swinging doors outwards as he stepped onto the dusty ground outside.
"Well," replied FM, pushing open the doors again and following Grix outside into the hot, dry air, "You've bushwhacked one of my topics just one time too many. It's time we had this out. Mano a Mano. Poster to Poster."
Grix paused in his stride to think of a witty retort about FM's last comment, then decided that now was probably not the time.
"So, what's it to be? 10 paces, turn and fire?" asked Grix, making sure his gunbelt was fastened properly.
"You know me better than that, Grix. 30 paces." FM checked his gunbelt. The Smith and Wesson 6-shot revolver hung loosely at his right hip.
They stood back to back under the glare of the midday sun, and started to count.....
1....2....3....
The occupants of the saloon were packing the windows trying to get a glimpse of the showdown outside. This was unheard of. The last shootout in the town of Last Chance Reserve had been quite a time ago, when the Er-no posse had cleaned out the Desperate Dans, but this was different. Two equally matched opponents were about to face off.
Insane Bartender was going even more nuts behind the saloon's counter because he was losing good sales whilst all this was going on.
Outside, the count was at 25.... as FM glanced to his right and saw PB on the roof of the Red Splat Hotel and Boarding House, shotgun at hand. PB nodded with a knowing look. FM nodded back.
The count was 26.... as Grix looked across to the SR Saddlery, where he spied Sniper with his trusty Winchester Rifle. Grix gave a brief nod. Sniper returned it.
27....28...29..
Dust whirled up as both men spun to face each other. The blast of PB's shotgun firing both barrels broke the deafening silence that preceeded it, and a cloud of sand flew up at Grix's feet as the buckshot ploughed into the ground.
Grix drew his gun and took aim, FM was still drawing his because he was left handed and his belt was on the wrong way, Sniper fired his rifle, and there was a sharp report, then a clatter as PB dropped his shotgun and swandived off the roof of the hotel and landed in a horse trough.
FM grappled with his pistol, it had snagged in the holster, and he reminded himself to be more careful where he left his chewing gum.
Grix took pity. (No he didn't). Grix fired his gun. Fortunately, FM and done his research and Grix's eyesight wasn't as good as it should have been, and at 30 paces it was like trying to read a Wanted Poster through a mirage. Grix's first bullet flew out of town faster than a newbie Gameaday winner. He wasn't sure if he had hit FM or not, but then he heard FM pull back the hammer of his Smith and Wesson with a
*click*
Grix eyed FM carefully. They'd known each other for a long time, but things had been gettin' a little strained lately."
"What's this about, FM," he demanded, making his way through the packed but hushed saloon and pushing the swinging doors outwards as he stepped onto the dusty ground outside.
"Well," replied FM, pushing open the doors again and following Grix outside into the hot, dry air, "You've bushwhacked one of my topics just one time too many. It's time we had this out. Mano a Mano. Poster to Poster."
Grix paused in his stride to think of a witty retort about FM's last comment, then decided that now was probably not the time.
"So, what's it to be? 10 paces, turn and fire?" asked Grix, making sure his gunbelt was fastened properly.
"You know me better than that, Grix. 30 paces." FM checked his gunbelt. The Smith and Wesson 6-shot revolver hung loosely at his right hip.
They stood back to back under the glare of the midday sun, and started to count.....
1....2....3....
The occupants of the saloon were packing the windows trying to get a glimpse of the showdown outside. This was unheard of. The last shootout in the town of Last Chance Reserve had been quite a time ago, when the Er-no posse had cleaned out the Desperate Dans, but this was different. Two equally matched opponents were about to face off.
Insane Bartender was going even more nuts behind the saloon's counter because he was losing good sales whilst all this was going on.
Outside, the count was at 25.... as FM glanced to his right and saw PB on the roof of the Red Splat Hotel and Boarding House, shotgun at hand. PB nodded with a knowing look. FM nodded back.
The count was 26.... as Grix looked across to the SR Saddlery, where he spied Sniper with his trusty Winchester Rifle. Grix gave a brief nod. Sniper returned it.
27....28...29..
Dust whirled up as both men spun to face each other. The blast of PB's shotgun firing both barrels broke the deafening silence that preceeded it, and a cloud of sand flew up at Grix's feet as the buckshot ploughed into the ground.
Grix drew his gun and took aim, FM was still drawing his because he was left handed and his belt was on the wrong way, Sniper fired his rifle, and there was a sharp report, then a clatter as PB dropped his shotgun and swandived off the roof of the hotel and landed in a horse trough.
FM grappled with his pistol, it had snagged in the holster, and he reminded himself to be more careful where he left his chewing gum.
Grix took pity. (No he didn't). Grix fired his gun. Fortunately, FM and done his research and Grix's eyesight wasn't as good as it should have been, and at 30 paces it was like trying to read a Wanted Poster through a mirage. Grix's first bullet flew out of town faster than a newbie Gameaday winner. He wasn't sure if he had hit FM or not, but then he heard FM pull back the hammer of his Smith and Wesson with a
*click*
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So, what part of western did you not understand?
;)
;)
Unfortunately, the GC Grix and FM were about to compete on suddendly exploded in a shower of fragmented plastic and silicon. They turned around. Sure enough, there in the distance was Sniper, presumably irritated about having died several times already in this story. Grix and FM quickly dove into the nearby tavern before Sniper could get in another shot.
Back in the distance, Sniper cursed and mounted his hover hoss and turned and sped into the distance. Or so he planned. Unfortunately, he'd left it in reverse, and he careered off backwards, heading towards the rather sharp-looking face of a nearby cliff. He reached for the gearstick, and hurriedly shifted it to where he supposed first should be. Sadly, he was actually on the horse backwards and not in reverse gear after all. He did, however, succeed in snapping the gearstick off. Sniper cursed again as the cliff loomed ever closer. No time to reposition himself on the saddle, he was going to have to steer in reverse. He took a deep breath and made a sharp turn. His shoulder badly grazed the cliff as he successfully turned away from it. Sniper winced and inspected the damage. Quite bad, he was bleeding heavily, and almost thought he saw the bright white of exposed bone before the blood red torrent covered it up. Still, at least he was alive.
He reached his hand down to the broken gearbox to inspect the damage. Unfortunately, he got his hand caught, which meanthe could no longer reach the hoss's steering facilities. He cursed again as he saw he was headed (now at quite a speed) straight for a large oak. Luckily, a branch sticking out at neck height caught him about 10 feet before he reached the tree, tearing him from his hoss. I use the word tearing, because his hand really was stuck fast. It still was in fact, whilst the rest of Sniper fell backwards onto the ground, now struggling for breath as his throat had been half crushed from the impact.
As he lay on the ground, wheezing violently, with a bloodied stump of a wrist hurting like hell, and a pulped shoulder stinging only mildly in comparison, he wished he were dead.
In view of this then, he was lucky that the tree his hover hoss collided with, ominously creaked and fell towards the spot where he lay, crushing him completely.
Back in the distance, Sniper cursed and mounted his hover hoss and turned and sped into the distance. Or so he planned. Unfortunately, he'd left it in reverse, and he careered off backwards, heading towards the rather sharp-looking face of a nearby cliff. He reached for the gearstick, and hurriedly shifted it to where he supposed first should be. Sadly, he was actually on the horse backwards and not in reverse gear after all. He did, however, succeed in snapping the gearstick off. Sniper cursed again as the cliff loomed ever closer. No time to reposition himself on the saddle, he was going to have to steer in reverse. He took a deep breath and made a sharp turn. His shoulder badly grazed the cliff as he successfully turned away from it. Sniper winced and inspected the damage. Quite bad, he was bleeding heavily, and almost thought he saw the bright white of exposed bone before the blood red torrent covered it up. Still, at least he was alive.
He reached his hand down to the broken gearbox to inspect the damage. Unfortunately, he got his hand caught, which meanthe could no longer reach the hoss's steering facilities. He cursed again as he saw he was headed (now at quite a speed) straight for a large oak. Luckily, a branch sticking out at neck height caught him about 10 feet before he reached the tree, tearing him from his hoss. I use the word tearing, because his hand really was stuck fast. It still was in fact, whilst the rest of Sniper fell backwards onto the ground, now struggling for breath as his throat had been half crushed from the impact.
As he lay on the ground, wheezing violently, with a bloodied stump of a wrist hurting like hell, and a pulped shoulder stinging only mildly in comparison, he wished he were dead.
In view of this then, he was lucky that the tree his hover hoss collided with, ominously creaked and fell towards the spot where he lay, crushing him completely.
Dan_uk stepped onto the towns dusty streets. Yet another story was underway.
He checked in at his hotel. Going to his room he saw that walls were just cloth and the toilet was a bucket, these western clothes were seriously incomfortable and there was lots of sand in his boots.
This just wouldn't do. He decided to sit this story out. Then thinking of the possibility of being brought into the story but another author, he decided there was only one way out. He'd have to get into a gun fight and get himself killed off.
He read the hand written newspaper. He could just make out that Grix and FM were fighting. Great. He could get in the middle of the shoot out and get out of this old dump...
He checked in at his hotel. Going to his room he saw that walls were just cloth and the toilet was a bucket, these western clothes were seriously incomfortable and there was lots of sand in his boots.
This just wouldn't do. He decided to sit this story out. Then thinking of the possibility of being brought into the story but another author, he decided there was only one way out. He'd have to get into a gun fight and get himself killed off.
He read the hand written newspaper. He could just make out that Grix and FM were fighting. Great. He could get in the middle of the shoot out and get out of this old dump...
Never to return that faulty WWF No Mercy copy that he bought.
The cheese looked on at all the puny weaklings on the earth below, and snickered as he played Tomb Raider 124 on his Playstation 43.
"Fools", he uttered in his deep voice. "Soon I will kill you all".
The cheese looked on at all the puny weaklings on the earth below, and snickered as he played Tomb Raider 124 on his Playstation 43.
"Fools", he uttered in his deep voice. "Soon I will kill you all".
Then Dringo came along bearing a PS2/Gamecube/Gameboy Advanced and x-box, he said "everyone can have one each"
"who needs special reserve" said Grix joyfully as he opened his new present
"I do we need to get some games for them" FM replied
Grix and FM glared at each other again will this rivalry ever end?
"lets finish this once and for all" FM said coldly
"agreed" said Grix fixated upon FM
I stepped forward and said "it's time..."
With that Grix and FM sat down as they placed Mario Kart in to the Gammecube (It will have a version of it it will)
"I'm Yoshi" Yelled FM as everyone gathered around
"No I am" shouted Grix
"You can be Bowser" said FM
"only if we play battle" replied Grix
"no because Bowser is stronger and hurts you in Battle" FM Informed
"and Yoshi is faster in Races so i'll always lose" Grix replied in an extremely angry fashion
"Yer but he has bad controll..." FM said
As the argument continued Dringo left to find another group of rivals who need to have their differences worked out over a game of Mario Kart/ Party or Tennis. Grix and FM could still be heard as Dringo with his bag of goodies left the Town never to return...
"who needs special reserve" said Grix joyfully as he opened his new present
"I do we need to get some games for them" FM replied
Grix and FM glared at each other again will this rivalry ever end?
"lets finish this once and for all" FM said coldly
"agreed" said Grix fixated upon FM
I stepped forward and said "it's time..."
With that Grix and FM sat down as they placed Mario Kart in to the Gammecube (It will have a version of it it will)
"I'm Yoshi" Yelled FM as everyone gathered around
"No I am" shouted Grix
"You can be Bowser" said FM
"only if we play battle" replied Grix
"no because Bowser is stronger and hurts you in Battle" FM Informed
"and Yoshi is faster in Races so i'll always lose" Grix replied in an extremely angry fashion
"Yer but he has bad controll..." FM said
As the argument continued Dringo left to find another group of rivals who need to have their differences worked out over a game of Mario Kart/ Party or Tennis. Grix and FM could still be heard as Dringo with his bag of goodies left the Town never to return...
I feel strangly compelled to follow on..
er-no, sitting outside of his funeral parlor, the only one in town, gave a sigh. At this rate there would be no business today, everyone managed to ressurect themselves or just plain avoid dying altogether.
"Darn." he said, spitting out his chewing tobacco and brushing the flies off of his face with a single stroke. Perhaps he'd have to help them out a little.
Pb looked sheepishly at Grix. He'd had a grudge against Sniper for stealing his horse during the harvet festival parade last summer. It wouldn't have been so bad if pb wasn't riding the horse at the time. "Howdy." is all he could manage before the pain of his bullet wound got too much and made him pass out.
er-no, sitting outside of his funeral parlor, the only one in town, gave a sigh. At this rate there would be no business today, everyone managed to ressurect themselves or just plain avoid dying altogether.
"Darn." he said, spitting out his chewing tobacco and brushing the flies off of his face with a single stroke. Perhaps he'd have to help them out a little.
Pb looked sheepishly at Grix. He'd had a grudge against Sniper for stealing his horse during the harvet festival parade last summer. It wouldn't have been so bad if pb wasn't riding the horse at the time. "Howdy." is all he could manage before the pain of his bullet wound got too much and made him pass out.
Which he hadn't.
But Mouldy Cheese had forgot about oxygen.
*SPLAT* is what would have happened if he had forgot his spacesuit.
*SPLAT* is what would have happened if he had forgot his spacesuit.
Actually... never mind.
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