Hello, everyone. Before you read this story, please read my Author's Notes.

I'm supposing that it's because I mainly write one-shots that don't get reviews, and it's only when I become verbally aggressive when honest critique flows in.

Frankly, I find that ironic.

But after personal research and giddy idle reading, I've found that multi- chapter fan fictions gain many reviews.

So, call me 'greedy for attention' if you want to, but I want twenty odd reviews too~! And plus, this idea's been crawling in my mind ever since I looked through my History tome.

Thank you for reading this, now please enjoy my story, and if you have any shred of consideration, you'll review. (Joking, but, please do so.)

Wanted Dead or Alive: Death the Kidd

Texas was a dry, dusty, laid back country with playful vague laws and carefree criminals. Dirty roads were provided for passer- bys, those few carriages even being a rare sight. But it didn't matter to the masked sheriff who sat in his wooden chair, leather boots propped up on the railings and a revolver being sheathed and unsheathed as he stylishly and precisely shot the lined up tin cans from the roof of the bar across the way.

Blowing the top of the smoking gun, the user acknowledged that it was empty, and ever so delicately began to polish the hull, holding it up to gleam in the smothered sunlight of unusually thick clouds.

"See that, Kidd?" a playful voice asked smothered beneath the white and black mask.

The child seated on the wooden steps looked back at his father, filthy white shirt flexing as he did so. No more than ten, the white skin, rounded face, ebony hair and golden large eyes were means of identification themselves as the son of the Shinigami Sheriff.

He stood beside his father, eyeing the revolver with awe.

"This is a special gun, Kidd," his father said. "Because it has a twin."

"It has a brother?" Kidd asked, bewildered.

"A sister," his father responded, leaving his son even more confused. "But it's not the firepower, or the bullets or the durability that makes a gun special. It's the heart of who wields it."

"So the person is special too?" Kidd asked, "Can I get the gun when I grow up? I wanna be special!"

"You already are, Kidd," his father said lovingly, patting the long hair on his head. "But this is a different kind of special which you have to learn on your own."

Kidd pouted as his father stood.

"I'm afraid I couldn't teach it to you, since today isn't the right day, and tomorrow doesn't exist for me."

"Father?" Kidd asked questioningly.

Though it was behind a mask, the young boy knew that his father's countenance showed a gentle, wise and grim smile before turning to a group of men who he didn't recognize, armed and still in the middle of the road.

Shinigami Sheriff snuck the revolver into the boy's hands and whispered in his ears. Message understood, Kidd dashed inside.

"The three gorgons," he heard his father say once the door shut, "we meet at last."

Gunfire sounded.

Juvenile Kidd awoke with a start in his rented bed. Bare backed, sweaty and panting, he leaned his forehead on his open palm, recalling his collected persona and relaxed composure. It came eventually, clearing the clouded young man's thoughts. He looked up around the dark moonlit room: the board walls covered with distasteful photographs and worn rug stretched below his bed, dresser empty- decorative and homey- and door cracked open were clear, youthful, feminine eyes stared at him, trembling almost.

Catching eye contact she froze, the shadow of her salmon coloured dress shifting along the line of light that streamed in from outside of his rented room. Carefully Kidd smiled and beckoned the girl to enter. Sixteen at most, her red hair was plaited down to her waist and over her shoulders, and freckled fair face blushing having entered a man's private quarters.

"You've been watching me for long?" Kidd asked kindly, turning on the gas lantern to make the flustered maid feel at ease. The faded colours of the room washed over him but he ignored it, pulling on his white shirt over black pants, and crouching beneath the bed to retrieve his leather black shoes.

"N-no, sir," she stuttered. "It's just that- ah heard a yell comin' from ya room, and I was wonderin' if you was alright."

"Considerate of you," Kidd commented, and noticed her rosy shade darken. "I appreciate that; it's only a nightmare though. Nothing to be bothered about."

Seeming closer, she smiled, continuing the conversation. "A nightmare ya say? Ah used to get 'em all the time as a kid- mah mama always said that warm milk helps. Keeps yuh min' and tummy at ease."

"I'll keep that in mind," Kidd chuckled beneath his breath, slinging his belt around his waist and dusting the thin layer of white from his ebony hat. "T'was a pleasure to be talking to you, miss," he said, heading for the door. "But I'm afraid I'll have to leave the inn to you."

"Leavin' so late?" she sounded almost disappointed but more astounded at his bravery and casualty at the risks.

Kidd hesitated a moment at the door, smile still warm but eyes cold and daydreaming. The hesitance faded as he slipped on his hat and after politely saying adieu, left the room and the inn.

His ebony steed was waiting for him at the stables, enjoying the warmth of the straw and provided meal, delighted to lay eyes on its master. Removing his glove, Kidd petted the main of the giant creature.

"I'm afraid we'll be leaving earlier than planned, Midnight," he whispered gently, fingers running through the dark, coarse strands. Strapping the saddle onto Midnight's underbelly, Kidd mounted the feminine hoarse and led her out of the stables with a canter, sustaining the steady speed throughout the chilly night.

The next town was close by, Kidd admitted, but unfortunately, so were his enemies.

Tell me what you thing pretty pretty pretty pretty please!- Novalia1001