A/N: Hello there, this story has been brought to you by Beywriter's generators, and my mind… and some outside help XD This is starring the Majestics, mostly Robert and Enrique though.
Warnings: Well, this'll be somewhat random, but not crack or anything. Slight violence (you know how westerns can get, lol.), somewhat AU-ish. There will be a few slang insults as well. The meanings will be at the end of the fic.
Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade.
The sun was slowly making its way towards the horizon. The four men were unwinding with a game of poker.
Robert shuffled the deck of cards. "It is time for the fun to start now." He smirked.
Johnny started airin' the lungs right away. Something Robert made sure he put a stop to before it became worse. "Surely you're not afraid of losing to me? When you start airin' the lungs, it really means that you are scared."
"It does not!"
Enrique and Oliver were the two other men present at the card table in the saloon; however, they were trying to ignore the banter of Robert and Johnny. Enrique smiled widely, and looked at his cards. The rumor around here was that he had nuthin' under his hat but hair, and his actions seemed to help it along. Poker players were supposed to use their poker faces, and not reveal their emotions during a hand, but Enrique always wore a grin.
He also won every round they had. Oliver didn't seem to mind much, but the other two were all beer and skittles.
This round was no different. Enrique won, as usual, but Robert seemed to blow his top right away. He slammed his fists on the table.
"You are a lowly cheater, Enrique!" Robert's face was beyond angry.
Enrique just grinned. "I just have lady luck on my side, I do not cheat. Honestly!" He held his hands up in defense.
"I do not believe you! When I'm done with you, there won't be enough left of you to snore!" He was huffing in his anger, scaring all but Enrique.
"Are you suggesting that we duel this out?" Enrique was outraged, and confused. Like they say, if all his brains were dynamite, there wouldn't be enough to blow his nose.
"Are you slow? Of course that's what I'm suggesting! Let's take this outside." Robert stood up and exited the saloon. Enrique followed after him grimly.
"Do we really have to do this Robert? I'm really not a cheater!" Enrique shouted after the dark and ominous figure.
"Yes, we do." Robert stopped and turned around. He faced Enrique, a straight face intact. "I have to do this." His hand rested by the holster of his gun, waiting.
Sighing, Enrique lost his grin for real now. He, too, placed his hand near the holster of his weapon, ready to get this over with.
Oliver and Johnny were watching from afar, daring not to become injured from stray shots.
"At the count of three, we shall start, got it?" The purple-haired man explained monotonously.
"Yeah, yeah, I got it." Enrique muttered bitterly. The only good thing about his day was his poker win, ironically, that win was what got him in this mess in the first place. However, it did not mean that he would go down that easily. If tempted, both he and Robert could make an ordinary fight look like a prayer meetin'.
"One…" Both placed their hands on the holster.
"Two…" Hands went to the gun handles.
"Three!" Gunshots were heard.
Luckily for the friends, only a couple of rounds were fired off. But from their worn forms, some damage was done. It was mostly exterior damage, like holes in clothing. How the two men managed to aim and only hit clothing was beyond anybody. The interior damage was a different story however. They were both kinda off their mental reservation, according to most. This little stunt they just pulled about proves it.
Oliver decided to speak up. "So, do you feel better now?"
Robert nodded. "Plenty better now. Who wants to play some poker?"
"The most important lesson I learned was the winner of gunplay usually was the one who took his time. The second was that, if I hoped to live on the frontier, I would shun flashy trick-shooting as I would poison. I did not know a really proficient gunfighter who had anything but contempt for the gun-fanner, or the man who literally shot from the hip." -Wyatt Earp
A/N: There's that. Let me know what you think, ok? This is my first, and probably last, shot at a western story.
Meanings:
When I'm done with you, there won't be enough left of you to snore. - Insult
He made an ordinary fight look like a prayer meetin'. –Insult
If all his brains were dynamite, there wouldn't be enough to blow his nose. -Stupidity
He didn't have nuthin' under his hat but hair. –Stupidity
He's as pleased as a pup with 2 tails. –Happy
He's kinda off his mental reservation. –Crazy
Airin' the Lungs - A cowboy term for cussing.
All Beer and Skittles - Unpleasant, not so happy.
thoughtxaquarium