The cylinder of his Smith & Wesson No. 3 revolver clicked in his hand as he pressed it into place, spinning the gun around his index finger before he held it out before him and sighted a hat hanging on the far wall down the barrel of the gun. He lowered it after a moment- the mayor would be none too pleased if he found out that his sheriff was putting holes in the wall of his jailhouse again. But he was restless, so he opened it up again, counted the bullets, and set it aside. He bit down on his cigar as he leveled his gaze on the open doorway, grinding the cooled paper between his teeth. He had never liked to wait, and this had gone on for far too long.

For as long as Herobrine had been sheriff of the small town of Mosenta, he had enjoyed, for the most part, peace. Every now and then, perhaps, they would be accosted by a band of thieves or brigands, but he had always been able to repel them without much issue. Until now, anyway. This issue had forced him, for the first time in seventeen years, to accept outside help.

He heard the sound of quick footsteps on creaking boards, and he straightened up in his seat with his eyes trained on the door. A moment later, a woman with blonde hair appeared in his view, dressed in a sharp, grey skirt and jacket.

"Herobrine." She braced a hand on the doorway, out of breath. "He's coming."

Herobrine's face grew grim. He pushed himself up, twirling his revolver around his finger before sinking it into his holster. "Well, then," he said. "Let's not keep him waiting."

He had met Evangeline almost three weeks ago now, when she first arrived at Mosenta in her crisp blouses and pressed skirts. An outsider alone was enough of a spectacle for such a small town, but even more intriguing to Herobrine was that she had come investigating a murder. Apparently, a close friend of hers since childhood had been killed in cold blood in her own home, and Evangeline, a county clerk, had taken it upon herself to track down the killer. She had followed him far from home out to Herobrine's own stomping grounds, who was more than happy to assist her in bringing such a despicable man to justice. And it seemed that their chance to do such a thing was rapidly approaching.

"Mikkael saw him coming towards the outskirts of town," Evangeline told him, her long legs having no trouble keeping his pace as she followed along beside him.

"Mmh." Herobrine grunted, speeding up as he rested a hand over his revolver. "You ought to get clear."

"I will not," she said sharply. "I have come all this way, I don't intend to hide while you face off against my foe."

"He's going to be armed," Herobrine reminded her sternly. "And, last I checked, you are not."

Evangeline lifted her chin defiantly. "This is my fight. I was the one who tracked him here in the first place. For Meryl's sake-"

"This isn't just about your revenge," Herobrine interrupted as he raised himself to his full height. "This is about my town, too. Or have you forgotten about everything that's gone down in the last month, since Sir-"

"Herobrine!" The call from down the street interrupted their bickering, and both of them looked to find their foe standing in the center of the road.

The outlaw stood beside his agitated mount, his tall, grey stallion that huffed and pawed at the dirt and cobblestone. The outlaw himself was dressed in a white shirt and a red vest, with a pair of shining boots with spurs and a cattleman hat perched atop his head. A worn percussion pistol rested in the holster on his hip. What was by far his most recognizable feature, however, was the way that the cuffs of his white, linen sleeves were dyed red with blood.

"Sirben." Herobrine stepped in front of Evangeline, ignoring the way she hissed threats in his ear. Sirben nodded towards him.

"Who's your lady friend?" he called over.

"His lady friend is the reason we tracked you down in the first place," Evangeline snarled back. "I don't know if you recall, but you killed my closest friend."

Sirben shrugged. "I don't keep track." That did not make Evangeline any calmer. "So what now?" he went on. "Aren't you going to tell me that this town isn't big enough for the two of us?"

"I'm going to tell you to get out of it." Herobrine's hand hovered over the handle of his revolver, ready to draw if Sirben should make another move. "Or I'm gonna shoot you where you stand."

"Not if I shoot you first," Sirben goaded. Herobrine resisted the urge to tell Evangeline to get back again, he knew she wouldn't listen. Instead, he stared Sirben down, already plotting out his shot before his fingers even touched the trigger.

"Wait!"

The cry broke his concentration, and Herobrine's chin whipped around in search of the source just in time to see a woman come jogging out from one of the quiet buildings lining the main street.

"Meryl?" Evangeline called incredulously. "You're supposed to be dead."

"No I'm not. Look at this." Meryl lifted a packet of paper above her head as she approached, and Sirben abandoned his horse to come and take a look. "We got the wrong script, see?"

"Oh." Evangeline took the packet from her and paged through it. "So we did. Oops."

"Aw, I liked this one," Sirben complained. "It was nice having it be someone else's turn to be dead."

"This was supposed to go to the other studio." Meryl thumbed over her shoulder. "Come on, we need to get dressed again." Herobrine plucked his cigar out of his mouth, tossing it away before following her off the street.

"Can I at least keep the hat?" Sirben called after them.

"That's a question for wardrobe," was Meryl's response. Sirben just sighed and followed.

this is the dumbest thing ive ever written. happy april fools