Fifty derringers lay in fifty different places, the price for not reloading.
"Sempai? Have you found them all yet?"
Two by the sheriff's office, one under the thomas trough, one caught in tumbleweeds.
"Still looking, insurance girls? Maybe you should try carrying one gun with fifty bullets rather than fifty guns with one bullet."
"Shut up, Broom Boy."
Forty-seven. Forty-eight. Forty-nine.
"Where's the last one?"
"Sempai, I can't find it!"
A slip of silver from beneath a red sleeve goes unnoticed. A wrists twists, and silver lies in black leather.
"I found your gun, insurance girl."