Fully aware of who the duo are and how trigger-happy they can be, you decide not to mess with them, and instead opt for (almost) full disclosure. “Don’t hurt me!” you blurt, as you dig a hand into your trousers pocket. Finnigan Sinister plonks a foot on your chest and presses hard, easing his gun barrel closer to your face. “Watch it, kid. Ya might fancy yerself quick on the draw but I guaran-funting-tee ya I’ll have pulled my trigger before you’ve even got your weapon out...” “Wait!” you gasp. “I’m not armed...I have an invitation. To the party. Here!” You pull the invitation free and offer it up for inspection. Ramone Dexter snatches it from your fingers and wastes no time giving it the once over. “An invitation? To the party?” “Yes. I...I won it. In a competition...” “Is he on the up and up, Ray?” Finnigan asks, still eyeing you suspiciously. “It certainly appears that way, amigo. This is the real deal.” “Well ain’t that a turn up for the books! And what a stroke of luck!” “Luck?” you ask, pushing yours by daring to question the wild-haired gunman. “That’s right!” Finnigan tells you, with a broad smile. “See, me and Ray here are supposed to be at this party, but old Tharg, he only went an’ lost Ray’s ticket...” “He lost your ticket, Finny...” “...he only went an’ lost one of our tickets, and naturally one of us couldn’t go without the other...” “Naturally.” “...but now you’ve turned up with a spare one and all is right with the world...” “A...spare one...?” you enquire, though you already know where this is going. “Cheers big ears!” is the only reply you get, as Finnigan holsters his gun and pats Ramone on the back. “Let’s go big fella, before Slaine spasms over all the hot chicks! I don’t mind sloppy seconds, but his would be ridiculous!” Ramone laughs and holsters his weapon, then the two gunsharks go whooping and hollering down the alleyway, leaving you sprawled on the ground, muddied and alone, with nothing to look forward to but the long and lonely journey home.
The End.
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