Chapter Text
Paintbrush aproaced the town at a full gallop, wind catching the brim of their bowler hat. Their duster was flapping as tiny specks of coarse sand flecked their cheeks.
Lightbulb and Baxter rode besides them, Baxter panting and Lightbulb grinning in the wind of their passage. Paintbrush slowed their horse near an outcrop about a hundred paces from town.
"We stow the horses here. Fan's weather predictions were correct, there is plenty of breeze to mask the dust from out horses." Lightbulb grinned and nodded, checking her bandiloier of spare bullet magazines and testing the mechanisms of her twn revolvers before stowing them in her holsters.
Paintbrush did the same for their pistol, dry firing it and wiping a bit of dust off the handle with the tail of their shirt. They flicked their knife out of its sheath, feeling the worn spots in the soft leather where their fingers had rested through countless years. It's serrated blade gleamed in the sunlight, catching all the nicks and scratches from years of hard use. Finally, they were ready. They holstered their weapons, nodding to Lightbulb who gave them a double thumbs up in response.
They marched into the side street of the town with a determined stride, hand on their pistol. (A/N: that cheesily western music played in the background, and a tumbleweed bounced along the dusty road.) They slowly aproached the house where Taco was, flinching at every slight sound.
"Looking for someone?" They turned a full one-eighty degrees in an eyeblink, their gun drawn and pointing at the source of the voice. The barrel trembled as they saw the distinctive gleam of a revolver pointing at their forehead.
"Tut tut. Too slow. My god, didnt they teach you to be aware of your surroundings?" The voice came from a short woman, in her late thirties. Her white buttoning shirt was immaculatley pressed, her black bowtie perfectly straight. Her black pants had not a single dust stain on them, and the leather of her duster, although well-worn, was perfectly clean and patched. The barrel of her revolver was also polished to a shine, ready to send a bullet into their skull before they could say 'shootout.'
"Taco," they choked out through gritted teeth.
"I see you have been faring well." She laughed, the sound ringing throughout the street.
"You could say that. Now, lets just put the guns away and talk like civil people, shall we?" Paintbrush, seeing as they had no other option holstered their pistol. Taco set her revolver aside.
"Now, what is it that you want?"
"Your hostage."
"Indeed. Mepad, would you please come out here?" A tall figure walked out from inside many of the houses. He looked surprisingly well fed and cared for, with his customary black shirt and striped vest being fairly clean.
"Listen. Paintbrush. I could leave this place any time i want. She isn't forcing me to stay with her. Please. She needs help." Paintbrush chewed on their lip, eyeing Taco's revolver.
"Mansion," they said to Lightbulb, who nodded in response and began to inch her hands closer to her revolvers.
"What?" Taco asked.
"Now," they said, and unholstered their pistol and sent a bullet rocketing towards Taco, ducking down to avoid her return fire. Lightbulb kept up a steady stream of bullets from her twin revolvers, forcing Taco into cover behind some of the boxes.
"You go left, ill go right. Be careful with your fire." Paintbrush slipped around Taco's box, stowing their pistol and instead drawing their knife. They suddenly rushed Taco's position, knife in position to slice open her shoulder. Taco produced a dagger from her boot and expertly parried their blow. Paintbrush slashed again, and Tcao countered. Then Paintbrush caught a slice from Taco in the edge of their blade. They battled like that for a minute.
Eventually, Paintbrush could sense that Taco was tiring. Her movements were slower. Her breath more heavy. There. An opening. Feint low. Feint high. Her guard was down. This was it. They raised their blade for one last slash, and dragged it through the skin and muscle of Taco's shoulder and upper chest. Blood spurted out in a crimson fountain, gleaming in the sun.
She cried in pain and surprise, staggering backward, hand instinctually pressing against the wound. She dropped the knife, and Paintbrush took the opportunity to pin her to the ground. They pulled a set of manacles from their jacket pocket and clipped Taco's hands behing her back, dragging her up and leading her towards the horses. Mepad reluctantly followed when Lightbulb beckoned them towards Paintbrush's mount. Paintbrush hoisted them onto the back of Baxter, Lightbulb mounting the horse behind her and bombarding her with a stream of chatter, while the pale-faced woman could do nothing but sit there, shell shocked and bleeding. Lightbulb noticed the blood and paused her easy flow of words.
"Here, you won't make it halfway to Inanimate Point in that condition." She gently wrapped a bandgae around Taco's wound.
"There. That way you wont pass out and cover my saddle and shirt in blood."
"Thanks," Taco replied quietly,
"I dont remember the last time someone noticed i needed help."
"No problem! That way you can listen to my awesome analysis of the rise and fall of various household items!" Paintbrush shook their head affectionately at their antics, before helping Mepad onto their horse and setting off for Inanimate Point.
Once they got there, Paintbrush sent Mepad off to the town hall to talk with his brother, Mephone 4. Taco was placed in the care of Mic, one of the people in town actually qualified to treat wounds.
"Taco."
"Microphone." Mic sighed.
"Lets get that patched up. Can't have you passing out in the middle of a trial or something. Mic put a hand on her shoulder and guided her into the office where they kept the medical supplies.
Another plauge upon the dry, dusty land bought to justice. Another day well lived and a job well done. If only it was as simple as that.