Creative Writing The Story Game

Rules
ok, i begin with about a paragraph of a fiction story, fought up out of my head, and u carry it on, it must be at least a paragrpah of wat u write, and no major events, ie. all charav=ctrs die, or soemthing, make it good, and the only other rule is to have fun

A Guns Dust...
the bar was almost empty, it was only acumpanied by the bar man and a stranger, the barman had his hand deep into the glass and was scrubing away with a cloth. the stranger sat on a small stool leaning half over the bar, holding a smal lglass of whiskey.

Bar Man - you wan' anythin' else with that buddy?
Stranger - yea', gimme' one of yah' strongest drinks

the bar man turned to face a large stack of bottles, most of them were half empty, as he turned, he replying to the stranger, "sure, ill get yah our strongest" he slowly turned and slammed the drink onto the bar on front of him, as he did this some of the drink splashed up the long black coat of the stranger.

the stranger wore a long black coat, with a cowboy hat, also black, blakc trousers with a faint grey lien going down the side of them ,and a huge belt, with held a hang gun on eahc side.

stranger - wat the hell do you think your doing!?

the stranger stood up in a rage...

(ok, carry it on, and have fun, no wreckign the story line, its kidna based on trigun, not totaly, but keep it aroudn that ok? )

 

Bar man says "Well, you said you's wanted the strongest drink. There be some jolly mass in that lil sucker, some mass..." He reaches for the glass he held earlier, to continue wiping it up. BOOM!! The glass shatters just as he touched it.

"What in the buttcrack of Clinton...!?!" the bar man blurts out in his startled state. He even had the nerve to check his pants in case he took an involuntary leak from the surprise. Now he turns to look at the stranger, and is faced with a huge pistol, which apparently had blasted away the glass he was just about to pick up. "Whoa, whoa! Looks like someone needs a hug-"

"Shut up!" snarls the stranger, as he slowly returns the pistol to its holster. "Can't you serve up a decent drink to a gentleman without spilling none? Haven't you got a clue as to what this here monkey-skin coat cost me, do you... spanky?"

 

(lets get this started)

just then a group of men walked in and sat dowm beside the stranger, there were at least 5, and they sat all around him, some stood around. they were all men and looked pritty scary

Groupie - hey punk! i heard some shooting, we dont want no toruble in thsi here bar of ours, so we gonna kik yah sorry *** outta this place

Groupies - yea!

...

 

The stranger becomes enraged again, but doesn't say anything. He knows it's time for action! Suddenly he somehow kicked his stool out from under him, hurling it backwards into the legs of the husky guy behind him. (He hears "ooooh!" as the stool probably struck em in the knees or shins.) Immediately there after, the stranger plants his foot on the bar counter and launches himself backwards... all while whipping out both pistols. Thud!! The stranger's back hits the same guy behind him, while his two pistols fire simultaneously to the guys at his sides. By the time the groupies draw their own guns (and only half of them have guns!), two of them are shot either in the throat or chest, one is stunned, another is fumbling with the safety switch on his gun, and the rest reach for bottles as weapons.

Crack! The stranger's swift foot strikes a guy so hard in the jaw that a bloody tooth goes flying and strikes a pleasant chime against the liquor bottles behind the bartender.

Now he looks at the last few guys left, one with a shaky sweaty hand on a lil pistol, the other two with faces as white as milk. He conjures up a mad face while flashing his two big guns, and the groupies run out.

"I reckon that's enough trouble, 'specially since this here be MY bar you's messin' up," said the bartender, as he calmly takes out a double-barrel shotgun from under the counter.

 

The stranger calmly looks at the bartender and a light smile twitches at his lip. “You know.” He replies slowly. “I can easily shoot you before your finger could press that trigger.”

The bartenders face goes stalk white in realization of the truth. The damage from the earlier fight lay before them. He takes a reassuring step backwards. The bartender regains his strength. His finger slowly touches the trigger as if to dare the stranger to act on his words.

The stranger looks at the bartender but this time he allows a smirk to seep onto his face. His hand slowly releases the triggers of both pistols. He holds them in the air each by his pointer finger then with a fluid motion reinserts the weapons both into there holsters. The stranger hand reaches for the untouched drink. He splashes it down. He moves his hand into his saddle bag and tosses enough coins on the counter to pay for his drinks and the damage to the bar.

The stranger tips his cowboy hat and winks at the dumb founded bartender. He turns slowly around and walks towards the door. His hand hits the swinging door and his eyes become blinded by the change in light. Before he regains his sight his ears pick up the clicking of over ten guns.

(have fun with this)