Lone Writer picked herself up from the debris, bleeding but still breathing. She looked over at the body of Lone Star that had protected her from the blast.

“Who the heck was that?” she muttered. “And why do we have the same boots?”

Lone Writer pulled her battered cowboy hat from the rubble and stuck it on her head. I’m going to need some help. she thought, limping away from the scene.
She took out her cell phone and pressed four.
“Glad to hear you’re alive.” said a female voice after one ring.

“Barely.” Lone Writer winced pressing a hand to her bleeding side. “Listen, Band Baby I need you and Fantasy’s help. Get the truck and head over to the colleseum. Oh and bring me a new outfit while you’re at it.”
She hung up the phone and sat on the ground and tried to get the dirt off of her less – than – spotless cowboy boots.

The truck pulled up a couple minutes later and Band Baby and Fantasy climbed out.
“Oh God!” Fantasy cried in horror. “Your boots!”
“Are you ok?” Band Baby asked.