G2 bent down to Lil’ Krully’s height. “Sorry, lil’ dude. Truce?”
He thought about it. “Truce!” he happily declared, shaking the Irish Pianist’s outstreached hand.
“Now, what are we gonna do about Big Krully and ol’ JP?” LW asked.
“You’re a cowgirl, you know what has to happen.”
LW balked. “I do?”
OrangeOreos sat up groggily. “Is it 9:70 yet?” he moaned.
“No, ya silly,” G2 replied, then turned back to the confused LW. “Any western that I’ve seen involves some sort of organized, epic showdown.”
LW nodded. “Are we going to write something?”
“You need a pen?” Lil’ Krully offered cheerfully.
“No no, not that pen just yet, compañito,” G2 admonished. She whipped out her own Signo from her pocket.
“But no Spanish,” warned the still-groggy Oreos. “I don’t think Krully’ll like it.”
G2 nodded and began to scribble. “To the idiot this may concern…” she read impishly, tongue between teeth, as she wrote.
LW, Oreos, and Fantasy exchanged half-nervous looks.