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[hr][color=crimson][b][h3]ISSUE #8
WE'LL BE COWBOYS[/h3][hr][u]Blade's Unnamed Shop
New York City, New York[/u][/b][/color][/center]
We pulled up to my place about half an hour after we met with Harker. It was almost one in the morning now, and the streets were quiet. As I got out, I looked back to the van and at the two who resided within. Van Helsing had the same stoic expression on her face, making it hard to see how she was feeling. Drake was the kinda guy to wear his heart on his sleeve though, and I could tell he was glad to see me go by his relieved smile.

[color=crimson][b]"I'll be sure to give you guys a ring if I get a job. Y'know, build that rapport and shit,"[/b][/color] I said, shooting a finger gun at the two. [color=crimson][b]"But for now, I'm gonna get some well deserved rest. Need it after all the shit that went down tonight."[/b][/color]

[color=tan][b]"You do that. And I'm sure Frank will be happy to join you on any jobs you get."[/b][/color] Van Helsing's reply got her companion to look dumbfounded.

[color=mediumseagreen][b]"What? Why me?"[/b][/color]

[color=tan][b]"Because you two obviously have some differences to work out."[/b][/color]

I grinned and shook my head. [color=crimson][b]"Don't worry, he and I'll be thick as thieves in no time. Ain't that right, Frankie?"[/b][/color]

In response, Drake simply started the van back up. He turned to me with a glare, simply muttering, [color=mediumseagreen][b]"Eat shit and die."[/b][/color] And with that, the van took off down the road, leaving me to watch while laughing quietly to myself. With nothing left to do, I opened the door to my shop and took a look around at the place.

It was in the same condition I left it in. Empty pizza boxes stacked next to the desk, jukebox in the corner with the remains of my poker table piled next to it, weapons rack against the wall behind my desk... I only just now noticed that the place was a bit of a mess, too. Aside from the pizza boxes, there were fast food scraps strewn about the floor by the desk, half empty Pepsi bottles lined up next to each other on the windowsill, and a few bloodstains I hadn't bothered to mop up after the fight with those vampires.

I almost felt like tidying up.

Keyword being "almost".

I headed up stairs to my bedroom. Not even bothering to tear off the bloody rags I called clothes, I hopped into bed, and was out like a light in seconds...

[center][hr][color=crimson][b][u]Lawn Outside of Abraham Whistler's Home
Albany, New York
Nine Years Ago[/u][/b][/color][/center]
[color=lightblue][b]"Saddle up, pardner. We're goin' huntin',"[/b][/color] Deacon said to me in a badly imitated southern drawl, adjusting Whistler's cowboy hat. The hat was too big for his eleven year old head, constantly sinking down to cover his eyes. I giggled at the sight, adjusting my own hat; I had actually gotten one at a fair recently that fit me. Deacon, being the more introverted of the two of us, chose not to try and win a hat for himself and was still stuck with Whistler's.

[color=crimson][b]"We gotta find them banditos 'fore they can attack the town again!"[/b][/color] I replied enthusiastically with my own drawl, letting out a laugh. Whistler always watched westerns, in fact the only movies in the house were all westerns from the 50s and 60s; stuff like Shane, Fistful of Dollars, True Grit, and all that. As a result of that and a lack of cable or game consoles, Deacon and I still played Cowboys and Indians to pass the time fifty years after it had gone out of style.

So off we went to chase after those imaginary banditos, toy revolvers in hand and glorious (imaginary) steeds beneath us. Soon enough, we got off our imaginary horses and started scrambling for the trees, away from imaginary bullets that were flying right towards us. Deacon and I started firing back at the bandits. [color=crimson][b]"I got one in the chest! Just a few more to go!"[/b][/color]

[color=lightblue][b]"I just got two in the head, Eric! Get your behind in gear!"[/b][/color] Deacon always wanted to be the best between us, so whenever I'd try and be realistic when playing, he'd be the one getting headshot after headshot on the bandits. But still, I didn't complain, because I knew he was like this. We continued to pretend we were in a shootout until finally, all of our imaginary foes had fallen.

Deacon and I ran towards each other with a laugh and high five. [color=crimson][b]"We got 'em good, didn't we?"[/b][/color]

[color=lightblue][b]"You bet! They won't be comin' 'round here no more!"[/b][/color]

[color=crimson][b]"Couldn't have done it without you, pardner!"[/b][/color]

At that, we both let out another laugh and started to head inside. It was hard to believe with our relationship now that once upon a time, we were thick as thieves, two kids against the world. We weren't born from the same parents, but we were raised by the same man, and to us that meant that for all intents and purposes, we were brothers. We still were, even when trying to kill each other.

As we sat down on the couch, finally dropping our cowboy shticks, Deacon faced me with a smile and said something that's stuck with me for years.

[color=lightblue][b]"One day, Eric, we'll be cowboys."[/b][/color]

We'll be cowboys, huh?

Yeah.

One day, Deacon, we'll be cowboys.
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