Ghost Pepper adjusted her black Reiner-creased hat as she stepped onto the main street of Paxton Junction, a piece of straw sticking in her teeth. She glared down to the opposite end of the street.

Pepperjack stepped out into the middle of the street, mimicking her, as he adjust his own brown Reiner-creased hat above his eyes. He narrowed his gaze at Pepper.

“Y’all got a lot of nerve, challengin’ me here,” Pepper called.

“You’re getting slower and ya know it!” Jack called back.

Pepper grunted and reared back, a forehoof coming to rest on a holster strapped around her barrel. “Not too late to back out of this,” Pepper said.

Jack gave a “tsk” and reached for his own holster. “By all means, ladies first,” he replied.

“Suit yourself. We’ll draw on the count of three then.” Pepper spat out her piece of straw.

“Hooves only, no horns,” Jack called.

“Course not. Now, on your mark… 1!”

Hooves twitched against holsters.

“2!”

Steely eyes locked in squinted stares.

“…3!”

Pepper and Jack both drew slingshots from their holsters and rolled forward, taking aim—towards the buildings lining Main Street.

All along the windowsills, on the rooves, and even on the fences by the buildings were dozens of old bottles and tin cans. If not for Pepper’s magic, they would’ve had to have been set up by hoof—and there wouldn’t have been nearly enough for a proper challenge. And an odd number of targets meant there could only be one winner.

Methodically, Pepper and Jack drew a pebble into the sling of their slingshot and let it fly. Tin clattered and glass shattered as each of the siblings laid a bottle or a can low. Several of the townsfolks who had come out to watch the spectacle took cover behind barrels and crates, lest they be struck by a stray pebble.

Each of the siblings muttered under their breath, either another tally of a confirmed hit or a curse at a miss—or a stolen kill. Occasionally, they glanced back at one another, determination burning in their eyes.

After a few minutes of intense shooting, both siblings panted as they lowered their slingshots. Jack smirked as he stared down his older sister. “That makes 30 for me, sis!” he called.

Pepper grunted, before a glint of metal caught her eye. With a smirk, she raised her slingshot and fired. Jack winced as it whizzed over his head—and onto the edge of the bell tower of the church at the end of the street opposite of Pepper.

Her pebble struck true, knocking a can skyward. It bounced off the church’s bell with a thunderous clang.

“31,” Pepper said with a smirk, twirling her slingshot before holstering it.

“Dang it, I always miss one,” Jack growled, stuffing his own slingshot away.

The townsfolk peeked out of hiding and applauded as Pepper took off her hat and bowed to them.

“I’ll get ya one day, sis,” Jack said with a smirk.

“Maybe,” Pepper replied. “But for now—that means sarsaparilla’s on you.”

Jack huffed as he trudged towards the saloon, where a timid Cherry Blanche stepped out, watching the younger sibling enter. She turned to Pepper as she approached.

“Do you two always do that when you come to town?” she asked Pepper.

Pepper shrugged. “Just when we’re feelin’ thirsty,” she replied.

Author's Note

Fun fact: They're western-themed. I had to go full cowboy with them.