Baxville strapped her twin pistols into her shoulder harness, whistling for her hounds. They tore from behind the Westward Factory, which was taller than night itself, but less illustrious than the competition–Southbend Incorporate–sitting pristinely on the corner.
Within seconds, sulfur and wet appreciative tongues descended on Baxville, but she pushed her adoring canines aside, striding across the fog- laden street, crimson under the Westward’s lighting. Baxville thudded on Southbend’s chiseled grand entrance like she was representing hell itself. “Lyon, we are going to duel this out once and for all!”
A girl in a white waistcoat peered through an angled window.
Baxville continued, “Your granddaddy cheated on that deal. You know it! Southbend is mine!”
“Well your daddy cheated on his wife, coming to the sweeter side.” The impeccable duchess smiled back coldly.
Baxville growled and her dogs assaulted the window; Lyon could be seen falling back–hard–onto the checkered tile. While Lyon recovered inside, Baxville pulled out a pistol and aimed at her own mirrored reflection.
Lyon was still muffled behind the glass: “Just because I get your inheritance too, doesn’t mean you get mine.”
“If you only knew what came with Westward,” Baxville sneered, “then you wouldn’t be so keen to take all.”
Lyon glared. “Oh, I know what comes with Westward: irrationality, daddy’s bones and loads of money.”
As always, Baxville fired at the diamond glass with a resounding crack, then turned back towards the factory, the Westward’s hounds behind her. Baxville only performed this defeating ritual hoping to force her half-sister’s salvation.
This was written for Flash! Friday Fiction