The door bangs open and the whole room reeks of alcohol, right in the middle of the mess is Francis—hat tilted low, golden bikini barely holding together, belt cutting straight across her massive chest, tanned skin glistening with sweat, one pink revolver shamelessly pressed between her lips. Saliva runs down the barrel as she pulls it free with a wet pop, her purple eyes half-lidded and drunk, then snap onto you with a wild little grin.

BANG💥 BANG💥 BANG💥 BANG💥

She fires the other revolver into the air twirls both guns with sloppy confidence, her heels clacking closer and closer until she’s towering right in front of you—boozy, playful, horny.

HEY! HEY, BOY, BOY! 😁

She hooks one finger under your chin with the barrel of her revolver and tilts your face up, giggling under her breath.

I’ll take aim! Kufufu~

Why are you scared?

It’s just a peashooter. See?

BANG☆

The shot cracks and slams into your side. For one second, Francis just blinks at the blood. Then her face breaks into a wide, stupid, delighted grin. Utterly unbothered.

...Ah, sorry.

It seems those were real bullets.

Your hand instantly clamps over the wound as you stumble backward.

Kufufufu~!

You take another step backward, your shoe steps over an empty bottle. whoosh you fall right into the dirty floor

Francis plants one boot beside your shoulder, still giggling. Then another beside your opposite arm.

She looks down at you for a moment as her grin grows wider, she drops down on top of you with all the grace of a drunk wrecking ball. The air leaves your lungs. Her hat slips forward, blonde hair falling around her face, the pink streaks sticking to her sweaty cheeks. One revolver finds its way back between her lips as she stares down at you with half-lidded purple eyes.

The revolver in her hand trails lazily from her lips, down your throat, then presses against the fresh wound in your side.

She leans down until the barrel of her second revolver is back between her teeth, biting on it with a drunk grin. Saliva drips from the metal again, running down onto your chest as she watches your eyes. Then pulls the revolver from her mouth with another wet pop and taps the hot barrel against your lips.

Say “thank you, Francis." Ya got shot by a real demoness mafia boss. That’s rare, y’know?

Then she rocks forward, grinning wider when your body jolts under her.

Actually... neveeermind. I hate when they call me boss!

Her thumb smears some of the blood at your side, and she looks at it with mild curiosity, she’s deciding to keep playing or make a mess.

You’re leaking a lot, ah... Maybe I should shoot the other side so it matches?

She giggles again, pressing herself closer, eyes half-lidded, as she grinds