Frostbite-Derringer

    >You go to the gun store, bored, and with money to spend. You glance over the rusty milsurps and fudded shotguns, before moving to pistol case.
    >They've got a new batch of NAA derringers, so you ask for a short barreled .22lr to look at.
    >It feels warm, and handy. You instantly fall for the tiny revolver.
    >"How much?" You ask the clerk.
    >"$220." He replies. "You want it?"
    >You nod, and the paperwork starts. But after 20 minutes or so, you walk out with a plastic case.
    >You open the box, your new derringer sitting out in the open as drive home. "It's alright, you can come out now."
    >"Uh... H-hi." You hear a squeaky voice. You turn to look at her, but what you see causes you to swerve and half to slam the breaks. You expected her to be small, but...

>She's the size of one of those old Star Wars figures, looking up at you shyly. "A-are you okay, mister?"
>You nod, just watching her for a moment. "I'm uh... Anon. Sorry, I've never met such a small gun."
>"Yeah, and most people go for my Magnum sisters..." She says. "But you bought me!... Why though?"
>"I dunno, I picked you up and I guess we just kinda clicked." You reply, watching her blush and nod slowly. You start off towards home.
>You pull in and open the truck door, before turning to her and extending your hand. She takes the hint, hopping on to it. You carry her inside, going to the ammo cabinet and grabbing the .22s.
>"You're gunna shoot me already?" She blinks up at you excitedly. You reply with a knowing smile, walking outside and too the old deer crossing sign you use as a target.

>You empty the spent casings out, and load the cylinder again. This time, you plan to play cowboy a bit.
>You position the revolver at the hip, with your other hand in position to fan the hammer. You cock the hammer, and start shooting, quickly fanning back the hammer and firing again. You repeat the proses, but don't fan it as well and have to do it again before firing, fanning, and firing again until she runs empty.
>You empty it out, and set the little revolver down. She quickly changed back, panting and wheezing. "Huh... Heh... You probably s-shouldn't go that f-fast... I'm no Peacemaker, cowboy..." She gets out, leaning against the box of ammo. Her crotch is soaked with "oil", the little wheelgun drawing her legs in in embarrassment.
>"They over oil you at the factory, don't worry about it. Most companies that care about their products soak you in the stuff." You comfort, noticing the mess. You scoop her up, stuffing the ammo in your pocket.
>"Come on, it's probably time to get you cleaned up anyway...~" You grins down at her, enjoying the look of excited shock on her face.

>You whistle to yourself, walking inside and grabbing the ammo tin of cleaning supplies. You sit on the couch, turning on the tv as you start getting things out to clean and oil her.
>She watches with a blush as you set aside various supplies. You look to her for a second, contemplating if you have everything. You decide no, and go to the kitchen to grab an old mug, returning and setting it down.
>"Uh... What's that for, anon?" She asks, looking over the rim into the empty cup.
>You grin, opening up some good old fashion corn oil (hey, the leafs used it, and it's safe for raifus) and give her a simple reply. "You. Undress, I'll need to get to the little parts."
>Her cheeks are a hot red, but she's tingling with excitement, giving a shiver in though as she slowly pulls her clothes off. She's nervous, but seems ready. You help her into the mug, then put a dollop of oil on on your index finger.

>You grin down at the tiny little woman, before running your oil slicked finger over her tummy, earning a squeak of surprise. You rub up over her chest, giving her breasts a little extra attention, before moving up under her arms, then down one side.
>You add another drop of oil to your fingers, then rub up the inside of her thighs. She murrs softly, holding onto the sides of the mug as you oil up her "chamber" with a knowing smirk.
>You pull away to finish rubbing her down, the little lady huffing in frustration. "Y-you can't just s-tart and then leave..." She frowns up at you.
>You smile, giver her tiny nose a boop. "Soak a little bit. After you're clean, I'll have to clean you off... Then I think I can spare a little oil to keep you... Going~"
>She nods, leaning against the side of the cup as you start to glean the factory grease out of the grips, making sure she's has a clean set of clothes to get into.
>This doesn't take too long, and you pull out a clean washcloth, helping the little derringer out of her bath. You then wrap her up, drying the access cleaner off.

>You're left with a nude little raifu, wrapped up in a towel, sitting in your hands. "Feeling better?"
>She nods. "Yeah, but wha-"
>"Later." You tease with a grin, rubbing her head with a finger. "It's more fun if you have to wait a bit."
>This earns a grown from the wrapped up wheelgun. You simply smile back, caressing her head as you sit back, watching tv. If nothing else, she lools comfy sitting on your stomach.
>"You hungry?" You ask. She replies with a nod. "Alright, I'll go make us something." You say, scooping her up and setting her on the arm rest as you go to kitchen.
>You find a cup of instant Mac and Cheese, and decide that it'll be good enough for both of you. It's easy too, add water and microwave.
>2 minutes at high heat later, and you return to your seat, ready to face the next challenge. You consider the bowl of cheesey pasta, and pull one of the little tubes out, splitting it in two. You give her one half.
>She takes it, biting in and chewing.
>"That work?"
>"Mmhmm!" She nods with a smile, happily eating as you spoon out a mouthful to do the same.

>You sit back, eating your instant Mac, occasionally breaking a piece off for your new revolver as you both idly watch Cops run runs on TV.
>But the food and originality of show ends, and you start to feel tired. You set your cup aside, and hand the little raifu her clothes. "Come on, it's getting late."
>She wiggles into her things. "Yeah, I guess it is..." She replies, sitting in your hand as you stand, making your way to bed.
>You enter, setting her down as you strip to a tshirt and undies, then flop in. Aside from your mattress sounding like its dying, you flip your new friend off of her rear and into a fold in the blankets.
>"Sorry... Probably a good time to mention I roll around in my sleep." You say, helping her out of the fold.
>"Well... I could sleep by your head." She says, walking over and flopping onto the pillow. "Think that'll work? I mean, safer than near an arm or something, right?"
>"Uhhuh, something like that..." You say, starting to doze off. "I'll see you later... Well hunt snakes or something..." You suggest, before sleep yanks you into her black depths.


==================


>You awake slowly the next morning, and instinctively roll over to put off trying to act like a functioning member of society.
>In the process, you roll the sleeping, tiny wheelgun off of your chest. She lands in the sheets near your face, clearly displeased. "H-hey!"
>"Sorry..." You reply, drunk on early morning drowsiness. You sit up, rubbing your face and eyes. She climbs onto the bedside table, watching as you get up.
>"Are we going to go shooting again? You said you would yesterday..."
>"Yeah, but not alone..." You blink, realizing that you've failed to make an introduction. You open the drawer on the night stand, preparing to rectify that. "Meet-"
>"Kopile! Vhy do you keep me lock away when we have guests?!" They very upset cat eared waffegiest interrupts, throwing a pen at your face.
>"... fiftyseven." You frown as the Tokarev's pen bounces off your nose. "Sorry, I got... carried away?"
>The black haired auto loader glares at your from the drawer, tail flicking around in annoyance. "Remember better then, before I rust away in here."
>You look at the Yugo and the Derringer. "... let me get half decent looking, and we'll go find something to put holes in." You explain, getting up and walking to the bathroom, leaving the two pistols as you go through the normal routine of brushing and showering and what not.
>You return, 57 stopping an impromptu lesson on corrosive primers to chastise you. "Why have you not given her a name yet?"
>"You don't rush names!" You frown. "And besides, not having a name fits the western feel..."
>"Dee what?"
>You start to explain, before realizing that the Slav has probably never seen The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. This was a crime, you resolve to fix this later. "Nevermind, I'll show you later..."
>You dig out the ammo for both guns, stuffing it into a milsurp shoulder bag, then stuff each of the pistols into their own shirt pocket... then steal a banana as you head out.
>The little .22 pokes her head out of your pocket. "So... why no name?"
>"He is of uncreative!" Interjects the Yugo in your other pocket. You start to counter... but realise you call her 57...
>"Some people say you have to earn it." You reply to the wheelgun, ignoring the auto loader."But... if you really want one... How about Susan? Susan, Sidewinder, it works, right?"
>"... I'll take it." She replies, watching the world move as you step out into the yard.
>"Good choice, friend. Now find something for me, pička!" The Tokarev adds. Being the mature adult, you ignore her and eat your fruity breakfast, both the girls watching out of your shit as you head into the forest.
>Its sunny, hot, and muggy. A normal day in the American south. You walk down the old gravel road towards the abandoned house on the property. Its archaic, falling in, stuffed full of old furnature and early 2000s sports equipment, and sports more than a few bullet holes from a it's use as the backdrop for a poorly thought out range trip. Oops.
>But most importantly, the old wooden door, held on by a single wire, had been pushed open. This sends a chill down the back of your neck, followed by a flush of anger.
>You decide to investigate, going into your pocket and pulling out Susan in her metal from, ready to bust some shins.
>"I'd rather you use me, but be careful, I don't want to spend the rest of my days in evidence locker." The Tokarev warns, but your mind is made, and you start toward the door...