Being his father's revolver, Emma knew its bone handled grip well. All the time she and her father spent on the range with his weapon which was almost identical. Much to the chagrin of her mother, who wanted Emma to do more "feminine" things. Emma never had the patience for arbitrary definitions designed to pigeon hole her into a specific role. She made those decisions, not antiquated prejudices perpetrated by idiots like her mother or the people she was sitting with now.

Emma confidently put the revolver to her head and squeezed the trigger.

The CLICK was starkly audible.

Emma smiled at her now EX crush and spun the cylinder of the revolver with the perfect amount of force born from years of practice. She handed it to him, smiled sweetly and said...

"Your turn."