"Thank God it's Friday," you groan, climbing out of your truck. Suit jacket slung over your shoulder, you kick the door shut before walking around to the passenger side, opening the door for your passenger and offering her a hand. A chestnut haired Russian maiden accepts your assistance as she slides from the leather seat and onto the pavement, smoothing out her own business attire.
 
“Such a flatterer,” she says with a smile, Russian accent as thick as molasses.
 
“You know me, Sachi, always the Southern gentleman,” you tease with a wink and chaste kiss upon her hand. The Waffegeist of your Mosin Nagant giggles and playfully swats you on the cheek before heading up the stairs to your shared apartment. She pauses at the door, allowing you the honor of stepping into the abyss before her.
 
You follow not too far behind her, standing next to your comrade and staring at the door when you reach her. Your hand reaches for and rests on the knob, and you mutter a quick prayer to the Lord, asking for Him to give you strength. Taking a deep breath and turning the knob, you step across the threshold and brace yourself
 
“ANON’S HOME!”
 
Not even a foot in the door, you’re hit with a barrage of welcomes, ranging from the more traditional “welcome home,” to “my nigga,” and even a few consisting of “oniichan.” The last one spawns a mental note to restrict the amount of anime the smaller ones are watching, but before it can be mentally filed, no less than eight pairs of arms are wrapped around your midsection as you’re hugged by the Waffengeists of your pistols.
 
“Eloise, Penny, Sarah, Susan.” You greet each of them with a pat on the head as you try to untangle yourself from the gaggle of lolis trapping you. “I can’t hug y’all back if you’ve got me stuck here,” you chuckle. They release you, lining up with their arms outstretched towards you. You start with Eloise, your Glock 19.
 
“Hallo, meine kleine Liebe,” you tease, picking her up for a hug and kiss on the cheek. She rolls her eyes and giggles at your attempt of appealing to her Austrian heritage. She returns the kiss and hug before you set her down, moving to the next in line.
 
“Have you been behavin yourself, Penny?” The LC9s in your arms huffs and crosses her arms over her chest, brow furrowed at the question.
 
“I wouldn’t misbehave if you stopped leaving me at home when you go to work, baka!”
 
“You know I can’t carry at work, Penny, otherwise I’d take you and Eloise every day.” You rub noses with the compact pistol and peck her on the forehead. “And I know you don’t want to sit in the glovebox all day.”
 
“But Sachi gets to go to work with you and she’s a rifle!” protests the sidearm.
 
“That’s because I’m his secretary,” the Mosin calls from the kitchen, where she’s standing with the other rifles while making coffee. The pistol harrumphs at this, but you know she’s just jealous because it’s not her turn tonight. You set Penny back down and tussle her hair before turning your attention to Sarah and Susan, your Smith and Wesson Models 67 and 10. While not actual sisters, the two were inseparable as if they were.
 
“And how’re my two lil’ cowgirls?” you ask, grunting as you scoop one into each arm. The two revolvers both kiss you on the cheek simultaneously, the brims of their Stetsons bumping into one another above your head.
 
“We’ve been practicing our spinning routine, Anon!” declares Sarah, a proud smile painted across her freckled face.
 
“We finally got the tag team part of it polished, we gotta show you,” adds Susan, enthusiastically nodding.
 
“Hell yeah, y’all definitely gonna have to show me.” You bounce the two up and down a little bit to emphasize your eagerness to see what they’ve accomplished in their free time. “How bout tomorrow, hm?”
 
“Awww, not now?” Susan pouts.
 
“C’mon Anon, please?” Sarah begs.
 
The two put on their best puppy dog expressions in an attempt to guilt you into watching their routine right then and there. You’re having none of that, though, and promptly threaten no ice cream after dinner. Before either can protest, Eloise pipes up.
 
“Schließen sie der Mund, bitte!” pleads your Glock. She is especially eager for the frozen desert, as it’s German chocolate. The revolvers sigh in defeat, accepting that they will have to wait until tomorrow to show you what they have come up with.
 
“Good girls,” you say, kissing both on the cheek. You then set them down with the other two pistols, the quartet of lolis then running off to their shared bedroom to play. You hope they find something not too destructive to pass the time, but you know well enough that’s a pipedream. Chuckling to yourself, you walk into the kitchen and lay your suit jacket over the back of a chair. Sachi, now leaning on the counter, offers you a cup of fresh coffee.
 
“And how’re my ladies?” you ask, accepting the cup and sipping on the steaming black gold. The bitter warmth of it livens your weary body from the long day at the office.
 
“Pretty good, homie,” answers Sam, your Hi-Point carbine. She walks over and raises her fist, which you instinctively bump with your own, beginning your simple yet above-average handshake that she had insisted on teaching you. Something about being “a real MvP, nigga.” The greeting ends with the two of you gently bumping foreheads, at which time you take the opportunity to quickly plant a light kiss on her nose.
 
“Damn honkey,” she grumbles, a faint blush playing across her face. She quickly pulls the hood of her Hi-Point hoodie over her head in an effort to hide her reddened complexion as she goes back to sitting at the table.
 
“Hush, you know you like it,” you tease. She mumbles something along the lines of a reluctant agreement, but you don’t really catch it as another of your rifles approaches you.
 
“Welcome home, Anon,” purrs Lili. The AMD-65’s rabbit ears flatten as she leans forward to gently kiss your cheek, one hand lightly resting upon your chest.
 
“Evening, Lili.” You place your hands on the Hungarian’s slim waist as you pull her into a hug, returning the loving kiss to both of her cheeks. One of your hands slides up her back to her head, gently petting her lapin ears. A content sigh escapes her, urging you to continue the petting. “They give you much trouble today?”
 
“Not any more than usual, no,” she says, leaning into the petting. “The little ones kept occupied with either their Japanese cartoons, reading, or practice in the case of Sarah and Susan. Sascha has been watching Remi and Rouge most of the day, playing board games and such.”
 
“And Sam?” you inquire, glancing over to your wigger of a Waffegeist.
 
“She did her share, as always,” Lili states matter-of-factly. Sam sticks her tongue out at you in triumph, to which you respond with a raspberry. “Stop acting like a child,” Lili says with a laugh, placing a finger against your lips to stop your immature behavior.
 
“What’re y’all havin for dinner tonight?” You release your velveteen rifle as she moves to check the pots sitting atop the stove. You move to stand next to Sachi and begin running your fingers through her back length hair.
 
“Since it’s Friday and you won’t be here, I decided chicken tenders, mac and cheese, and some green beans.” She notices your raised eyebrow at her mention of the vegetable. “We may be firearms, but that’s no excuse to not enjoy some food that’s actually healthy.”
 
“Ever the loving housewife and mother of the group,” quips Sachi, grinning at her Eastern European compatriot.
 
“Well, it only makes sense for me to do so, as you fill the role of the working spouse,” she says with a shrug and delicate smile.
 
“This is true. Anon sure is lucky he gets the best of both worlds, huh?” the Russian asks, playfully elbowing you in the side.
 
“So, my nigga, who’s turn is it tonight?” Sam slides back into the conversation from her spot at the table. Her voice carries a hint of hope that it will be her turn.
 
“Sascha’s, if I remember correctly,” you reply, finishing your coffee. “She’s given up her turn each time the rotation’s come back to her, so I’m hopin’ she’s had enough time to adjust. Besides, you just had your turn two weeks ago, dawg, don’t be so greedy.” Her face seems to falter a bit at your response, but she does her best to seem unfazed by it.
 
You walk over to the now disappointed looking Geist and wrap your arms around her from behind, prompting her to lean her head back. Her hazel eyes stare back into your own, unblinking as the blush from earlier slowly creeps back across her face. You lean down and plant a quick kiss on her lips, her face now a dark crimson.
 
“Doesn’t mean I love you any less, you little wigger.”
 
“Sh-Shut up, fuckin’ cracker,” she grumbles, again hiding inside of her hoodie. A muffled response of “Not like I was wantin it to be my turn, I was just wantin to know” comes from inside the pink pullover.
 
Sachi and Lili quietly chuckle at their fellow Geist’s reaction to your affection, but soon begin chatting with one another while the Hungarian tends to the food preparation. Not one for small talk, you excuse yourself and make your way to the rifles’ bedroom, where you find Sascha, your other Mosin, lying on her bed. She’s reading Antony Beevor’s Stalingrad for the umpteenth time while Remi and Rouge, your Nylon 66 and 10/22, play checkers on the floor. You lightly knock on the wooden doorframe, grabbing their attention.
 
“Anon!” the two .22 rifles cry in unison.
 
They leap to their feet, board game forgotten as they both tackle hug you. While larger than the pistol Geists, they’re still only about the size of girls in their mid-teens, so you’re able to easily pick them up. One at a time, similar to the ritual earlier, you pull them into a hug and pick them up, kissing them on the cheek before. As you finish with them, you notice Sascha quietly standing off to the side, waiting to greet you. Hands behind her back, she’s staring down at her booted feet, the tip of her right one rubbing at a spot in the carpet.
 
“Rouge, Remi, give us a moment?” you ask the small bore rifles. The two nod and leave the room, giggling as they do so, knowing the reasoning behind the request for privacy. You shut the door behind them with before turning your attention to the shy, bubba’d 91/30 standing before you.
 
Well-worn blue jeans and camo hunting boots complement her tied-up t-shirt, her exposed midriff filling your eyes with the sight of her sun-tanned skin. As you approach her, she meekly looks up from the floor, the bill of her camouflage mesh hat pulled low enough to still hide those beautiful eyes that you long to look into. You reach up and pull the hat away, careful to not catch your finger on the large fishhook stuck to the bill.
 
“Hi, Anon,” she quietly drawls, her voice carrying a velvety fusion of the cotton fields of Dixieland and the harsh tundra of Siberia. You know her accent is a byproduct of her having been cut down into a hunting rifle, but you liken it to warm sunshine on a cool day in autumn.
“Evenin, Sascha,” you drawl, allowing your own Southern accent to flow as thick as cane syrup.
 
You gently lay a hand on her cheek, holding her there as you stare into her dual-colored eyes. One, a deep, dark blue like that of the ocean, the other a shimmering amber comparable only to fresh summer honey. You feel like you could lose yourself in those pools mesmerizing colors, despite their being a side-effect from having her front sight post replaced, a new one welded on in place fallowing the cutting down of her barrel and stock. While her straw colored hair and she herself are shorter than her fellow Mosin, Sachi, due to her having been cut down, you can’t help but find beauty in what she considers to be imperfections.
 
“You know that tonight’s your turn for date-night, right?” you ask, leading her to sit on the edge of the bed. You sit next to her, laying a loving arm around her shoulders. She looks down to the floor, not meeting your gaze as she nods.
 
“Are you still not too keen on the whole matter?”
 
She shrugs, an incoherent response just escaping her lips.
 
“I won’t force you, you know that,” you assure her, rubbing her shoulder. “I know you’re still getting used to being in a family that you don’t have to hide your non-weapon form, but know that we’re all here for you and love you like one of our own because you are part of the family.”
 
You stand, a little disappointed but understanding, and begin to move towards the door when your hand is caught in her grip. You stop, not even two steps from the bed, looking over your shoulder to find her looking up at you, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. You immediately turn to face her, but before you can ask what’s wrong she springs to her feet and latched onto you, quietly sobbing into your chest.
 
“Shh, shh, it’s okay, Sascha, it’s okay,” you coo, slowly petting her back. “What’s wrong, darlin’?”
 
She takes a few deep, ragged breaths as she attempts to calm herself while still clinging to you as if her life depended on it. You continue to rub her back, doing what little you can to console the weepy Waffegeist. After a few minutes, she finally is able to choke out what has her upset.
 
“W-Why are you so nice to m-me?” she whines, tears streaked down her cheeks.
 
“Why am I nice to you? Sascha, you’re one of my guns and I love my guns, y’all are my family.” You reach up to gently wipe her cheeks with your thumb.
 
“But I-I’m just a b-butchered piece of surplus,” she coughs. “Y-You’ve got S-Sachi, sh-she’s a perfect Mosin and I’m… I’m… “
 
You silence her before she can continue, your finger lightly pressed to her lips. You shake your head, sighing. “Sascha, sweetie, come here.” You lead her back to sitting on the bed, this time pulled into your laps. Her arms quickly lock in place around your neck, your own holding her close. She buries her face into the crook of your neck.
 
“Sascha, when Penny pointed you out to me at the gun show two months ago, three things caught my attention. The good price, the modifications made to you, and you know what else?”
 
She shakes her head, face not leaving your shoulder.
 
“How amazing you looked, despite having been bubba’d.”
 
“Don’t lie,” she whines. “I’m not worth anything like this.”
 
“Then why did I burn the cash on you, hm? I saw you in rifle form, and knowing you were a Geist, my mind was racing with the image of how you would look in human form.” You lean back, just enough to make her look you in the eye. “And honey, my imagination was nowhere near close to how wonderful you actually look.”
 
“Really?” Her eyes stare into your own, searching for any sign that you may be lying. The gleam of sincerity as you speak, however, reveals that you are indeed telling the truth.
 
“Mhmm, really. You forget, Sascha, that even though we’re not in Dixie anymore, I’m still a Georgia boy.” You lean in, causing her to flinch out of fear, but she’s surprised when you instead kiss her cheek. “So to me, you’re my pretty lil’ country queen who brings me back home to the backroads that I grew up on.”
 
“I’m, um… flattered, Anon, I really am,” she breathes quietly, a faint blush playing across her face.
 
“With that being said, I wish you’d allow me to treat you as such. So, will you let me take you out tonight and treat you like my redneck Juliet?”
 
She’s red in the face at this point, she’s blushing so hard, but this doesn’t keep her from laughing at your words. You flash a goofy smile at her, happy to see her livening up.
 
“You’re so cheesy, Anon,” she laughs, shaking her head. “Fine, I’ll go tonight, so long as you promise to treat me like one of your Georgia peaches from back home. Deal?”
 
“Y’all ain’t got nothin to worry bout, sugar.” You give her your best copenhagen smile before leaning in to plant a quick kiss on her lips. As you go to pull back, though, she leans in for one more, kissing you back.
 
“Let’s go, then,” she says, jumping to her feet. “Let’s go burn it down!”