>It's been roughly a week since you brought home your most recent purchase, a Barrett M90, that turned out to have a spirit of sorts living with in it.

>The week that followed that first weekend with the rifle was as normal as normal can be while serving as a sheriff's deputy. While the pay is decent enough, it's not enough to justify the headaches and stress that come with the job.

>Penni, despite her attitude, picks up on this throughout the work week as you leave early and come home late, well after your shift should have ended.

>She finally voices her concern come Friday night as you trudge through the door around seven.

>"So how goes drivin yerself to an early grave?" she asks from behind a bottle of Guinness, lounging in the recliner.

>You walk to one end of the couch and unclasp your duty belt, allowing it and all your gear to fall to the floor before you lean forward and let yourself fall onto the couch, face buried in the cushions.

>"Oh, ye don't say? Sounds like an excitin time was had by all!" she continues, unblinking. She deftly flips through channels, her attention primarily focused on finding something to watch.

>You limply raise an arm and flip her an exhausted, yet annoyed, bird.

>"We're out of beer, by the way," she comments with a belch.

>You pull your face out of the cushion and rest your head on its side, sending her as many agitated vibes as possible.

"I just bought you another pack last night... And the night before that."

>"Yeh, and I drank it all!"

"I ain't made of money," you groan. "Either you start drinking cheaper booze, or I start buying only a pack a week."

>Her head jerks towards you in disgust and shock, a look of utter disappointment and surprise on her face.

>"Feckin wot, mate? You expect me to drink that piss water you Yanks call beer?" she spits, mouth agape.

"Either that, or you cut back."

>"What, am I actually too expensive for you like I initially said?" she laughs.

>You roll over to face the back of the couch and pull your legs in slightly as you curl up, slowly drifting towards sleep.

"Just deal with it till I get new job," you yawn.

>"What might that be? Bein a real cop too much for ye? Gonna go walk around the mall with a scary flashlight and radio?"

>You answer her with a snore, having fallen asleep on the couch, exhaustion from the week catching up with you.

>She sits on the edge of the recliner and leans forward enough to shake you a little.

>"O'Connell, don't be passin out till ye've fixed me supper. O'Connell? Feck... "

>When you fail to wake from her attempts at rousing you, she moves into the kitchen and begins raiding the fridge.

>"Shiet, we're out o' groceries... Good thing I don't need ta eat," she mutters.

>She stands and pauses, looking around the kitchen and conjoined living room areas, trying to decide what to do to relieve her boredom while her shooter is passed out on the couch.

>She leans against the wall, chewing her lip as she considers her options. She could play a game on the PlayStation, but you're passed out in the prime position to sit while playing.

>Not like she couldn't just roll you off the couch, but she isn't that much of a bitch... Well, actually, it's more along the lines of she can't decide what game to play that she already hasn't logged a chunk of playtime on.

>After a few moments quietly contemplating, an idea pops into her noggin.

>"Mebe he's got some kinda stash o' porn or some shit somewhere," she snickers, rubbing her gloved hands together.

>She quickly makes her way into your room, turning on the light before kneeling next to the bed and reaching under it as she searches for any kind of personal items.

>As her hands search and search, they make contact with what feels to be a small wooden box.

>"Jackpot!" she chuckles, wrapping her fingers around it.

"Hey, Panni!" you yell from the sofa, sitting up and stretching.

>"Shit!" she hisses, letting go of the box

>She climbs to her feet and walks back into the living room, looking down at you as you slowly awaken from your short nap.

>"Ye back with us, Sleepin Beauty?" she quips.

"If you want food, you'll shove it," you grunt, rubbing your tired eyes. "You good with Chinese buffet?"

>Her eyes light up slightly at the prospect of all she can eat.

>"Tha' same place we went on Tuesday?"

>You nod, cracking your back and neck.

"Let me change out of my uniform and we'll go, then maybe a beer."

"Feck yeh, now yer speaking my language!"

>You quickly change into a pair of jeans and a polo, and then the two of you are out the door and heading down the road in your truck.

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

>You've known and dated plenty of girls with an impressive appetite, that's the truth.

>However, nothing you've seen before compares to the garbage disposal sitting across the table from you.

>You and Panni, the spirit of your still unfired Barrett M90, have only been at the local Chinese buffet for roughly twenty minutes and she's already on her third plate with no signs of slowing down.

"So," you finally ask, swallowing a mouthful of rice. "You're a rifle, but you still eat?"

>She stops, an egg roll hanging from her already overstuffed face, and looks up from her mountain of food.

>"Mmhmff," she nods.

"Are there others like you, or are you some kind of fluke?"

>She swallows hard and furrows her brows at your choice of words.

>"Feckin gob shite, I'm no fluke, I'm a damn gift to this green earth!"

>You silently stick a piece of chicken into your mouth and give a slight nod.

>"Whot? I'm a bloody treat!"

"So, anyway... Are there others?"

>"Aye, plenty o' us runnin around, but not every firearm has a spirit."

>She takes a bite from one of the three other egg rolls on her plate and gestures with the remaining half.

>"The talk 'mongst others is somethin bout a 'Mother of Rifles,' but that's just a buncha heathens talkin."

"Some kinda weapon spirit religion?"

>"Aye, buncha dirty heretics the lot of em, t'ain't a one believes in the Lord," she spits, taking a forceful bite from her egg roll.

>You can only nod as you drink from your glass of water as she speaks, obvious passion in her words.

"So, safe to assume you're Catholic, too?" you ask over your glass.

>"Wasn't always," she answers through a mouth of lo mein. "Least not that I can remember. First time I appeared was somewhere in South Armagh, up in the occupied part of Ireland."

>You raise an eyebrow at this bit of news regarding her past, but let her continue to speak out of curiosity.

>"Suppose I'd always been aware, but not fully, ye know?" she asks, gesturing with a forked dumpling. "But so, first time I appeared was in the attic of some- hey wait!"

>She slams her fork down on her plate and shoots an arm in your direction, index finger aimed right for your face, an angered look upon her own.

>"Ye feckin gombeen, tryin ta get me to jabber on while I'm distracted with food?" she accuses.

"No, no, no!" you protest, raising your hands. "I'm tryin to get to know you while filling that black hole you call a stomach, that's all!"

>"Don't ye be fergettin what I told ya a week ago! I ain't yer friend, I ain't yer mate, I ain't yer buddy! Jus' cause ye've gotten on me good side, doesn't mean I'm gonna open up to ya!"

"Alright, alright! Just tryin to at least get on decent terms with ya since we live together," you grunt, rolling your eyes as you inhale a forkful of fried rice.

>"Now, if ye wanna know bout me, startin askin some questions that ain't gonna require my whole life story."

>She resumes vacuuming the food from her plate, draining another glass of coke and sets it on the half of the table that's been converted into a graveyard of sorts for empty cups and plates.

"Well, shit, is there anything /you/ think I should know about you if we're gonna be stuck together?"

>You scrape the last bit of food from your first plate, your stomach already feeling full.

>"I like food and drink, I fancy some games here and there, some television... Oh, and nappin and shootin," she states matter-of-factly.

"What kind of games? I know you like Fifa, but what else?"

>You might have found something.

>"I tried some o' them shooter war games, but it's all so stupid, buncha damn wee muppets yellin over the comms bout fuckin the others' mothers. Nothin' but cannon fodder," she laughs, stuffing another whole dumpling in her maw. 

"So you're good at them, then?"

>She shrugs, chewing and swallowing before leaning back in her chair.

>"Eh, I suppose. By the way, you're max prestige on Call of Duty, now, and max rank on Battlefield 1. Kill ratio ain't too shabby, either, if I do say so myself."

"... What is it?"

>"Oh, I think it was nothin too flashy, just uh... Now what was it?"

>She makes a show of attempting to recall the stat, stroking her chin and biting her lip.

"Just tell me already," you groan, rubbing your temple.

>"Bout 2.5 on both of em," she snickers.

>The biggest shit eating grin sits on her face as she watches your own visage contort in shock.

"You're shitting me? I could barely break a ratio of one!" you cry, hands flying into the air.

>"Wait till I tell ye how I used to do on Halo," she chuckles, standing from her chair. "But first, more food!"

>She barely makes it five steps to the buffet before a short Chinese waitress steps in front of her, shaking his hands and head.

"No more go food for large lady!" she barks. "You too fat, no more food unless more money!"

>Oh fuck.

>"Ye fookin whot, lass?" she growls, staring down at the tiny woman. "I'll help myself, thank ye very much!"

>You jump from your seat as it becomes apparent the waitress gives no sign of standing down. And with your fear of Panni picking her up and tossing her across the restaurant, you have the nagging feeling it best to defuse the situation.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy Panni," you say, wedging yourself between the two.

>You turn to the waitress and hand a few bills, asking for no change. She quickly counts it and nods before shuffling off, obviously satisfied with the 25% tip. You then turn to Panni, who's wearing a disgusted look.

>"Ye just gonna let her talk to me like that?" 

"Hey, this is the only Chinese buffet that doesn't give me the shits, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't get us thrown out, thank you very much!"

>You begin trying to lead her towards the door, but she doesn't budge.

>"Give me one good reason to not go knock that wee slanty-eyed on her arse before continuing to help myself to the buffet?" she demands, crossing her arms over her bosom.

"Fuckin shit, Panni, maybe cause I don't feel like having my coworkers called to arrest my damn rifle for laying out some poor Chink?" you hiss, lowering your voice.

>"Still not good enough, gonna need more incentive."

"The hell? I feed ya, house ya, what else? I'll take ya to one of the small bars for a few drinks soon as you get in the truck, promise!" you plead. "Just come on, damn it."

>"I want to go shooting, and some match grade ammo." she states.

>At this point, people are beginning to stare and mutter to one another as the two of you stand in the middle of the restaurant arguing. If it gets you out of there, you would accept her terms of buying a pack of Guinness a day if needed.

"Fine, fine, just get in the truck!"

>"There ye go, now yer negotiatin!" she laughs, patting you on the head as she walks past you and towards the door.

>You can feel the pain in your bank account but you're grateful to be leaving without any small Asian women being turned into a missile.

>You rest your forehead on the steering wheel, no debating if you really should take her to the pub.

"... You ready to head home?" you ask, praying for an answer you know you won't receive.

>"Ye just promised me we'd head to the pub, so to the bed we go!" she answers, gesturing towards the road. 

"Just please don't cause a scene there, too," you plead, pulling out of the parking lot.

>"I don't cause scenes, ye idiot! I keep things interesting!"

"So that's what you call it?"

>"Shut up and drive, I'm thirstin for a pint."

>It's not too far of a drive to the bar you had up until recently frequented, so you thankfully don't have to test Panni's ability to behave while riding shotgun long distance. As you pull into your usual parking spot, however, a wave of realization hits you like a cold bucket of water to the face.

>Not only is this your usual bar, it's also the same bar where your fellow officers like to go after long shifts.

>You quickly scan the parking lot and spot a few familiar trucks and cars.

"... Fuck."

>The joke around the department is that you haven't been coming for drinks after work this last week because you found a girlfriend.

>And here you are, about to walk into the bar with your /female/ weapon spirit for a roommate.

"Double fuck."

>Before you can say anything to the Irish Barrett, she's already halfway across the parking lot while you're still sitting in the driver's seat.

"Triple fuck!"

>You nearly fall as you scramble out the cab, door slamming as you run towards her.

"Panni, wait!"

>"C'mon, damn it, I'm dyin of thirst," she complains, shoving you forward.

"No, wait a second, before we go inside I need to tell you something!"

>"Hold it in until I'm halfway through my second drink," she argues, opening the door with one hand and pushing you through with the other.

>The moment you're shoved through the door, multiple people call your name as they welcome you. However, the small, one room pub goes quiet as Panni walks in and stands beside you.

>"The feck you all lookin at?" she asks.

"I knew he had himself a girlfriend!" yells the bartender.

>Laughter bursts forth from your friends and coworkers, a few clapping for you and others yelling about how you "did a good job."

>You don't really hear anything they say, however, as suddenly your vision if filled with Panni's face as she steps in front of you and leans down to look you in the eye.

>"Girlfriend?" she hisses, eyebrow raised.

"I didn't say shit to them, I swear," you frantically whisper back. "They just assumed, give me a second to remedy things and- "

>You stop talking as a mischievous grin comes across her face.

"What're you... Oh, no. Panni, for the love of God, no," you beg.

>She gives you a wink before turning away, addressing your friends.

>"So, he didn't tell you all bout me? Terrible boyfriend, this one is," she says, shaking her head as she takes a seat at the bar. "Slide me a pint, barman, on my 'boyfriend's' tab!"

"God have mercy on my soul," you mutter under your breath.