The outlaw walked into the fairybar.

"Gimme all you got," he shouted at the waitress.

He didn't have a gun, but the fairy knew better than to argue. She glowered at him but emptied the register on the bar.

"Put it in the bag. There, that's a good girl."

The waiting-fairy's wings fluttered from fright and her hands tightened into two white fists as the man retreated towards the door. She was a properly brought-up fairy, not one of those changelings spoiled by humans, and pacifism ran through her blood, from her butterfly wings to her pink ballet points.

The outlaw surveyed the room with a smirk.

"I don't believe in fairies," he said. The waitress gasped as a customer dropped dead on the table. "That'll teach you girls," the man said. "I don't believe in fairies, I don't believe in fairies, I don't believe in fairies!" Customers fell like flies.

"I don't believe in outlaws!" the waitress shouted, trembling hands digging into her pockets. Her cheeks turned crimson and the hairs on her head stood on end, charged with negative energy. She felt bad karma swelling inside and realized she'd have to go through a session of crystal cleansing to get rid of it afterwards.

The outlaw guffawed. "That won't work with me, I'm not a sissy little fairy."

"Will this work?" The fairy took a miniature gun from her pocket, which, to the outlaw's dismay, expanded into a full-sized AK-47. She cocked the rifle and let the man realize how badly he'd screwed up. Then she fired.

The fairy sighed: she felt too good. Crystals alone wouldn't take care of her homeostatic imbalance but she didn't look forward to two hours of Om Mani Padme Hum.