"Wait, what's that s'posed to mean?" Gerald asked as Lyn opened the cloth to see a shiny, black revolver. She was able to know who's it was immediately. It was Henry's. A .44 revolver, a classic killing machine at its finest. The grip had words written all over it, and Lyn saw they were lines of poetry, written by the man himself. However, the revolver seemed to almost...buzz...softly as she hovered her hand over it. "It was Henry's." Gerald told Lyn. "But...you probably knew that."