- IC Time: Mon Apr 03 11:04:05 2017 ***
- OOC Time: Mon Apr 03 11:04:05 2017 ***
John is standing behind the counter at a small workspace area, looking at the mechanism of a pistol using what looks like a jeweler's loupe and tinkering with it with a tiny screwdriver. When Six comes in, he looks up, setting the part down and removing the loupe. "Hello, there, Six. Welcome. How are you today?"
Clear skies. Rains are expected tomorrow, but for the first time in a long time, Six is walking into one of the town businesses dry. Eyes, a milk chocolate brown today. He wears an easy smile when John greets him, and pays him a nod. His mantle is potent but subtle, an uncurrent - the sound of winters winds whipping across a frozen tundra. "Tired. I woke up with far too much sunshine left in the day," admits the young grayscale darkling. "But that means time enough to stop by. Check out the place." He looks back, over his shoulders, to shelving and selection. "There's more than I expected. Town this size. I'm impressed."
"Thank you. The town and city likely won't dent my inventory all -that- much, but the lake here has resorts and hunting lodges, so the tourist trade will hopefully pick up the slack." He lets out a breath and says, "I am likely overcompensating with everything, but...to keep a hold on...doing things the way that the mortal world does them, to stay anchored, sometimes I think we all do something like it, you know?"
"It's Vermont. I'm sure you'll do fine. From what I've heard, laws are lax," says Six. "You'll probably reap the benefits of that." As for overcompensating, to stay anchored, he gives an understanding nod. Sympathetic. "We become funhouse mirrors of ourselves or someone new entirely," he observes. Philosophical of the youngster with a number for a name. He looks to the pistol part lain on the counter. "I'm actually here to fulfill my promise. Be your first - maybe second customer."
John nods to Six, grateful for the understanding. He turns from the counter and moves to a space underneath one of the ammunition drawers and takes out a box; from it, he lays out a few small-ish pistols. "I gave some thought to what you were looking for. I suppose the first question is: are you certain that you want a small pistol, or were you saying that out of budgetary concerns? Because as a Lost I would give you a discount -anyway-, as a Winter Court Lost I would give you an even greater discount, and as my very first customer I am pretty much willing to let you walk out with something at -cost-." He grins slightly, and arranges the guns for you to view them, slides back to demonstrate that they are clearly unloaded.
Six doesn't set his hands on the counter as the guns are laid out, but does lean over them. Considers this initial range of recommended choices. Doesn't reach for any of the - clearly unloaded - guns, while John is talking. "I'm tempted to be polite - turn down all of that, at least once. But I really am grateful - and discounts are welcome." That said, he gets to the other question next, "No. I'm starting with something subtle. Small fits that bill. My next purchase - when I can afford it - will be less subtle." He picks up one of the empty guns. Keeps it pointed down. Hefts it a little, finger over the trigger guard, weighing it between his thumb and his palm. "I had a Heckler and Koch, once. USP in .45. That was nice." A beat. He puts the gun back down. "Had to make do with a snubnosed .38 in Fort Lauderdale."
John says, "Well, the first question I have then is: do you prefer revolvers or semis?"
"For practicality sake, let's go with the semis," Six replies, easy enough. The grayscale may link him to noir; but he seems to resist fitting that mold too easily.
"Alright. Well, the '45 has a bit of a long barrel, but have you ever seen the Springfield Mod 2? Has 3- to 5-inch barrel depending on your option." He takes the different types of this pistol out. "Chambered--depending on the model--for 9mm, .40, or .45ACP. It's got decent stopping power, very modifiable, it's an old standard that does good work for what you're looking for."
Six tilts his head. Watches as the Springfield Mod 2 line is lain out for him. His eyes change. A wave emits from his pupil, a blue like tropical seas on a clear day washes over the brown and takes its place. He points to the two smallest models. The 3" and the 3.3" sub-compacts. "These look built for a human hand. Much less awkward than the snubnose. Capacity on factory mags? Nine-millimeter on the smallest? And whatever the highest caliber is on the second?" There's less schmooze in his tone of voice, now; but he's calm, analytic.
"The 3" can be had in either 9mm--13 rounds; 16 with an extension, or .40--9 or 12 with the extension. The 3.3 chambers only in .45 but can hold 9 or 13 rounds. The extension magazines are pretty common; their only drawback is that, say, on the 3.3" mod they change the height from 4 3/4 inches with the compact mag to 5 1/2 inches." He shows you the two different magazine types, and says, "They're very reliable and have been around for a few years now."
Six is quiet, considering options as John speaks. He picks up the 3". Hefts it. Feels how it fits in the groove of his hand. Lowers it as John shows off the magazines. Nods. "I think I'll stick with the standard mag. Keep it minimized," he decides. And after a little longer, adds, "Nine-millimeter. For sure. I'll worry about caliber, next go around; this is meant to be utility."
"Alright," he says. Setting the guns aside, he moves to a stack of manufacturer-sealed boxes under the counter and takes the right one out, setting it before you. "Do you want to take it home in the box, or test-fire it here?" He gestures to the range door. "I'm throwing in a cleaning and maintenance kit and a box of ammo, but you can fire from the free ammo we have set out if you would like to."
Six looks about the store quietly, from where he is, as John goes about setting guns aside for the sealed boxes. He looks back to John for the question. "I wouldn't mind a test fire. It's been awhile since I've even been to the range," he admits. The list of freebies gets a nod. "Saves me having to break the bank. Any more than I already have. Thanks."
John nods and smiles, and comes out from around the counter to lead you to the shooting range.
- IC Time: Mon Apr 03 12:28:15 2017 ***
- OOC Time: Mon Apr 03 12:28:15 2017 ***
Six enters from the door to the shop.
John sets you up with a target on the first range lane. Right now, the place looks pretty pristine; the ranges have not been used. He hands you a pair of ear protectors and says, "How long have you been shooting?"
Six follows along. Still looking about as they go. Listening as their footsteps go from dull thuds to hollow echoes in the concrete expanse of the range. He takes the offered ear protectors and puts them around his neck, for now, as he goes about loading 5 rounds of 9mm rather than fill the clip completely. "Half a decade, I guess?" He sounds uncertain. Time is tricky for the Lost, and he's young. "You? Was this something you did, before?"
John nods. "I was a military brat, and my father was a Marine sharpshooter. He never paid much attention to me, except the one summer he taught me how to shoot. I liked to tinker with things, so I wound up taking up gunsmithing as a hobby, and, well, I guess I have always liked guns." He pauses, and says, "Not so much because of what they do to people. It is just that they are such...perfect instruments, I suppose, the more you tinker with them."
"Built from the ground up for it?" Six observes of John, with a disaffected calm that seems particular to his blue eyes. He loads the magazine into the stubby handle of the compact pistol. Settles his middle and ring finger onto the grip. Trigger finger over the guard. "I couldn't have been less interested in guns, as a kid," he admits. "I guess all that really changed for me was use, and need. If I ended up a carpenter, I'd probably feel the same way about the hardware store." He slides the ear protectors up over his ear with his free hand, before pulling back the slide on the pistol, chambering the first round. He palms his firing hand from below as he aims down range.
John puts up his own ear protectors and nods as he steps back to allow Six to shoot, without disrupting his concentration. He looks downrange to see how well the weapon fires.
-> >> Six to Here << <-===============================================
Rolled 0 Success
< 2 2 3 5 6 7 7 >
=======================-> >> Dexterity + Firearms + 1 No Flags << <-
John says, “Do you mind if I help adjust your stance a bit, Six?"”
Six fires once. To no effect on the target. There's no blinking of surprise. Just a furrowing of his brow. A disdain for something. His own rustiness. Firing with something new. The fact that people miss - anyone misses. It's an unrealistic expectation of himself that he seems to hold. But at John's question, muffled but not completely drowned out by the ear protectors, he nods. Keeps the gun pointed down range, with another round in the chamber.
"Go ahead," he adds. As not to be too vague."
John adjusts your stance by touching your shoulders, arms and elbows slightly to absorb the recoil.
GAME: John spends 1 Glamour
John says, “That should make it a tad easier to hit well, Six.”
Some Lost trouble over physical contact. Six doesn't seem to be one of them. He pays attention to how John sets him up, altering his firing stance. Wiggles a bit, in it, once the contact is over; as not to be tense. He looks down his sights, centers on the target, and fires again.
-> >> Six to Here << <-===============================================
Rolled 2 Successes
< 1 1 3 3 5 5 5 5 8 9 >
=======================-> >> Dexterity + Firearms + 4 No Flags << <-
It's not dead center of the target. But it's center mass. Six's brow doesn't furrow this time around. But he doesn't smile, either; which could just be a blue eyed thing. "It feels good. It's strange, how it fits into my hand. The handle of my old snubnose felt more like a tangle. This doesn't feel like there's a trade off."
"I do not know if you noticed, but I feel obliged to tell you that I used glamour on you to improve your aim there a bit so you could get a feel for it better." He gives a slight smile and says, "Which is *not* something I admit when I use it on the weekend warriors who want to make the shot to impress their buddies or their girlfriends. It does tend to improve their willingness to part with cash. That being said--you have some natural talent; practice will improve that, of course, and my range is always open. If you are interested, for our kind, I will be providing free lessons in-Court at least. We all should be prepared to face threats against any of us. The gun is a good fit for your hands. I can customize and improve it, somewhat, should you like; no guarantees that it will make you an amazing shot. If you can provide Promise Leaves, there is a chance I might make it help you shoot better permanently."
Six doesn't answer right away. He blinks and his eyes start to change. This time, the process is slow. Blossoms of brown flower until his irises are no longer blue, but milk chocolate once more. "I figured it was a little too sudden an improvement," he quips, half-smile. His posture is more relaxed. Tone no longer detached. He's affable. "Not that I have much more cash to part with," he admits. "I think I'd like that. Training. I'll probably stop by, more regular, either way. There's rust to kick out. And once it's out, to keep out." Another nod at the consideration of promise leaves. "I'll just empty my gun, here; send the last three down range. I've got more apartment hunting to do before sundown." He aims at the target once more, prepping to deal out the last three shots in faster succession.
"As you wish, and good luck." He steps back to see how the man fires without magic to aid him.
-> >> Six to Here << <-===============================================
Rolled 6 Successes for an exceptional success.
< 4 4 6 7 8 9 10 10 10 10 >
===========================-> >> Dexterity + Firearms No Flags << <-
-> >> Six to Here << <-===============================================
Rolled 0 Success
< 2 2 4 4 6 6 >
===========================-> >> Dexterity + Firearms No Flags << <-
-> >> Six to Here << <-===============================================
Rolled 2 Successes
< 2 3 4 5 5 7 10 10 >
===========================-> >> Dexterity + Firearms No Flags << <-
The first shot lands dead center. The kind of shot that Robin Hood might split with a second arrow. Six isn't Robin Hood. Recoil from the first makes the second shot go wide. But the third in the grouping manages to be closer than the second, landing center mass, though nowhere near as close to center. Six smiles, wider, no longer just on the one side. He flips the safety back on, ejects the mag into his hand, and sets both the mag and the pistol down before taking off the ear protectors. "Good sign that I made the right choice."
"Excellent; I am glad you are pleased. Are you looking for work, Six?" He considers for a moment, adding: "I do not need folk to work the counter, however, if you are skilled at woodscraft or anything such as that I could take you on when we get hunting expedition requests. I doubt that would be a permanent thing of any sort. I could ask a few others I know, depending on what you are capable of. I do not have many contacts here just yet, but I may be able to help with those I do have."
Six's response to the initial question - looking for work - is doubtful. Though, when John adds the qualifier of note counter work - not proper labour, he perks up. Though he chuckles a bit, at the question regarding woodcraft. "You'd need to teach me from scratch on that. I am the definition of a city boy. Which means there are probably better options for you," he admits, freely. "But odd jobs, in general, sure. Pays the bills better - more regularly - than PI work in a town this size."
John taps his chin for a moment, then says: "Depending on how much time you want to spend in the Hedge and how much time you want to spend finding odd things like sealed Wacky Packages stickers or the third cap off of an alphabetical list of beers from A to Z--I have to say, Dos Equis was easy for a beer that had an X on it, but -you- try finding a cap from a beer bottle with a Q--I could use my contact with the Wild Rose Hobgoblin Market to introduce you. They often have unique and unusual tasks that they will pay for, but money you can spend on Doritos and Twinkies is not usually the currency they pay in."
Six leans back, still in the first lane as John presents the option of work like scavenger hunts for the funny folk. It's enough to get a curious look out of him. And a smirk. He nods slow, as he considers, more like one might for understanding rather than acceptance. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind. I'm mostly looking for the 'here' kind of currency, right now; but, I can't say for sure that I won't need it in the future. Or that it couldn't hurt to earn a favour or two," he admits.
John says, “There are those who would pay you actual cash for such things. For example, promise leaves are very useful to my work. While I am going to build a garden, I have not yet done so and, even if I did, it takes time to collect them in any significant amount. I would pay for a supply of them. You could get them from the Hob market for labor there, I am sure. I leave the exercise of figuring out the economics as to how much work you wish to do for what rewards by exchange rate up to you.”
"That's a good point," Six says, to selling the loot. "Hadn't considered that. Selling what I earn." He nods. This time, more quickly - this time, agreement. "Yeah, I'm interested," he admits. He reaches up into the breast pocket of his leather jacket and produces a minute notepad and pen. He jots down a phone number, rips off a sheet of paper, and hands it over with one hand while he pockets the pad and pen again with the other. "To reach me. For this, looking into the robbery, or whatever else comes up."
John takes the note and puts it in his pocket, then says: "Well, if you speak to Lady Day, Wanda'a, Prickle, Spitz or Gorge at the Wild Rose market, mention my name and they may throw you some work. I need Promise Leaves, but some of them also sell hedge fruit or other things and might have work for you. It was good having you here today, Six."
Six packs up. Preparing to take his brand new gun, the empty mag, and whatever freebies that John had offered. "Wana'a?" he asks, of all the names to give him pause. But he shakes his head before any thought can be given toward answering. "Those are easy enough to remember. Thanks. Promise Leaves, gotcha," he says. "I've enjoyed stopping by," he admits in turn. "I feel less... stagnant."
"Glad to have helped, Six. Have a good day, alright?" He produces a bag from one of the cabinets and puts all your stuff in it and hands it to you. "And good luck on the apartment hunt!"
Half-grin in place. "You too," Six says, as he takes the bag. "I'll keep in touch. You do the same." And he heads out, waving as he goes. A winter darkling in grayscale with a brand new pistol and a box of ammo to go with.
|
