-Three days before the meeting at Neppy's-
"Alexis Arms - For all your gunslinging needs."
The name of the shop was worked into a bold, blue neon sign jutting out from the second story of the building like the cigarette hanging out of the mouth of the owner of the same name. Alexis - "Ally" to most of her friends in the area - had been here long enough the shop had a few decent steady customers even though it was a little out of the way. She hadn't really been affected very strongly by the Mishhuvurthyar. If anything, business had increased. People still came, and they bought more. Ally had come to expect the same faces, every couple of weeks, so advertising was primarily word of mouth and the atmosphere was whatever she felt like maintaining at the time. Today, it was a dangerous, cancer-inducing miasma of secondhand smoke, some old music, and Combat Ops IV playing on the wall-screen.
The door bell twinkled as a new customer walked in and began to browse.
"I say, stellar selection, wot." came a slightly uppity voice from the entrance.
Ally paused the game and tossed the controller onto one of the shelves behind the counter, examining the new guy speculatively and scratching at an itch on her scalp, beneath the unmanaged mat of blond-platinum hair. The guy was old, and his short stature made him look slightly pudgy in his khaki outfit, pith helmet making him look like some ancient jungle explorer. A slightly incumbent explorer. The most notable thing that appealed to her hobby was the busted rifle across his back. Ally lingered on that, squinting just slightly for a moment, before she reached over and turned the viewscreen off. She stood and leaned forward on the counter, the tight leather of her jacket protesting quietly.
"Yea," she said, finally, "I don't get much stock, though, but most people know what they're looking for and I custom-order it." Ally shifted, pulling herself up over the counter a little bit more and craned a bit to get a better look at the old guy's hardware. "I don't see bolt action rifles very often. Is that a thirty-two, or...?"
The old man turned his attention towards her, "Why yes." he said, looking her up and down quickly, and then slightly down again where his gaze lingered for a second. Ally grinned, and ashed her cigarette in a nearby tray that had probably been a high-caliber magazine in another life. "She's served well these years." he said as he walked over, footsteps strangely silent for a man of his gerth, "However, time for an upgrade, what?" he finished, slinging the rifle off and letting it do the explaining.
The barrel was almost obliterated and had taken a fair chunk of the action with it, the rest of the body seemed pretty unsalvagable. "Faulty high-explosive. Never buy cheap, wot."
Ally took the rifle, careful to keep what was left of the barrel pointed elsewhere, and eyed it over. After she had taken in the damage to the barrel, she flipped it over, pulled the bolt back with some difficulty, and examined the breech. Immediately, she frowned. Afterwards she stubbed her cigarette out, gave the guy a cocked eyebrow, and asked; "Who'd you buy that shit off of?"
The man reached reached into a pocket, moustache twitching in remembered irritation. "A usually reliable chap, back in the bad old days anyway." he said, bringing up an example of one of the bullets. "Not so much now, what? You may recognise his mark." he held it out for her to examine. Ally took it and turned it over in her fingers, running her thumb over the base where the mark was usually located on the casing.
"I don't," she stated after a moment, "It looks like I can't just take it apart, because, like, the bullet's actually got nitro or something in it. But you know, I guess I could run it through the system. You mind?"
The man waved a hand dismissively "Do what you like, young madam. I am here for a weapon, not poetic justice just yet." his head turned to look back at the shelves.
Without wasting time, Ally fished around beneath the counter. Her hand passed over the .22 revolver she kept for insurance purposes, and settled on the scanning device. She took a few pictures of the bullet, including the markings on the butt of the casing, then pulled the keyboard over in front of her and pulled them up on the wall screen. After a couple seconds of reading, she gave her customer a sidelong look, and wondered if she shouldn't have just grabbed the first thing that had come to hand, after all.
"They've been tagged," Ally pointed out, "There's a design flaw, so they're not in production anywhere. The guy's not registered with the law, either."
"I'm not suprised." said the man, patting the busted rifle affectionately "Not much that fits the old girl anymore."
"I can make the ammo here, but it won't be cheap because I do it myself. At least it'll be accurate. What do you use the things for, anyway, iffin' you don't mind me asking? I can't figure what sort of guy would carry a bolt action of that caliber."
To answer the first part the man reached down and gently gripped the handle of the action, pushing it down into the ready position where it broke out with a loud snap, he smiled gently and held up the busted slide. "Pest control." he answered simply.
"If you have anything ready, I'd much prefer another bolt-action, if you would. Something with a bit of," he paused, choosing his words "punch."
Ally shoved the keyboard back over into a corner, sat the scanner down on the counter, and leaned forward on her palms. "Nothing in this caliber, but there's a three-fifty-seven kind of like it, over there, and the bolt-action rifle in the window display uses ten-by-fifty-two. I don't know if you'll like it, though. Like, if you have something specific in mind I can also just order out."
"I'm afraid I'm a bit of an old dog, young lass. New tricks, wot." said the man, turning to look at the display. "A fine piece were I a younger man. However willing the soul, one must play the cards one is dealt." his gaze turned a little sideways. He fixed on another object sitting in its open rifle case, "Would that be a Stryling by chance?" he asked, sounding somewhat absent.
"Yup," Ally answered.
He turned back towards Ally, hands gesturing to the rifle in a courteous motion "May I?" he asked, wanting to take a closer look. She nodded in response. He moved over the the case and carried it back to the counter, gently setting it down.
Running a finger over to examine it first, he carefully undid the straps and pulled it out, cradling it in his arms. "Longbolt, eeey." he said carefully, looking it over closely before looking back up at Ally. "How does this fair specimen stand up?"
"Well enough," she stated, "There's enough kick to it, and there's enough varity with ammunition, if you want to, like, switch out or something. It isn't too expensive and it is very accurate. As to the company, Stryling Vervaardinging's pretty good. They got a huge under-the-table grant from the NAM's, and make the government's standard side-arm. You'd think they'd just be shit ripoffs, but they design their own guns based on feedback from more than just military, so like, they're currently beating out Zen Arms, number-wise."
"A professional rival once used one of theirs. I was most impressed, he was quite miffed." There was a small pause at professional. He hefted it carefully. "Any means to make it a bit easier on the old arms, wot?"
"Well, you could switch out the stock and the butt, but the way Stryling designed it, I'd have to take most of it apart to do it, but there are some custom parts on the market since that's a pretty popular rifle with certain groups."
The man flipped the rifle expertly, hands a blur. "Do it." He took the opportunity to peek at the muzzle break. "Threaded." he said simply. "Suppresion kits should be available, add it to my order if you would be so kind." he said, voice suddenly business-like. He placed the rifle back in its case and pushed it towards Ally slightly. She turned it around and snapped the case shut, then she armed herself with the scanner, and swiped a small square near the edge of the case.
"It'll take me a little while, but I'll dig something up out of the back."
"I must also admit to being in the market for something a little closer to ones self." he said, bringing out a heavily scratched pistol with silencer up. "A whee bit old for any more than a novelty now, wot." he put the pistol back in its hidden holster. "Got something for the 10mm KZ?"
"Conveniant," the girl stated, tapping the rifle's case, "So, like, what you looking for out of it?"
"Solid, reliable, cheap." he said simply, twisting one end of his moustache "If I do my job right, which I do I must say, I won't have to use it, but needs to be ready when I do." his fingers continued rubbing the hair in a slightly self-satisfied way.
Ally pointed to a display case across from the counter, which included several pistols which were 'a little closer to one's self'. As the old man looked, she picked a cigarette out of her pack, lighting it up and taking a drag, but blowing it up at the ceiling instead of at the guy.
He leaned forward onto the counter, hand stopping its conpulsive rubbing, took the opportunity for a quick peek over the counter, admiring the view for a split second before turning back to the guns. One in particular caught his eye, "Origin?" his eyebrows climbing in suprise, "The same chaps across the gap making toilet paper?"
"Yep," Ally said with a smile, "And deoderant. But they're also apparently trying to put their own ships out there into space, so they use those as standard for their guards."
"What good would standards created by a softer brand be in the old arena, wot?" he asked idly, leaning forward a bit more, although this time all his concentration was directed at the shelf. "Lets have a handle..." he caught himself from reaching across her, "...if you would be so kind, young madam."
The young madam turned round, unlocked the glass case so that she could slide it out of the way, and took the pistol down, offering it to him handle-first. When she faced him again the man quickly straightened from tilting his head sideways appreciatively and took the offered weapon with a small "Thank ye."
He examined it carefully, hands demonstrating his skill with sidearms was not quite that with the rifle. Finding nothing imdieately wrong with it he placed it down on the counter and looked at it critically. "Ten-KZ, that's good..." he muttered, before looking back up, "Does it come in dark matte?"
"Yea," she said, ashing her cigarette in the magazine-turned-ashtray. She had resumed her lean on the counter, though she was turned sideways to observe his fumblings with the pistol. "I can get it in dark matte, or hot pink, or whatever it is you want."
The man smiled at the remark, "Just dark will do fine, thank you." his head peered over her shoulder at something behind her. "And I'll take one of those." he said, looking past her.
"This number?" she asked, following his gaze, "Are you sure you ain't too old for one of those?" The object of their interest was a strange device, almost two small tubes with a pistol grip. On the handle the acronym WUSS was visible even from there.
"I dare say, breach-loads were ancient before I was even thought of, young lady." his voice good natured.
"This thing might give you arthritus, though," Ally joked, turning around to take it out of the already-open display case and place it on the counter. "This takes an eight-gauge shell. You're almost liable to break your wrist if you fire it wrong."
"If, you say." said the old man "I must reiturate that I always do my job right." he said with wink, "However, to ease your overwhelming concern for my health, we'll take broken wrists off the return warranty, hmm?"
"Don't accept returns," Ally said pointedly, accenting it with a grin, "Everything I sell you works fine, or it's your fault. I can tell when a gun's been misused."
The old man leaned a little closer and put his elbow on the counter, looking at her intently with an amused smile. "Very good." he pulled out his money card and offered it. Ally took it immediately. "Amusements aside, I'll take a holster and shell holder for these two, and throw in a box of ammo for each." he glanced at the rifle case, "Should any special ammunition be available for that, add it to your fee."
"How about some high-explosive rounds that actually work?"
The man hurmphed in mock grumpiness "You young whelps these days." then his tone lightened "I'd like that." he reach into a chest pocket and pulled out a cheap electronic pad.
"This is where I'm staying." he said, sliding it towards her before leaning a little closer, "And I'd appreciate the delivery in person." Then he turned and made his leave "Oh, you can keep the old one, maybe a collectible or something." he fare-welled and then disappeared out the door.
He was gone before Ally had even produced a pen. As she examined the pad he left, she noticed that he had several more notes. Idly, she flicked through them with a finger to the screen. One in particular caught her attention.
Thank you for your interest in joining the Funky City Reclaimation Effort...
-End-
"Alexis Arms - For all your gunslinging needs."
The name of the shop was worked into a bold, blue neon sign jutting out from the second story of the building like the cigarette hanging out of the mouth of the owner of the same name. Alexis - "Ally" to most of her friends in the area - had been here long enough the shop had a few decent steady customers even though it was a little out of the way. She hadn't really been affected very strongly by the Mishhuvurthyar. If anything, business had increased. People still came, and they bought more. Ally had come to expect the same faces, every couple of weeks, so advertising was primarily word of mouth and the atmosphere was whatever she felt like maintaining at the time. Today, it was a dangerous, cancer-inducing miasma of secondhand smoke, some old music, and Combat Ops IV playing on the wall-screen.
The door bell twinkled as a new customer walked in and began to browse.
"I say, stellar selection, wot." came a slightly uppity voice from the entrance.
Ally paused the game and tossed the controller onto one of the shelves behind the counter, examining the new guy speculatively and scratching at an itch on her scalp, beneath the unmanaged mat of blond-platinum hair. The guy was old, and his short stature made him look slightly pudgy in his khaki outfit, pith helmet making him look like some ancient jungle explorer. A slightly incumbent explorer. The most notable thing that appealed to her hobby was the busted rifle across his back. Ally lingered on that, squinting just slightly for a moment, before she reached over and turned the viewscreen off. She stood and leaned forward on the counter, the tight leather of her jacket protesting quietly.
"Yea," she said, finally, "I don't get much stock, though, but most people know what they're looking for and I custom-order it." Ally shifted, pulling herself up over the counter a little bit more and craned a bit to get a better look at the old guy's hardware. "I don't see bolt action rifles very often. Is that a thirty-two, or...?"
The old man turned his attention towards her, "Why yes." he said, looking her up and down quickly, and then slightly down again where his gaze lingered for a second. Ally grinned, and ashed her cigarette in a nearby tray that had probably been a high-caliber magazine in another life. "She's served well these years." he said as he walked over, footsteps strangely silent for a man of his gerth, "However, time for an upgrade, what?" he finished, slinging the rifle off and letting it do the explaining.
The barrel was almost obliterated and had taken a fair chunk of the action with it, the rest of the body seemed pretty unsalvagable. "Faulty high-explosive. Never buy cheap, wot."
Ally took the rifle, careful to keep what was left of the barrel pointed elsewhere, and eyed it over. After she had taken in the damage to the barrel, she flipped it over, pulled the bolt back with some difficulty, and examined the breech. Immediately, she frowned. Afterwards she stubbed her cigarette out, gave the guy a cocked eyebrow, and asked; "Who'd you buy that shit off of?"
The man reached reached into a pocket, moustache twitching in remembered irritation. "A usually reliable chap, back in the bad old days anyway." he said, bringing up an example of one of the bullets. "Not so much now, what? You may recognise his mark." he held it out for her to examine. Ally took it and turned it over in her fingers, running her thumb over the base where the mark was usually located on the casing.
"I don't," she stated after a moment, "It looks like I can't just take it apart, because, like, the bullet's actually got nitro or something in it. But you know, I guess I could run it through the system. You mind?"
The man waved a hand dismissively "Do what you like, young madam. I am here for a weapon, not poetic justice just yet." his head turned to look back at the shelves.
Without wasting time, Ally fished around beneath the counter. Her hand passed over the .22 revolver she kept for insurance purposes, and settled on the scanning device. She took a few pictures of the bullet, including the markings on the butt of the casing, then pulled the keyboard over in front of her and pulled them up on the wall screen. After a couple seconds of reading, she gave her customer a sidelong look, and wondered if she shouldn't have just grabbed the first thing that had come to hand, after all.
"They've been tagged," Ally pointed out, "There's a design flaw, so they're not in production anywhere. The guy's not registered with the law, either."
"I'm not suprised." said the man, patting the busted rifle affectionately "Not much that fits the old girl anymore."
"I can make the ammo here, but it won't be cheap because I do it myself. At least it'll be accurate. What do you use the things for, anyway, iffin' you don't mind me asking? I can't figure what sort of guy would carry a bolt action of that caliber."
To answer the first part the man reached down and gently gripped the handle of the action, pushing it down into the ready position where it broke out with a loud snap, he smiled gently and held up the busted slide. "Pest control." he answered simply.
"If you have anything ready, I'd much prefer another bolt-action, if you would. Something with a bit of," he paused, choosing his words "punch."
Ally shoved the keyboard back over into a corner, sat the scanner down on the counter, and leaned forward on her palms. "Nothing in this caliber, but there's a three-fifty-seven kind of like it, over there, and the bolt-action rifle in the window display uses ten-by-fifty-two. I don't know if you'll like it, though. Like, if you have something specific in mind I can also just order out."
"I'm afraid I'm a bit of an old dog, young lass. New tricks, wot." said the man, turning to look at the display. "A fine piece were I a younger man. However willing the soul, one must play the cards one is dealt." his gaze turned a little sideways. He fixed on another object sitting in its open rifle case, "Would that be a Stryling by chance?" he asked, sounding somewhat absent.
"Yup," Ally answered.
He turned back towards Ally, hands gesturing to the rifle in a courteous motion "May I?" he asked, wanting to take a closer look. She nodded in response. He moved over the the case and carried it back to the counter, gently setting it down.
Running a finger over to examine it first, he carefully undid the straps and pulled it out, cradling it in his arms. "Longbolt, eeey." he said carefully, looking it over closely before looking back up at Ally. "How does this fair specimen stand up?"
"Well enough," she stated, "There's enough kick to it, and there's enough varity with ammunition, if you want to, like, switch out or something. It isn't too expensive and it is very accurate. As to the company, Stryling Vervaardinging's pretty good. They got a huge under-the-table grant from the NAM's, and make the government's standard side-arm. You'd think they'd just be shit ripoffs, but they design their own guns based on feedback from more than just military, so like, they're currently beating out Zen Arms, number-wise."
"A professional rival once used one of theirs. I was most impressed, he was quite miffed." There was a small pause at professional. He hefted it carefully. "Any means to make it a bit easier on the old arms, wot?"
"Well, you could switch out the stock and the butt, but the way Stryling designed it, I'd have to take most of it apart to do it, but there are some custom parts on the market since that's a pretty popular rifle with certain groups."
The man flipped the rifle expertly, hands a blur. "Do it." He took the opportunity to peek at the muzzle break. "Threaded." he said simply. "Suppresion kits should be available, add it to my order if you would be so kind." he said, voice suddenly business-like. He placed the rifle back in its case and pushed it towards Ally slightly. She turned it around and snapped the case shut, then she armed herself with the scanner, and swiped a small square near the edge of the case.
"It'll take me a little while, but I'll dig something up out of the back."
"I must also admit to being in the market for something a little closer to ones self." he said, bringing out a heavily scratched pistol with silencer up. "A whee bit old for any more than a novelty now, wot." he put the pistol back in its hidden holster. "Got something for the 10mm KZ?"
"Conveniant," the girl stated, tapping the rifle's case, "So, like, what you looking for out of it?"
"Solid, reliable, cheap." he said simply, twisting one end of his moustache "If I do my job right, which I do I must say, I won't have to use it, but needs to be ready when I do." his fingers continued rubbing the hair in a slightly self-satisfied way.
Ally pointed to a display case across from the counter, which included several pistols which were 'a little closer to one's self'. As the old man looked, she picked a cigarette out of her pack, lighting it up and taking a drag, but blowing it up at the ceiling instead of at the guy.
He leaned forward onto the counter, hand stopping its conpulsive rubbing, took the opportunity for a quick peek over the counter, admiring the view for a split second before turning back to the guns. One in particular caught his eye, "Origin?" his eyebrows climbing in suprise, "The same chaps across the gap making toilet paper?"
"Yep," Ally said with a smile, "And deoderant. But they're also apparently trying to put their own ships out there into space, so they use those as standard for their guards."
"What good would standards created by a softer brand be in the old arena, wot?" he asked idly, leaning forward a bit more, although this time all his concentration was directed at the shelf. "Lets have a handle..." he caught himself from reaching across her, "...if you would be so kind, young madam."
The young madam turned round, unlocked the glass case so that she could slide it out of the way, and took the pistol down, offering it to him handle-first. When she faced him again the man quickly straightened from tilting his head sideways appreciatively and took the offered weapon with a small "Thank ye."
He examined it carefully, hands demonstrating his skill with sidearms was not quite that with the rifle. Finding nothing imdieately wrong with it he placed it down on the counter and looked at it critically. "Ten-KZ, that's good..." he muttered, before looking back up, "Does it come in dark matte?"
"Yea," she said, ashing her cigarette in the magazine-turned-ashtray. She had resumed her lean on the counter, though she was turned sideways to observe his fumblings with the pistol. "I can get it in dark matte, or hot pink, or whatever it is you want."
The man smiled at the remark, "Just dark will do fine, thank you." his head peered over her shoulder at something behind her. "And I'll take one of those." he said, looking past her.
"This number?" she asked, following his gaze, "Are you sure you ain't too old for one of those?" The object of their interest was a strange device, almost two small tubes with a pistol grip. On the handle the acronym WUSS was visible even from there.
"I dare say, breach-loads were ancient before I was even thought of, young lady." his voice good natured.
"This thing might give you arthritus, though," Ally joked, turning around to take it out of the already-open display case and place it on the counter. "This takes an eight-gauge shell. You're almost liable to break your wrist if you fire it wrong."
"If, you say." said the old man "I must reiturate that I always do my job right." he said with wink, "However, to ease your overwhelming concern for my health, we'll take broken wrists off the return warranty, hmm?"
"Don't accept returns," Ally said pointedly, accenting it with a grin, "Everything I sell you works fine, or it's your fault. I can tell when a gun's been misused."
The old man leaned a little closer and put his elbow on the counter, looking at her intently with an amused smile. "Very good." he pulled out his money card and offered it. Ally took it immediately. "Amusements aside, I'll take a holster and shell holder for these two, and throw in a box of ammo for each." he glanced at the rifle case, "Should any special ammunition be available for that, add it to your fee."
"How about some high-explosive rounds that actually work?"
The man hurmphed in mock grumpiness "You young whelps these days." then his tone lightened "I'd like that." he reach into a chest pocket and pulled out a cheap electronic pad.
"This is where I'm staying." he said, sliding it towards her before leaning a little closer, "And I'd appreciate the delivery in person." Then he turned and made his leave "Oh, you can keep the old one, maybe a collectible or something." he fare-welled and then disappeared out the door.
He was gone before Ally had even produced a pen. As she examined the pad he left, she noticed that he had several more notes. Idly, she flicked through them with a finger to the screen. One in particular caught her attention.
Thank you for your interest in joining the Funky City Reclaimation Effort...
-End-
