Koenig808
Inactive Member
"Did you just fucking ask me for some fucking energy-based weapons, you bumblefuck little shit?"
Roger slammed a clipboard full of order sheets down on the table, sending several other random sheets not caught under the board flying to the side. "Listen to me, motherfucker. If you want some energy-based weaponry, you are in the wrong motherfucking place." Roger walked to the front door and slammed it open, being met by the horrible sight of a hard rain hitting an opened trash bag. "I MEAN LOOK AT THIS MOTHERFUCKING NEIGHBORHOOD. THESE BAGS HAVE BEEN IN FRONT OF THE SHOP FOR MONTHS, YOU FUCKS."
Roger slammed the door shut, just in time to keep the various insults from crashing into the front of the shop. "Do you fucking waltz into homeless shelters asking for motherfucking high priced wine? What in the fuck is wrong with you?" In the process of walking and lighting up a cigarette, he knocked over a potted plant which had long since wilted away.
"Listen, motherfucker, you can get anything in Nepleslia if you fucking know where to look. But unless you're some rich fucking asshole looking to pop the misses from a suite four miles away while getting a blowjob from your mistress, you're gonna look like a douchebag to every fucking dealer around." Roger lead the customer to the back of the shop, and unlocked a door marked "Utilities." What was waiting for them was a large warehouse, lit by fluorescent lights that added a green-ish tinge to anything in the room.
There were 10 four-level racks toward the back of the room, all containing weapons organized according to type and model. On the wall immediately to the right of the entrance to the back room were several weapons mounted to the wall, with signs indicating their price, model, serial number (if any), and what type of ammo they used. Ranging from pistols to light anti armor weapons, the warehouse would better resemble a military armory. "This is all the shit that you can buy. Each motherfucking pistol and rifle comes with a full magazine, and you can buy your fuckin' ammo here, too."
"We've got even better shit hidden here, but that's for our VIPs. They're in the back room. Why the fuck am I telling you where the hidden shit is? If I fuckin' see any of that shit is gone, you are fuckin' dead. Do I have a shitload of guys that can come after you if you steal that shit? Fuck no. Let's just say that the motherfuckin' military would love to hear about some motherfucker running around with heavy machinery on their streets." Roger chugged half a bottle of bourbon and flopped himself down on a dusty chair, situated between two dusty couches and in front of a shitty old television.
"Most of these fucking weapons either do not have serial numbers or are hot. You can go back there and look for weapons with a green sticker on them. That means that they're clear and off the police's radar, but you pay double for that shit. And if you fuck up with that weapon please do not fucking throw that shit away or I will fuck you. If you bring that weapon back here to give it back for a refund in broad fucking daylight I will fuck you. There are so many fucking ways that I can fuck you, you'll be feeling like a fucking Geshrin whore on a busy friday night. I'll rape your virgin pink fucking asshole with my fucking fist if you fucking piss me off enough."
The customer, apparently tired of Roger's shit, threw down 1,500 DA onto the ground, kicking up some dust.
"...For that much, you can have a clean GP-1 with two mags. Just because I fucking like you and because I fucking love business. Just remember, if I get any police knocking at my door, I am coming after you. Yknow why? Because you're a new motherfucker. I don't fucking know you. I know every fucking person doesn't wanna fucking screw me because I'll screw him upside down, sideways and frontways. It's just a matter of time before I get some shit on you, motherfucker. And when I fucking do, maybe you can buy even more shit."
Once the customer picked up his rifle and case, a rather tired-looking ID-SOL came out from between one of the aisles and grabbed the customer by the hand, escorting him out of the store.
"Happy trails, motherfucker. Don't fucking kill noone important with that shit."
Roger slammed a clipboard full of order sheets down on the table, sending several other random sheets not caught under the board flying to the side. "Listen to me, motherfucker. If you want some energy-based weaponry, you are in the wrong motherfucking place." Roger walked to the front door and slammed it open, being met by the horrible sight of a hard rain hitting an opened trash bag. "I MEAN LOOK AT THIS MOTHERFUCKING NEIGHBORHOOD. THESE BAGS HAVE BEEN IN FRONT OF THE SHOP FOR MONTHS, YOU FUCKS."
Roger slammed the door shut, just in time to keep the various insults from crashing into the front of the shop. "Do you fucking waltz into homeless shelters asking for motherfucking high priced wine? What in the fuck is wrong with you?" In the process of walking and lighting up a cigarette, he knocked over a potted plant which had long since wilted away.
"Listen, motherfucker, you can get anything in Nepleslia if you fucking know where to look. But unless you're some rich fucking asshole looking to pop the misses from a suite four miles away while getting a blowjob from your mistress, you're gonna look like a douchebag to every fucking dealer around." Roger lead the customer to the back of the shop, and unlocked a door marked "Utilities." What was waiting for them was a large warehouse, lit by fluorescent lights that added a green-ish tinge to anything in the room.
There were 10 four-level racks toward the back of the room, all containing weapons organized according to type and model. On the wall immediately to the right of the entrance to the back room were several weapons mounted to the wall, with signs indicating their price, model, serial number (if any), and what type of ammo they used. Ranging from pistols to light anti armor weapons, the warehouse would better resemble a military armory. "This is all the shit that you can buy. Each motherfucking pistol and rifle comes with a full magazine, and you can buy your fuckin' ammo here, too."
"We've got even better shit hidden here, but that's for our VIPs. They're in the back room. Why the fuck am I telling you where the hidden shit is? If I fuckin' see any of that shit is gone, you are fuckin' dead. Do I have a shitload of guys that can come after you if you steal that shit? Fuck no. Let's just say that the motherfuckin' military would love to hear about some motherfucker running around with heavy machinery on their streets." Roger chugged half a bottle of bourbon and flopped himself down on a dusty chair, situated between two dusty couches and in front of a shitty old television.
"Most of these fucking weapons either do not have serial numbers or are hot. You can go back there and look for weapons with a green sticker on them. That means that they're clear and off the police's radar, but you pay double for that shit. And if you fuck up with that weapon please do not fucking throw that shit away or I will fuck you. If you bring that weapon back here to give it back for a refund in broad fucking daylight I will fuck you. There are so many fucking ways that I can fuck you, you'll be feeling like a fucking Geshrin whore on a busy friday night. I'll rape your virgin pink fucking asshole with my fucking fist if you fucking piss me off enough."
The customer, apparently tired of Roger's shit, threw down 1,500 DA onto the ground, kicking up some dust.
"...For that much, you can have a clean GP-1 with two mags. Just because I fucking like you and because I fucking love business. Just remember, if I get any police knocking at my door, I am coming after you. Yknow why? Because you're a new motherfucker. I don't fucking know you. I know every fucking person doesn't wanna fucking screw me because I'll screw him upside down, sideways and frontways. It's just a matter of time before I get some shit on you, motherfucker. And when I fucking do, maybe you can buy even more shit."
Once the customer picked up his rifle and case, a rather tired-looking ID-SOL came out from between one of the aisles and grabbed the customer by the hand, escorting him out of the store.
"Happy trails, motherfucker. Don't fucking kill noone important with that shit."
