Behind thick panes of reinforced, shatterproof glass reinforced with wire and covered with metal bars lie a vast selection of knives, saps, cudgels, "walking sticks", hatchets, swords, sais, throwing stars, brass knuckles, nun-chuks, elbow spikes, steel-tipped boots, and varieties of personal armor. Above the metal door to the building is a neon sign (amazingly unbroken) which blazes with the words "GUN METAL".
The hulk with a doctorate looks briefly at the sign, somewhat longer at the window displays, and then turns his anxious gaze to Mr. Kyle and Mr. Goodness, asking: "Are you s-s-sure you want to go in there? I mean, not that it is my intention to speak disparagingly of whatever deeply-held beliefs you may treasure, but I rather hope that you might agree that violence begets violence, as this seems to be something which you both recently have come to experience firsthand, and keeping a weapon in one's home is far more likely to bring injury or death to a loved one rather than to act as an efficient device for home defense. I regret that I may sound a bit preachy, but I think you might do better to refrain from making such martial purchases." Ingar shifts his gaze pleadingly from one man to the other, and back again, gazing occationally at his newly shined shoes. He is sufficiently caught up in the situation to forget to breathe.
Griffon is eyeing a pair of matched black nun-chaku so closely that he isn't really paying attention to Ingar. He nods, saying, "You're absolutely right," before he turns his head and says to Goodness as he indicates the nun-chaku. "You know, those might come in handy."
Goodness nods. "Ye've got money on ye, slave? Aftair ye pay fer m' tooth an' nose? Knock yerself oot. Buy the lot."
"I'm sorry, but I do not think you quite got the gist of what I was saying, Mr. Kyle," interjects Ingar.
The agent scans the shelves. "Which on o' ye's got me gun? I'm not gonna ask again." He pauses, then whirls on the hapless Mr. Forn. "ENGAR! Breathe, man!" He pats the big fellow on the arm, as if to make sure the squirming from before was not just his imagination.
Now all of Ingar squirms, but rather like a human. "Oh yes, sorry," he gasps and starts breathing in his arhythmic way.
"I know it's haird on ye, Engar. Yer a peaceful mon, an' I admire that. So be peaceful. Release yer karmic energies an' keep us out o' hairm's way. In the meantime, I'll take a half dozen o' them throwing stars, three clips o' hollow points, a copy o' 'Soldier O' Fortune', and one of ye better gimme me gun back afore I count t' three oor I swear t' Dobbs I'm gonna lose me temper."
"Really," comments Ingar, "I must say, I am not into any of this irrational New Age stuff, though I realize that for some it may be comforting. While positive thinking and non-confrontational behaviour goes a long way, we must all be responsible, I cannot live your life for you, Mr. Goodness. Furthermore, I must say, as a friend, and with all due respect, that I do not think that you should be wielding a handgun at the time, as you seem to be rather upset, and might do something rash. This is not to imply that I do not consider you a competent adult, but we all have bad days."
Griffin looks at the two as they have their conversation, and walks into the shop, standing in the doorway for a moment to let his eyes adjust, and to see who is actually in the shop, and what other nice impliments of distruction it contains. After a short pause, Griffin enters Gun Metal and the door closes behind him.
Goodness looks at Forn somewhat incredulously, then shakes his head and smiles. "Mmm. Point taken. Well, Mr. Foorn, as a friend, then. Kin I count on ye t' give me me gun back if I should find need of it? As in, if someone stairt shootin' at us, lookin' all mean like they'd like t' do us a bit o' damage, an' they're too far away fer ye t' talk to?"
Ingar thinks, his bushy eyebrows creased with concern, for a half a minute or so, and then replies, "Well, under such circumstances, I guess that it would be all right to return the gun to you, as I couldn't really bear the thought of you or any of my friends being injured." He smiles his shy, tightlipped smile.
"That's mighty lairge of ye, Engar," says Goodness. He watches Griffon go into the shop. "Kin ye believe that?" he asks, pointing a hand derisively in Griffon's direction. "A slave, wanderin' off on his own? That boy's got no manners, Engar. An' no sense o' decorum, either. 'Tis sad, really."
"Well, I guess that it might be considered a bit rude. And we must all strive to be agreeable to one another. I hope that you will be gentle with him, while making him see the error of his ways before he destroys himself - I have gathered that the judicial system here is rather harsh," muses Ingar.
"C'mon, then, Engar," says Goodness. "I do need t'get a couple o' things in here, though I promise ye I'll only use them when I'm not angry."
Ingar nods gravely.
Goodness pauses before entering the shop, as if stuck by a thought. "Air ye a bettin' man, Mr. Foorn?"
"No, not really. I can't say I am."
"Maybe I kin explain me position in life t'ye, oor at least what I see it t'be. Yer a student o' philosophy, Engar, so I think ye might see me logic. See, when ye have a place like this, like Al Amarja, wi' all the rules an' regs an' whatnot, ye've got the potential fer, well, fascism. Ye need someone t', eh, shake things up a bit, make 'em sit up an' take notice, y'see? A bit o' controlled anarchy. Nothin' too serious. Else, well, people might get doonhearted, ye ken? Blowin' up an occasional buildin', a bit of a tussle here an' there, it lets people know someone's oot there who cares fer 'em, Engar. An' that's what I do. Well, when I'm na interviewin' Bairgers, that is."
"While Fascism in all its form should be rigorously opposed, I wonder whether you have considered the possibility that random violence and destruction might not be the best way of improving the human condition?" queries Ingar mildly. "Anyway, I am impressed at your ability to reconcile a variety of social roles and tasks."
The agent turns the handle to the shop. "Now come on. Let's get me some weaponry." Goodness enters.
"Hello, welcome to Gun Metal," says the disembidied voive. "Please put your hands on top of your head and turn slowly in a circle."
"Doon an' doon," replies Agent Goodness cheerfully, doing as the disembodied voice asks. He glances for a moment at the bag of food in the floor, then shrugs and finishes turning. "Eh, ye haven't by any chance seen me slave saunter through here, have ye? Only, I'm supposed t'be watchin' him."
The door opens without an answer from the voice but with its customary BUZZZ! and Goodness steps through.
Ingar follows him in, reluctantly. He gets to the door of Gun Metal just after it closes behind Buttery, but finds it locked. He tugs a couple of times, yells in an attempt to get Buttery's attention, and is on the point of trying more drastic measures when a final yank reveals that the door is now open.
Stepping inside he finds himself in a small foyer, with a large metal door on the other side. The door has no obvious handle (it's one of those that is opened and closed remotely) and the only other items apparent are a half dozen television cameras mounted at various angles on the ceiling. There are two lights over the door, one green and one red. The red one is currently lit. There is a small speaker grille mounted in the wall next to the door, which is emitting a low, static hiss. The door behind Ingar swings closed with a *CLICK* and the speaker grille comes to life. There is also a bag on the floor from which wafts the smells of chinese food.
"Welcome to Gun Metal. Please put your hands on top of your head and turn in a complete circle."
Ingar, always eager to conform, does precisely this.
Sitting on the floor of the alcove is a large paper bag, from which wafts the strikingly familiar odor of chinese food.
Griffin frowns slightly, he moves so he's standing over the paper bag, peering down into the depth of the bag he calls out hesitantly. "Hello, anyone here?"
The chinese food does not reply.
However, the front door to the store closes and the speaker grille emits a static hiss. "Hello, welcome to Gun Metal. Please put your hands on top of your head and turn slowly in a circle."
Griffin complies, his hands lacing over the top of his head, he turns in a slow circle, wondering what kind of equipment they are using. There is a loud BUZZZZZZZZ and a snap as the locks on the door disengage, and Griffin heads into Gun Metal.
The interior of Gun Metal looks like a cross between a jewelry store and a high security bank. There are numerous display cases running along the walls, each of them containing some type of weapon. Knives can be seen in profusion, along with various types of baton, clubs, brass knuckles (both spiked and unspiked) mace, pepper spray, etc. All of the cases are protected behind inner walls of thick wire mesh, broken in only a few locations by security drawers for passing wares in and out. Three doors exit the main showroom, all of them with neatly lettered signs above them. The first says "Armor", the second, "Exotics" and the third, which is behind the wire mesh and inaccessible from the main showroom, reads "Employees Only."
Near one of the security drawers stand two men - the first is around 2 meters tall and wire thin, with sandy blonde hair and light skin; the second is 1.72 meters tall and also wiry, though not as much as the first man, with blue eyes, caucasian skin, and no hair. Both are holding boxes, and looking in the general direction of Griffin.
Also near one of the security drawers, but on the other side of the wire mesh, a young woman of around 16. She is dressed in black leather and wears mirrorshaded sunglasses, even though it is not particularly bright inside the building. She is well built and muscular without being bulky. Her hair is lustrous brown, her skin tone creamy. She is hefting a loaded crossbow, which she has pointed in the direction of the two men.
In addition, there is a flicker of movement in the room, as if perpetually seen out of the corner of the eye, accompanied by a high pitched, almost inaudible whine.
"Welcome to Gun Metal," says the woman, "I'll be with you in a moment. Don't make any sudden moves." The crossbow doesn't waver.
Griffin stops dead in his tracks, trying to figure out what's going on. He says slowly, "I've been accused of acting rashly in the past, and I must say it's gotten me in trouble before. So if you don't mind, might I ask what's going on?"
"Just closing a sale," replies the woman.
"Ok then, let me know if I can help." After having said that, Griffin stands very still, and thinks about what he might do if things go bad.
A moment of awkwardness wavers, then stretches on as the new customer walks in. Leo takes in the scuffed and partially torn leather vest splattered with droplets of drying blood, the khaki shorts and the black combat boots, the seriously mussed up hair, but most of all, the ringed metal collar around his neck.
"Probably shops across the street too," Leo whispers softly to Ghishu. He then returns to his business. As previously instructed by the sales clerk, he lifts the cover of the box he's holding to check his purchase. He moves very, very carefully, aware of that annoying quasi-electrical hum and of the fact that with so many customers in one place, the personnel is likely to react first, and ask questions at the funeral. He peeks into the box. One, two, three, four, five. He checks carefully, then nods and recloses the box without sudden movements.
"Looks good," he comments. He glances at Ghishu, who is finishing checking his own purchases. "Alright, time to hit the road again!" he says cheerily. He nods at the clerk. "Thank you very much for your help, ma'am," he adds.
Shifting his box under one gangly arm, he steps around the new customer and heads for the security door. Ghishu follows Leo as he heads out.
As Ghishu and Leo head for the door, it opens again with a loud *CLICK* and a man steps into the room. He is caucasian, with short red-blonde hair, and is dressed in rather disheveled blue pinstriped pants, grey bracers, a shirt that might have been white several years ago, and a loosened blue bowtie with yellow polka-dots. A large bandage covers his nose and his face has a generally swollen look to it that one usually gets after being bludgeoned rather severely. He has a mildly irritated expression on his face, which becomes slightly more irritated as he notes the other newcomer.
"Well, if it ain't woon thing it's another," mutters Goodness with a sigh.
"Welcome to Gun Metal" says the woman, still keeping her crossbow trained on Ghishu and Leo.
"Thank ye, ma'am," replies Goodness, eyeing the pair on the business end of the weapon and wishing he had been a bit more forceful about his gun.
From the rear of the store comes another loud *BUZZZZZ* followed by "Hello, welcome to Gun Metal. Please put your hands on top of your head and turn in a complete circle". After a seconds pause, a muttered "Christ! He's a big one!" followed by "What the hell IS this guy anyway?" Followed a couple of seconds later by all the doors leading to other sections of the store swinging shut and locking with a series of loud *CLICK*s and the voice same voice coming over the in-store intercom. "OK, I don't like the looks of this guy - I'm locking things down. Vorpal, stay in main sales. Everyone else stay cool, but keep security tight."
Goodness chuckles. "Tha's jest Mr. Foorn, kids. He'll give ye noo trouble, an' may even offer ye milk an' cookies while he's hair."
"Relax folks - nothing to worry about," says the woman in main sales. "Just a security precaution is all - we have to be careful around here - lots of folks out there who want to get stuff for free. It's just routine."
The buzzing and humming grows no louder, but increases in pitch a bit, and the flickers seen from the corner of the eye seem to grow a bit more agitated as well.
"I kin see yair all rather busy at the moment, so I woon't trouble ye long. I only need a few shuriken, a couple'a clips o' hollow points fer me 9mm, an' have any of ye seen me slave?" He takes out a cigarette and lights it, drawing in the sweet, mentholated smoke.
"Shuriken are through the door on your left, sir," replies the woman. "We don't carry ammunition for firearms here - they're illegal on the island. And I am afraid I don't know what your slave looks like - is it one of these gentlemen?"
She keeps the crossbow cocked and ready.
Slave? Leo's gaze turns towards the first new arrival and his metal collar, then back to the Scot. I don't want to know, he tells himself firmly. He starts to shrug, but the movement turns to something like a little dance step as the second new arrival ligths his cigarette. He steps back in a reflex reaction.
"Well, hmm, don't worry about us, we're done," he says politely. He moves around the Scot to the door, then glances back at Crossbow Lass to see if she'll cycle the door.
As Leo heads for the door, it opens to reveal - er, um, SOMETHING.
The... creature standing in the foyer stands something over seven feet tall, and has a slightly triangular face with wide cheekbones and a weak chin, his skin is large pored and pallid, and he has thick lips and a too-wide mouth, his blue-irised eyes are large and watery (like those of a cow), and flank a large, beaklike nose. His ears are oddly elongated, and his hair is coarse and wild. While his hideous appearance is hard to evaluate, he seems to be about 30 years old, and aging poorly. His body odor is rather unpleasant, much like a mixture of chemicals and raw meat. However, the hulking humanoid is wearing a caramel-coloured suit, with a matching vest, a light green shirt and a black bowtie, which seem to be rather expensive menswear, and every button is meticulously buttoned. He seems to be breathing in moist, arrhythmic gasps, and smiles a tight-lipped smile reminicent of former president Nixon, while taking in the scene, wide-eyed.
There is another moment of floating awkwardness as Leo steps back to leave enough room for the newcomer, planting his heel solidly onto poor Ghishu's toes. Leo turns back to apologize profusely to his friend - then freezes mid-motion as the agitated flicker reminds him of the ominous Vorpal's presence.
"Ah -- uh --" he says eloquently. His mouth remains open for a second, then he remembers to close it. "I'm terribly sorry, Ghishu," he finishes with more poise. Without sudden gestures, he faces the hulking new arrival again. "And you must be Mr. uh, Foorn," he adds, remembering the Scotsman's words of a moment ago. "Well, sorry for the commotion, Ghishu and I are just finished with our purchases and will be leaving your friends and you to this charming young person's attention."
He nods in the direction of the sales clerk, who is still pointing a drawn crossbow at him. For the third time, he attempts to get to the door, but there are now just too many people in the room to manoeuvre without bumping into one another. And the last thing Leo wants to do right now is to give the trigger-happy personnel the impression that there is a scuffle going on. He stops again and looks at the others, hoping they will re-shuffle themselves into some kind of pattern that allows safe passage through the door and onwards to the slowly cooling chinese food leftovers.
Ghishu makes a muffled groan as Leo steps on his toe. When Leo turns to make his apology, he can see that Ghishu is still shocked from whatever it is that's standing at the door. Giving Leo the What-the-hell-is-that look, he silently comments "I know I should expect those things around here, but it still gets me every time".
Griffin stays very still, utterly confused, he tries to collect himself, and fails miserably.
Ingar's smile widens a little, unfortunately baring a few teeth which are sharply pointed. He gingerly extends one of his meaty hands, the skin has a slick sheen in the store's light, towards Leo in an unmistakable "shake hands" gesture. "Yes, I am Mr. Forn, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr..?" His gaze darts briefly in the direction of the young woman.
In light of Mr. Forn's courteous manners, Leo manages to squelch his self-preservation instincts with commendable celerity.
"Leo, Leo Barbeau," he introduces himself with a small bow of his spidery frame. "And this is my friend Ghishu," he adds, turning to indicate his companion with the bruised foot - and taking in Ghishu's expression of shock. Mr. Forn follows Leo's gaze to Ghishu, and momentarily loses his smile in favour of a slight but heartfelt sigh.
Leo quickly turns back to Mr. Forn to smooth out the faux-pas.
Ingar heaves up his normally sloping shoulders in a vast shrug, raises
his
hands, palms up, and tilts his head to the left, smiling apologetically.
All this ambulations of his vile physique signal that he is used to such
reactions.
His package firmly tucked under his left arm, Leo extends his right hand to take Forn's, bracing himself for contact with that glistening, pale skin. Ingar's hand envelops Leo's like a vise - like a vise made of dead fish. The sensation is much like sticking your hand into a moist rubber glove, and then sticking it into a bucket of wet concrete. He gives shakes once, gently, and bows courteously as he rumbles, "I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Barbeau." Ingar straightens up, and after an uncomfortable pause he releases the hand.
Leo feels a little better as soon as his hand is free. After all, his hands are a crucial part of making a living -- as soon as he lands a job, that is.
"Um," Ingar continues, "are you a permanent resident of the Edge?"
Mr. Forn smiles reassuringly (at least he tries to) and waves his hand effeminately, seemingly at nobody in particular.
Leo shakes his head. "No, I just got here. Well about a week ago, but what with the guide strike at the terminal, I only arrived in town early this morning. Ghishu and I have been around a good bit already, though: Sunken, Flowers, Golden, and now Four Points." He smiles in his usual friendly way (somewhat more successfully than Ingar, which must no doubt be a great boon to a man making a living as a performer. Still, it would take balls of solid rock to refuse making a contribution if Ingar was passing the hat around.)
Agent Goodness smiles wrily. "Isn't that somethin' lad? Ye get used to it." He looks across the room, noticing Griffon as if for the first time, and shoots his eyebrows up in an expansive gesture. "Ah, by me stars! THERE you air, slave! Here's me thinkin' to meself, 'A slave should NEVER wandair off withoot askin' his master fairst. Could get himself into a lot of trouble tha' way'. I was all afeared fer ye, slave. Bu, noo, here ye air, safe an' soond." He gestures to the woman with the crossbow. "Sorry aboot me SLAVE, ma'am. Agent Goodnesss at yer cervix. Has he been any tribble at all?"
Ingar smiles a bit more, shifting his gaze between Ghishu, Griffon, Leo, Goodness, the staff, and certain areas of empty air, somehow managing never to focus his eyes on a single piece of merchandize.
The woman with the crossbow watches the exchange without expression. Once there is a lull she comments "Is there anything I can help you with?"
Griffin gives her a charming, if slightly intense smile, and says, "I saw you had a nice set of nunchaku in your window, I was wondering if I could look at a set before I bought them?" He makes a conscious effort not to look in Goodness' direction as he says this, but he can't help the bit of a real smile that plays across his eyes as he looks at the woman. The smile dies suddenly when he remembers the last woman he was close to, and he suddenly finds himself on the verge of tears again.
"Nunchaku are in 'Exotics' through the door on your left, sir." The woman replies. Griffin glances over and sure enough there is a door with a sign saying "Exotics" over it. The door is, however, closed. Goodness is moving in that direction.
"Well," says Goodness, "I was spending this uncomfortable pause waiting for me slave to explain why he walked off withoot askin' me permission. Apparently he thinks he kin live withoot it." He cocks an eyebrow like a shotgun in Kyle's direction and takes another drag on his cigarette. "Ah, the impetuousness of youth who haven't been shown their proper place." He walks to the door indicated by Lady Crossbow. "Shurikin through here, ye say?"
"Yes sir," says the woman. "I'll buzz you through." Tucking the crossbow into the crook of one arm she reaches under the counter. There is a "BUZZZZZZZZ" and a loud *SNAP* as the door to Exotics unlocks.
Goodness pulls the door open as it buzzes, then stops and turns his head towards Kyle. "Ye'll stay here, slave," he says lightly. "Miss, if me slave gives ye problems, ye have me permission as his master t' shoot him wherever ye see fit." He turns once more to look at Ingar. "Mr. Foorn? Would ye care t' accompany me, or air ye havin' yerself a time right here?"
Griffin shrugs, then stays right where he is. He looks at the girl and gives her a "What can you do" look.
Goodness winks at Forn and enters the adjoining room, looking for the throwing stars.
"Well," says Leo with an apologetic smile, "I'm pretty much done here, and if I leave it will make a bit of space for you shoppers. If you could let me through, Mr. Forn, I'd get through that door, pick up the food and be on my way."
He turns to his companion. "Ghishu, I think you were done too, right? Do you have any other errands to run in Four Points, or shall we hit Flowers again?"
"I'm done here, Leo", Ghishu concludes, "Let's hit the road".
Ingar sidles stiff-leggedly aside to let Ghishu and Leo get past him, following them with his cowlike gaze as they pass. As the two leaves, he waves his right hand daintily at them, saying. "Bye, Leo. Bye Ghishu. I hope I will meet you both again in a more pleasant location."
"Have a nice day, Mr. Forn," Leo answers pleasantly as he and Ghishu
walk out. "Mr. Goodness, Mr....uh, bye, everyone. Thank you
for your help, ma'am," he ends with a final nod in Miss Crossbow's direction.
And then walks through that unfriendly metal door. As the door shuts
behind Ghishu and Leo, Ingar, Buttery, and Griffin see Leo pick up the
bag of chinese food.
Behind the mesh screen is a large, bulky Mediterranean looking man wearing a black exercise outfit. He has the sort of body build that says "professional athlete" and "steroid abuser" at the same time. Like his coworker out front he is wearing mirrorshaded sunglasses.
The area is stocked with all sorts of interesting weaponry. In addition to martial arts weapons (almost anything that isn't a simple club or cutting implement is in here, so you can find ashiko, blowguns, cestus, flying guillotines, garrotes, hankyu, jitte, kama, kusarigama, manriki, nunchaku, sai, etc. etc., but not staves, swords, tantos, etc. The division is somewhat arbitrary) there are a wide variety of oddities - a two headed battle axe, a chainsaw, several sizes of taser/cattle prod, large and small crossbows (quite a selection, incidentally), elbow spikes, knee spikes, and other such weirdness.
"Can I help you?" the man asks.
"Yes," replies Goodness with a smile. "I'm in need of a half-doozen shuriken, an' kin ye tell me how this flying guillotine works? How concealable is she? Only, I'm wearin' a suit, ye see." He turns to Ingar. "Like Christmas fer de Sade, eh?"
"Actually, I believe that the pathological Marquis was more into non-lethal assaults on more or less cooperating partners, though I have not studied that particular case," responds Ingar, slightly miffed. "While I respect your desire for personal defense, my friend, I cannot truly empathize with it."
The man nods at Goodness' request for shuriken, but laughs at the suggestion that a flying guillotine might be concealable. He walks over to one wall and pulls down a metal hoop, around 50 cm in diameter and sharpened to a wicked, serrated edge all along the inner edge. A length of stout cord is attached to one outside edge.
"Its a great ambush weapon," he says, holding it up for both Goodness and Forn to see. "You drop it over some unsuspecting bastard's head, jerk, and no more head, see? But if you never used one before its not much of a self-defense weapon. You gotta study for ten years at least to use one in Tibet."
He hangs the weapon back up on its place. "Got some nice shuriken for ya, though." He pulls out a couple of jet black throwing stars. "These are top of the line stainless steel, blackened to reduce reflection to almost nothing. They're lightweight, carry a wicked edge, and have the highest tolerance for balance and aerodynamic quality of any shuriken you can find on the market today. They're pricey - $25.00 a star - but you won't be able to put your hands on a better product short of spending forty years learning smithing and metallurgy." He holds one up for Goodness to inspect through the wire mesh.
It really does look cool.
"Right. Gimme four, then," says the agent. "I'll take a pass on the flying bairdcage fer the moment, though I may be back fer one. I like the concept!" He turns to gauge Ingar's reaction. "Mr. Foorn! See anythin' t'yair likin'?"
Ingar's expression is one of loyalty tempered with slight disgust. It actually manages to look at home in the folds of his facial features. He interrupts his psychoanalytical "tch-tch-tch" to respond a rumbling "NO" to Goodness's query.
"Crikey!" mumbles Goodness, still unused to Forn's Super Woofer. "Suit yerself, Engar." Ingar smiles apologetically.
Goodness approaches Big Boy. "Eh, in jest a moment, a young fella is gonna come in t'buy nunchucks. Have ye got a video camera thingy t'see 'im in the foyer, there? He's me slave, an my purchase goes on his bill. Can do?" He takes a final drag on his menthol, but holds on to the filter end.
"Depends on whether he has the cash to pay for it," replies the man. "Your bill comes to $100.00 even. We don't particularly like people getting into arguments at the front counter - or anywhere else in the store for that matter. You clear it with him and I've got no problem with it, but if he says 'no' then we aren't going to beat the money out of him for you. Also, you don't get your goods until we get paid. You get your stuff in a box. You can open the box to make sure everything is there while inside the store, but if you actually try to remove anything from the box while in the store we drop you like a cow in a slaughterhouse. If he pays for it then he inspects the goods. Can do?"
"Nah. Too much trouble." Goodness takes out his Visa. "I'll get the little bugger later."
Goodness looks for a method to slide the visa across, but the man shakes his head. "Register's up front. Pay when you're ready to leave."
He starts pulling shuriken out of a drawer and dropping them into a box, one by one. When he's finished he closes the box and looks in Ingar's direction.
"Nothin' I can interest you in?" he asks.
"No! Thank you! Nothing for me!" yelps Ingar and hurries out after Goodness.
"Is there anything else that you might be interested in?" she asks.
"Some escrima sticks might be nice, but I bet they're in exotics too." He shrugs slightly.
"Escrima sticks are in the display case to your left," the woman answers promptly. "The models you see are for display only - we custom lathe our sticks on the premises."
Griffin nods, and goes over, looking at the escrima sticks. "Ever have to use that cross bow before?"
The woman regards Kyle for a moment. Griffin looks back evenly. "Yes," she says flatly. "Generally speaking I prefer a good stand up fight, but the quarrels are small enough to get through the wire - usually."
Nodding his head slightly, he's silent for a moment, then says in his australian accent, "My name's Griffin, nice to meet you."
He pauses for a moment waiting for a reply but doesn't get one - he gets the eerie feeling from her cool regard that she regards him more as a statistic waiting to happen than an actual person. He continues: "You study an art, I take it?"
"Kenjutsu," she replies. "Suio style."
Griffin nods. Looking through the display case, he asks, "How long have you been studying?"
"Long enough," comes the response. "What sort of escrima sticks are you looking for? Our deluxe rattan model is $13.95. It's 28" long and 7/8" in diameter, fire hardened. If you're looking for something more showy we can add a spiral burn pattern around it, but that raises the cost to $19.95 a stick. We also offer rubber no-slip grips for $5.00 per stick. A two-stick carry bag is $12.95. If you're looking for something fancier than rattan we also make them in densiwood, ironwood, or cocobolo wood. These take one week for delivery, and we only sell them in pairs, but we throw in a carry case for free. Densiwood sticks are $79.95, Ironwood are $89.95, and cocobolo are $42.95. Finally, we sell display stands for escrima sticks - each stand holds up to four sticks and sells for $69.95."
"Probably the delux rattan; instead of rubber, could you use skate-board tape? Or will I have to do that on my own?" He looks up at her questioningly, smiling despite her manners.
For just a moment the woman slides her sunglasses down from her eyes (which turn out to be gray) and gives Griffin a look that says eloquently "Does this look like a skateboard shop to you?" She then slides the glasses back into place with one finger and shrugs.
"Customer's always right," she says primly, " but I'll have to check with the folks in the back room as to what it will cost. Check back tomorrow."
Griffin shakes his head, then says, "I'll just get a normal set then, I can tape em myself later." He glances towards the Exotics section, slightly upset that he can't explore more of the store.
"$27.90," the woman says, "You can pick 'em up tomorrow."
Goodness shrugs with a chuckle. "Neh. g'head with ye, then, Engar. We'll be oot in a moment." He motions grandly to Kyle. "All yers, slave. Doon't be too long." Goodness pays for his shuriken and waits patiently, his hand behind his back, still palming the cigarette butt.
Waving effeminately bye-bye at all in the locality, Ingar endeavours to leave this den of violence, if only the doors will let him out.
"Thanks for shopping at Gun Metal," the woman says as the doors buzz for Ingar to depart.
"So," says Agent Goodness to the Crossbow Queen. "How d'ye feel aboot men wi' scars?"
"They're careless," replies the woman behind the counter.
Goodness chuckles and shakes his head. "Aye," he mutters. After standing around in silence for far too long to be comfortable, and contemplating lighting another cigarette, Goodness looks at Griffon. "Well, ye doon't seem t'need anythin', slave, as ye seem t'be standin' aboot wi' yer thumb up yer arse, so off we go."
The woman looks at Kyle. Although it is difficult to tell for certain, she seems to be expecting something.
Goodness slides his credit card over to pay for the shuriken. "Slave," he says to Kyle, "If ye doon't want t'buy anythin' we kin go. So step it up." He signs and pockets the receipt, and puts his hands into his pockets, feeling a bit naked without the comforting weight of his gun by his armpit.
The woman runs the card through, waits for it to clear, then hands it back. A moment later the man comes out of exotics with a box in one hand and a crossbow in the other. He drops it in one of the security drawers, winches the crossbow, and drops a bolt into the well. At the same time, the buzzing, humming sound gets just a bit louder.
"Here's your purchase," says the woman, as both of them train their crossbows on Goodness. "You can open the box to confirm your order, but do not attempt to remove any of the weapons from the box or we'll drop you. If you walk out of here with the box then the transaction is complete. Understand?" With one hand she slides the security drawer open on Goodness' side.
Kyle moves forward and reaches into his pocket slowly, coming up with some money. Holding it between his fingers he says, "Can I get a nun-chaku to take with me please and I'll come back tomorrow for the Escrima sticks?"
"Excima stick, eh?" asks Goodness. "Skin condition, have ye? Seem t'me ye'd be better off findin' a good dairmatologist." Goodness shakes the box, then opens it and peers inside, then shuts it. "Good t'go, darlin'. A pleasure doin' business wi' ye. Slave! Step it up! Mr. Foorn's waitin' fer us!"
"Nunchaku are in 'exotics' through the door on your left," replies the woman to Kyle.
"Yes I know, I don't really have time to look, I'd just like your cheapest one please."
The female clerk looks at the male clerk, who shrugs and turns to Griffin. "The cheapest we got? OK. You want 'em in red, black, blue, or white?"
"Black's fine." Griffin finds himself slightly angry for a reason he can't really identify. He wonders if they'll be going to the pits next or not.
The male clerk walks back into "Exotics". A couple of minutes pass and then he returns carrying a box. "That'll be $2.95," he says.
Griffin pays for this, and the escrima sticks which he'll pick up tomorrow. He looks at Goodness after receiving his purchase, and will follow him out of the store.
The woman takes the money, and drops the change into the security drawer along with the package., then hands it back. Both she and the man raise their crossbows.
"Here's your purchase," says the woman, as she keeps her crossbow on Goodness. The man points his at Kyle. "You can open the box to confirm your order, but do not attempt to remove any of the weapons from the box or we'll drop you. We aren't fooling around - this isn't a joke. If you walk out of here with the box then the transaction is complete. Understand?" With one hand she slides the security drawer open on Kyle's side.
The buzzing and flickering continues.
"Greet, let's goo," says Goodness, letting the door buzz them out. He steps into the street, looking for Ingar.
After getting his purchase, change, and a reciept, Griffin follows along. "Are we going to the pits?"
Goodness smiles as the Exotics staff person finishes the litany for a second time, then says, "We're off t' Sad Mary's, oh Slave me Slave. I'm gettin' a drink, an' maybe a bit o' somethin' else, an' ye may get yer opportunity t' hit somethin'. Is tha' all right with ye?"
Kyle receives his package, and both he and Goodness exit the store. As they leave the woman says "Thank you for shopping at Gun Metal."
Outside they once again encounter Ingar Forn, who has been patiently
waiting.
To Be Continued...