February Gunshop and Catchall

[coffinturk]

[ OOC: It's been a while since a separate gunshop and catchall! Welcome to all the new folk! Feel free to stop by. He's got guns! He's got other things! He's got information. He absolutely hates being social so clearly it's time to seek him out. Come for the weapons, stay for the guard cucco.

Vincent looks largely like his canonical self from the OG games. Key differences are that his hands now sport claws (even under the gauntlet if you look so... double claws?!) And sometimes his cloak seems to ripple between being a cloak and trying to be wings. It's fine. Probably. His eyes have an undercurrent of cold, ghostly blue light along with the crimson and what little can be seen of his face shows thin traces of blue veins. Technically also has fangs but harder to see that. ]

I. Gun Shop

Vincent has taken over a small area in the Convoy's 'shop' trailer in which he's posted strict hours of business for the purpose of trading or requesting guns and ammunition, maintenance, repair or basic lessons. The hours listed are described as, 'From thirty minutes after the Convoy's stop for evening camp until two hours have passed barring emergencies.' This neatly provides an hour or so of night time hours for sun-hating Drifters to pay a visit. There are also some neatly written rules.


-Don't bother me during non-business hours unless it's an emergency.
    Ammo and repairs are emergencies.
    Securing salvaged firearms and ammo are emergencies.
    Wanting a gun or lessons are not.

-No one is entitled to have a firearm.
-Ammo is limited. Don't waste it.
-You're required to prove proficiency and responsibility.
-Clean and maintain your own weapon.
-You may ask to be taught.
-Privilege may be revoked.

Like clockwork, Vincent will be found at the posted hours with a list of current ammunition and a sample selection of available firearms. Pistol, revolver, shotgun, single shot rifles and assault rifles. They are/are loosely based on 20th-21st century Earth and caliber. Most look right at home in a post apoc setting as far as 'wear and tear' but have been clearly repaired and are in perfect working order.

There is a cucco usually nesting in a bed of straw arranged in a box. This is basically a chicken, but one most people would not want to mess with because it can summon very angry friends. And well, it seems to be a pet of a sort. Food and water are nearby for it. Sometimes there's even eggs.

It's probably reasonable to pick up around the Convoy that despite the displays being mostly about firearms, this guy might have other salvaged goods that can be discussed. Has a habit of putting some of it to community supplies but... well, does this man look like one who wouldn't keep things for himself? No. No he doesn't.

Vincent is usually working on a gun that needs repair unless he's dealing with a hopeful customer.

II. Bar

Time as a Drifter has taken its toll on Vincent in a similar shape as everyone in their Convoy is bound to experience. The addition of some traits and instincts of a monster.

Well, new monster in cases like the former Turk. Anyway, the point here is that interest in solid food had dulled further, whatever the answer to the mystery of whether or not he had to eat might have been. While his body didn't reject it, he felt the enjoyment of its tastes had paled considerably. Liquids, on the other hand; tea and water and juice and alcohol, they still had a familiar strength, even when they didn't nourish or affect him as much.

Honestly, Vincent couldn't help but wonder how that worked. Shouldn't it all dull with the exception of his craving for blood? Probably best not to think too hard about it. Better to enjoy it while he can.

This is why he can be found periodically through the month, changed by the region or not depending on the time, in the bar that's located in the rear trailer of the Convoy. It could be morning or afternoon, or even sometime prior to dawn; while his vampiric nature weakens him under direct sunlight, it's merciful enough that he doesn't burn or suffer more than a light sleepiness with a roof over his head.

Sometimes it's a glass of whiskey on ice. Sometimes a red wine. Probably wine. At least it doesn't seem too viscous. He hasn't found a way to preserve blood for later consumption and besides, he isn't the type to casually drink it in a social setting.

He won't be too picky if the stock's low. But Vincent does have his preferences. Join him or even try to engage in conversation, he's likely to respond. Probably. Maybe.

...And if the entrance of someone else is interesting enough, he'll certainly react. Otherwise, he's just another quiet figure.

III. Wildcard

[ ooc: Vincent is largely found more active at night but it's not unheard of to see him during the day; the sun doesn't cause him to burn it just greatly diminishes his power and makes him sleepy. HMU for any ideas that don't relate to the upcoming Event which will have another TL! Can be reached by PM coffinturk or on plurk with maruah ]

Comments

i-iii ish

[purplexing]

It's late enough in the day that who's to notice a shadow passing overhead? (Donnie wouldn't be surprised if Vincent did; the man seems to be particularly sharp, perhaps more so with all the changes any of them have been put through.) He doesn't show himself immediately however, still hesitant about doing so, perhaps.

The turtle's been doing a lot better, all the more now that they aren't surrounded constantly by snow. Concerned brothers or not, there had been nothing to stop him from going out to stretch his wings, the first chance he'd gotten, but at least he had made it a point to not go too high nor too far, if only to alleviate any worries. He's been barred from doing any forge work just yet, which has only made him more restless, really.

But now the winged lad skulks around on the trailer's roof, waiting to catch sight of the red-cloaked gunman either in his comings or goings. He's not terribly aware of the shop hours but he's figured every other person in the convoy has become nocturnal to some degree.

Re: i-iii ish

[coffinturk]

If he's not going to sense the warmth of Donnie's blood or see the shadow of a turtlebird on wing, would he not hear the sound of talons on trailer roof?

Watch him not come out until it's time for the shop to close though, no matter how long the lad's up there. The cucco is left to.. guard? Who knows. Maybe he intends to go back later but there's also consideration to be had. That's to say is Vincent going to be the type of person to settle in for a conversation while petting a chicken cradled in one arm like some James Bond villain?

Sorry to disappoint but the answer is no.

Down the small steps into the trailer he goes, heading for the next one that holds the bar. He hadn't even bothered to look up. But the call through the night air is decidedly aimed to the waiting, winged shadow.

"Coming down?"

[purplexing]

Is Vincent doing this on purpose? The thought might have crossed Donnie's mind, but he has more patience than his brothers, not to mention a warm rooftop to nap on. He stirs at the sounds, the creaks from the trailer that can't be helped no matter how trained and quiet one might try to be.

Ah, so he had been noticed. ...which just makes him a bit huffy that Vincent's clearly made him wait on purpose. Of course, now that the acknowledgment and invitation (?) has been made, Donnie hesitates.

He...hadn't really thought this far ahead. Strange, yes, particularly for he who needs to prepare for everything. But usually it isn't in dealing with people whom you'd last parted ways under very unusual circumstances such as that which they'd been in.

Still, it isn't long, and Donnie drops down quietly behind Vincent.

[coffinturk]

Maybe he should not have. Donnie deserved immediate attention given their recent history.

But, even if he was just telling himself this and actually wanted time, it stood to reason that if he waited til the shop was closed, then Vincent had every reason to tell people to not bother him, barring a real emergency.

And that meant he could focus on what he and the teen needed to talk about. Vincent, once assured Donnie is coming with him, leads the way to the bar. For the moment it's quiet and empty. Maybe Tifa has stepped out for a bit and other denizens are off at other tasks. None of this will stop the gunman from crossing over moving behind the counter. There'll be the clink of bottles as he looks for something good in the potluck mix.

"Suppose you're too young," he mutters. He'll be looking for something non-alcoholic too in that case. He's sure there's something around here. Is he going to listen to Donnie if the turtle-harpy protests being 'too young' for liqour? Probably not.

[purplexing]

He's never actually been in this trailer and it's pretty obvious for the way he looks around, half curious and half cautious in that way of one with a practical, overly aware mindset of 'oh, this is a bar and I'm underage, should I even be in here'?

He doesn't mind that it's empty though, and once he's satisfied his curiosity with exploring the setup on this side of the bar, he drifts over to the counter itself, hopping onto one of the seats. Okay, maybe there's a tiny bit of boyish excitement for the novelty of being in a bar, but it's a brief thing as he looks over as Vincent hunts through bottles. "I'm sixteen," he feels he must clarify, not that he's objecting about having something alcoholic. "...maybe seventeen by now."

With it not being cold, Donnie hasn't had to worry about wearing something to keep warm, but he's gone back to wearing a scarf about his shoulders, pulled just a little more snug than how he usually would leave it, the faded purple material barely concealing the bandaging around his neck.

[coffinturk]

Listen? No. But be amused at the assertion.

"That so. Hm."

Now, Vincent considers the matter seriously. It would normally not be above him to give a small taste of alcohol and watch all the harsh regrets the first time someone tastes something as strong as say... whiskey experiences. But the thing is, Donnie's still on bed rest and that means, even if Vincent isn't aware of the rule, he will consider that not enough time has really passed for the boy to recover from the effects of blood loss.

So no, no alcohol. Tomato juice on the other hand? That he's managed to dig some up. Maybe it was a lucky find. But more likely it was a concoction made when they managed to obtain some fresh produce from the farmlands.

Great for Bloody Mary but right now, Donnie's just going to get the non-alcoholic bit; half a pint glass full and placed on the table. A nice, dark amber whiskey for Vincent. Both bottles are left on the counter before he comes back around to take a seat on one of the stools.

"Cheers."

At least one gulp first. Then they can talk.

[purplexing]

He'd managed to distract himself with that realization that he's been here long enough to have missed a birthday. Oh. That's. Kind of depressing, actually oh look, drink!

Blinking at the glass that's set there, Donnie squints at it, probably startled because of the color, but then he squints, pulling it over to sniff at. When Vincent comes over to sit, he gets the flattest look.

"Really?"

Maybe this is to get back at him for the 'canyon settlement' jab. Whatever.

Donnie takes a sip, lips twisting in thought as he seems to be trying to decide whether he likes it or not. It actually isn't bad. Fresh tomato juice is certainly different from pre-bottled!

[coffinturk]

Really. The color is certainly ironic. As are the jokes that have often been made about vampires and tomato juice.

Vincent doesn't have the pop culture part. But that's not important right now. He does have a faint smile of amusement for Donnie's consternation.

"Drink up. Come find me when you've recovered. We'll see how you handle something stronger." It's not really about the canyon settlement at all. But, it is a form of concern from his vampire dad.

He looks down at his own glass. Another sip to savor the taste, a bit more silence and then a soft sigh.

"Sorry. I... misjudged the situation. And... my control. And because of that, you nearly died."

It's clear he doesn't apologize often by the awkward stilt of the words. But it's also obvious that Vincent's guilt is great. Just as the apology itself, however unpracticed, is sincere.

I

[vaultless]

Lucy is on a quest. Perhaps not one quite as important as bringing her father to justice, but one she considers important nevertheless -- meet all the members of her new community. After all, if they are all going to be travelling to this Nirvana together and be fighting off monsters together, isn't it the most sensible thing for them to all know and trust each other as well?

So one evening, right after opening up shop -- Lucy waited for exactly ten minutes past the posted opening hours, which she felt was an adequate time for setting up and getting settled in, and which had also felt like the longest ten minutes to her-- Vincent is going to find a very perky brunette in his shop. Her smile? Bright. The extended hand? So friendly. Her little speech? Absolutely rehearsed.

"Hello, my name is Lucy Maclean and I am a new member of your community. I understand we might come from very different worlds and our ways might be strange to one another, but nevertheless I hope we can find some common ground and can work together to make this endeavour a success."

Re: I

[coffinturk]

There is something important one must ask when narratives of this manner are storied out.

When Lucy waited ten minutes, was she outside when the tall, dark haired man in the red cloak first stepped inside the trailer that held the shop? It's absolutely critical.

...Not to Vincent mind you. He probably didn't stop. She might have seen a brief glance her way but without any prompting the man would have continued on up the small set of stairs and through the door that leads to an area set aside for shops, which at this time he seems to be the only one using. Probably.

Anyway.

Nothing about the critical question also changes in ten minutes when Lucy then enters and puts her best foot forward. It's a good speech. Doesn't matter if it's rehearsed. Vincent's crimson gaze, touched with a ghostly blue, regard the Vault dweller steadily. There is what seems to be a chicken peacefully clucking and also watching.

Vincent extends his right hand. Pay no mind to the razor sharp claws he's got there (too) these days, he is careful with them and also there's a fingerless, leather glove covering the safe bits for Lucy to determine a flesh-friendly landing spot for the handshake.

"Vincent Valentine." His expression hasn't changed. Not a lot can be seen thanks to the high collar of his cloak. But it's not particularly unfriendly. Just... steady.

The man has learned in the face of gregarious cheer not to make any sudden moves or overt distress. It (sometimes) ends the assault of social niceties quicker. But he also has no reason to be mean so...

Right. This is friendly from Mr. Valentine.

...Oh right. Critical question. Why was it important? Uh.... the narrator forgot.

[vaultless]

Thankfully, Lucy has had plenty of recent experience dealing with taciturn individuals. In fact, Vincent here gave her his name within minutes of meeting her, which is more than can be said for The Ghoul. And he shook her hand and didn't shoot at her which is more than can be said for, well... nearly everybody in the wasteland.

Frankly, this meeting is going swimmingly so far.

"It's nice to meet you, mister Valentine. I heard you are the person to go to for all business concerning guns. But I was wondering... what sort of currency do you take?"

She has a few bottle caps on her, but who even knows what the exchange rate is.

(And yes, she was absolutely just vaguely hanging around outside of the shop for ten minutes. She didn't want to miss her window!)

[coffinturk]

"Just Vincent." While it's abrupt, he doesn't sound annoyed. Taciturn, that's a good word for it. And he's definitely more friendly than many people in the wasteland.

Well, good meeting, let's wrap this up qui... oh, this is business. Okay. Currency is... hm.

"Prove you know what you're doing." Which has a hidden task of: prove you don't plan to use it on other people in the Convoy. But that's going to take him a bit longer to assess. And of course, would still put a weapon in Lucy's hand. The friendly thing isn't enough to prove her willingness to play nice, of course. He's met perkier murderers.

"I take in what people scavenge and don't need." A glance is aimed at the weapons shown, and various labeled ammo crates. "I'll restore what can be. Modify if it's possible. Ammo is limited. We don't have the means to make more."

Hence the notion of consolidation. Though the 'take in' seems open ended and seems to have no power of enforcement behind it. Lucy can keep or contribute. Vincent doesn't seem like he's going to bother to come after her for not being a good member of the community.

[vaultless]

Proving that she is capable feels more than fair to Lucy. If she had a gun store, she certainly wouldn't want to be responsible for putting a gun or ammo in the hands of someone completely unfamiliar.

"I see, so it's almost more like a trade system then." Trading scavenged goods for guns and ammo feels perfectly equitable to Lucy. So does pooling all their resources. It's the sort of community-minded spirit that thrives in the Vault.

"Are there a lot of places to scavenge from?"

Lucy remembers the icy cold garages and the fortress, but she had been so new that picking up odds and ends really hadn't been on her mind. She hopes she didn't waste a rare opportunity.

[coffinturk]

"Something like that," Vincent agrees. Though without the notion that Lucy has to have something up front.

He then looks at the door of the trailer, as if implying he too has his attention turned to the fortress. When the man speaks again, his voice seems a little dry.

"Pickings are slim here. The frost and lava has destroyed a lot." At least when it comes to working firearms and ammo. He's picked at what he could find but almost all of it was scrap.

"...Most came from a city we passed by. Raiders that attack. Places like that. Who knows what lies ahead."

There he pauses again as if talking so much has tired him. Then he studies Lucy again.

"Your preference?" As to the type of guns she favors. No judgement about the girl's skills. Not until she shows them.

[vaultless]

The yapper in Lucy absolutely does not recognise the introvert in Vincent that is tired after, what, fifteen words. Those are rookie numbers.

"Raiders? Are those the, uh, Steel Wardens I've heard about?"

If Lucy is honest, she wishes there was some sort of Convoy 101 class. Admittedly, the people here are much more willing to share information than they are in the wasteland -- or maybe there are plenty of people in the wasteland too who are willing to give out info, and its just her luck she got stuck with The Information Blackhole Ghoul -- but everything Lucy knows is things she's come across piecemeal. The teacher in her just wishes there was one easy to access resource or class.

"And if I can be honest, I really prefer not to use guns at all. I know it's necessary sometimes, but I don't think it's necessary nearly as often as people make it out to be." Why can't people just get along more? Trust in each other? Or, at the very least, be willing to hear folks out? "But I'm adequate with a handgun or a rifle. I've trained with other types of guns too, but those are the two I've got with me right now."

Better than adequate, to be honest, but it just doesn't feel like a skill worth bragging about to Lucy.

[coffinturk]

Fifteen words, such a good month's stock, just dedicated to Lucy right now. Look at that special treatment!

"Yes. Easy to recognize." More machine than person. Zealots, barely anything on their mind except kill monsters. But they have a lot of good technology to pilfer. Vincent's gotten some valuable finds from those raids no matter how much a problem they cause.

As far as classes go, Vincent is definitely not a teacher. Far from it; though he has been known to be willing to teach the basics of guns for the simple fact of knowing it's good for everyone to have something to defend themselves with. Perhaps, just maybe this is Lucy's calling for their small Drifter community.

And an option that lets them not have to rely on whatever monstrous traits start kicking in.

He'll find no fault with her dislike of guns. Vincent respects the idea that she learned despite that; because nothing is so easy in life.

The advantage of having a few newcomers come by is that Vincent does get help in the pursuit of maintaining the stock. Of course it's kept up but recent storms and winter weather have definitely upped the checks and care required.

And a good test of someone with skills to use a gun is to start with disassembly, cleaning and reassembling. On the counter between the two, Vincent reaches for and places a revolver and a rifle, then adds pieces, oils, solvent and cloth that would be suit cleaning either one or both.

"Start with disassemble and cleaning."

The weapons' aesthetics have definitely seen better days; much more in place for a wasteland shop than a Vault armory. But a keen eye will definitely be able to tell that the cosmetics are the only real, 'can't be helped' issue. But mechanically? Everything is in excellent order.

I.

[stolenvalour]

Lucy isn't the only new convoy member to approach the gun show, although Max doesn't plan out the encounter as much as she did. He's a bit more used to the Wasteland and its lack of social niceties, so he wanders in about half an hour after the shop opens, pausing in the doorway and looking around.

He appears, for all intents and purposes, like a normal young man, excepting the six wings growing from his shoulder blades, folded down around his shoulders like feathery pauldrons. He also takes in Vincent's appearance without blanching or seeming like there's anything out of place. He assumes, based on the pallor, that Vincent is on his way to becoming a ghoul.

"Hi. I'm told I should go here if I want a gun?"

Unless you've got a suit of power armour in the back, in which case he'd prefer that, please and thank you.

Re: I.

[coffinturk]

Huh. Look at the new guy who already has wings. Or did he come in with those? Mild interest stirs before somewhere from the shadowy depths of his mind, an assassin driven by the nature of an introvert drags it into the darkness and chokes it silent.

Ghoul? Maybe. At least he seems to have all his body parts for now.

"If you have the skill."

The 'chicken', from its nest, seems to match Vincent's assessing stare. Or maybe it's just staring like chickens do. There's been a few new visitors today.

There's no way the power armor wouldn't go to the cucco if Vincent ever found one. Donnie's a close second.

[stolenvalour]

These are new, fresh wings, that sprouted almost immediately upon arriving here. They look very silly when they fly, but they are capable of flight.

Max nods when Vincent more or less asks about his skill level. It's information he's happy to volunteer.

"I've been in the military since I was eight years old. I've trained with both handguns, rifles, and heavy artillery. I'm not a sharpshooter, but I do all right for myself."

Just wait until Max gets his power armour made of angelic light, cucco. We'll see who's staring THEN.

[coffinturk]

A bit young even by the standards of Vincent's world. But then, who's he to judge why another world has that sort of mindset. One can hope it's good. Usually not.

Anyway, a Turk just doesn't get shocked by things like child soldiers.

Vincent reaches behind him and grabs a standard rifle. It's probably seen better days when it comes to the aesthetics, but the point is that it works well and the mechanics are maintained thanks to his own professional skills. No ammo yet.

Putting it on the counter, he then adds a cleaning kit beside it. Vincent looks at Max.

"Disassemble, clean and reassemble."

It's a decent test. People who have good training and at least reasonable skills will also know what to do here. While there really isn't a direct need to clean it, given the weather conditions it's always a good thing to make sure the upkeep's sound. So it'll serve twofold purpose.

[stolenvalour]

Well, the other option at the time was dying of dehydration or radiation poisoning in the smoking remains of his hometown, so really, being recruited by the Brotherhood was the better of the shit options available. Max does appreciate that Vincent doesn't react or pass judgment, though.

"Yes, sir." Max takes the rifle and handles it with the easy motions of someone who has done this a million times before. That isn't to say he's lazy or sloppy. Quite the opposite; he handles the rifle with respect, and checks to see if it's loaded before he does anything else.

Within a few moments, it's disassembled into pieces on the countertop, and then Max sets to cleaning it with those same easy, practiced motions. Once he's done with everything Vincent asks of him, he offers the reassembled rifle back for inspection.

[coffinturk]

Very military coded. Vincent recognizes the handling and care- as well as the speed. So the kid isn't lying.

"You know the basics." Good. He doesn't need to check the work; he'd been watching carefully enough. He indicates the rifle should be returned to the counter.

A practiced eye scans Max up and down.

"How much field experience do you have. What kind?"

[stolenvalour]

Max puts the gun back on the counter as indicated. He appreciates that Vincent was watching closely enough to not need to inspect the gun again. It speaks to both Vincent's eye and also Max's own skill level, which is hardly acknowledged at all by the Brotherhood.

"Training and drills. Years of that. Some practice exercises. As for field experience..." He shrugs. "Not as much as I'd like. Most of it took place inside power armour, which you don't have here."

gun shop (it’s still february!!)

[phantomshow]

[Ren has put this visit off for long enough - too long, probably. It’s not that he forgot for the last several months since the argument on the network … he’s just been busy.

But he finally has a relatively quiet moment, and he really should stop avoiding this visit, so Ren heads over to the gun shop during the appropriate business hours. He’s read the sign before to know when they are, but reads it over again when he arrives, just to be extra certain. Same for Vincent’s rules about firearms. Fair enough - this isn’t the Metaverse, and Ren would know better than most how dangerous real guns are in untrained hands. Or trained hands, for that matter.

It seems intrusive to bother the man and his cucco, but this is what he’s here for, after all, and it would be silly to leave without saying anything … so he quietly approaches.]

Sorry to interrupt … I’m looking for Vincent Valentine?

Toooootally not March at all! But it also could be. Mystery~ (It counts!)

[coffinturk]

[ There's a lot of reasons to put it off... or that this generally hadn't happened yet.

Inside there's a man and a cucco. Both look up at the same time; the chicken-like monster clucking and covered with soft feathers while nesting in an empty crate lined with straw. The man, pale of skin as always, though recent changes brought on by their tour up the mountain and through the abandoned fortress seem to be stuck permanently to him these days. Pale blue veins climb his cheeks, natural, sharp, wicked claws on both hands. At least the wings can shift between appearing like a cloak; or maybe that's the one transformation he maintains 'normal'.

...Anyway. ]

I'm Vincent.

[ The man. The man is Vincent. Not the cucco. ]