capeandcowllogs | weapons of mass frustration

Entry tags:

weapons of mass frustration

WHO: Spades Slick, knives, and YOU????
WHERE: A seedy-ass weapons store.
WHEN: Thursday night.
WARNINGS: Standard Slick warnings apply: injuries will probably occur.
SUMMARY:
FORMAT: Quicklog!

[We open on our antihero in a shitty little hunting-and-fishing supply store. It's really blatantly a "hunting supply store" in the same way that George R.R. Martin is a comedy writer. This is a deathmongering murderhut.

Which is why Spades Slick is here.

The walls are lined with enough shotguns to fix a zombie apocalypse, and in the glass cases are various wildly illegal (without game license, anyway) gravity knives. The proprietor is a nice looking fella with a scowl that reaches all the way into his soul, tattooed to the gills. Currently, he's having a smoke and eyeing Slick warily while he weighs knives in his hands with all the ease of a man who weighs knives in his hands a lot.]

How much? [Slick grunts at the reply (250, totally custom, got a carbon blade, black like his soul) and considers a five-finger discount. Or, more likely, a one-knife-in-chest discount.

WILL YOU INTERRUPT HIM, Y/N.]

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[Guess who just got their latest stipend and wanted to treat himself? THIS DUMBASS. He perks up at the sound of the salesman's spiel, wandering over and trailing his hands along the display shelves.] Hey, hey, I'll take it if he won't. Out of your range, pal? [oh that money is not going to last him long at aaaaaaall, is it.]

[Slick turns to Evan, giving him the evil eye because it's the only eye he has. He thinks he's seen him before. That's kind of an anomaly: if he's met someone, they're not liable to pop up again, on account of taking a dirt nap.

Oh. He's probably from the Network.]

I'm thinkin' about it. Wanna make something of it? [Suddenly he's really invested in this knife. Like more invested than he usually is in knives. Ain't no sonuvabitch tries to take a knife away from Slick.]

Well, mac, if you can't justify the purchase, I'd be obliged to take it off this fine gentleman's hands. [He runs a thumb over the wad of cash in his pocket and smiles what he no doubt thinks is a winning smile. It's not.]

[The guy at the counter gives Evan a Look.] I don't care which of you buys the damn thing.

[Slick does, though. Now it's a matter of pride. He narrows his eye at Evan, turning the knife to STAB position. HE'S STRONGLY CONSIDERING IT] You even know how the hell to use this?

I think I know how a knife works, broseph. Stick 'em with the pointy end, right? [He laughs, like it doesn't matter, but his grip tightens on the display item he grabbed a few minutes ago. It ain't polished, but it's sharp, and it'll do.]

Over and over and over 'til they cough up blood, yeah, generally.

Wanna find out? [He's not in FULL STABMODE yet, but he is brandishing it in a way that suggests that the knife may go to Evan after all. Just... between his ribs.]

[There's something about the way Slick is standing that puts him on edge, some angle to the way he holds the blade that doesn't read as being friendly. Without being consciously aware of it, Evan wraps his fingers around something -- it turns out to be a closed switchblade.] Wasn't planning to, myself. But hey, if you're offering to show it off... I learn better by demonstration, y'know?

[As well it should. Slick goes for him in response, blade first and to the ribs. Talk is cheap, and this knife is not. He'll figure out whether or not it's worth it when he sees how well it slices through 20-something white college age kids.]

[Archer is a kid in a candy shop. He bounces from weapon to weapon, slathering praise on the ones that deserve it ("oh my god, this is, like, ten times more hardcore than the ISIS crossbows. probably more illegal, too.") and criticizing the ones that fall short. Within fifteen minutes, his hands are literally filled with assault weapons and enough pointy things to skewer the Stay Puft Marshmallow man.]

From Ghostbusters? [He rolls his eyes at the questioning patron, a man with a long beard and a glass eye.] Duh.

[Slick, meanwhile, is blocking the counter. He tries to shove him aside -- with his shoulder, not the weapons.]

Move, buddy. Gotta looot more shopping to get done before my prostitute comes by tonight.

Edited 2012-06-15 01:29 (UTC)

[Slick's immediate reaction to being bumped is to A) shove back and B) go for the knives he already owns (through even less legitimate means). Weirdly, though, nothing happens when he grabs for his deck of cards, so Archer winds up with a king of spades wedged onto his chest.

Slick doesn't say anything, he just kind of... glares... and throws another card at Archer's face. Whoops, there goes his four.]

[The king of spades drifts gently, gently, gently to the ground, having knocked into one of the various weapons clutched tightly against Archer's chest. The four knocks against his cheek and then promptly joins its friend on the ground.

Beat.]

Was that a magic trick?

[A moment more frustrated, attempted cardflips occur. AND YET, the fact that they're in a weapons store kind of means that Slick is a man whose waterbottle's just run out... in the middle of a lake.

Slick pauses for a second and hovers his hand over Archer's pile before picking a knife off of the top. Yeah, the pointy end is headed for Archer's shoulder. ROOD]

Oh my god!

[ROOD is right. Archer sneers and deflects with a small sword, conveniently located on the top of the pile. The rest of his weapons clatter to the ground. He kicks the fallen knifes, points exposed and sharp, towards Slick.]

How is that proper consumer etiquette?!

[Slick sidesteps the knives Archer kicks at him at the loss of the knife he was holding, looking unperturbed, like guys kicking knives at him is just something he has to deal with now and again.

There's probably a shopping-related pun here. Give him a while. He's busy smacking open a case of the things, going for the biggest and arming himself, advancing again.]

You didn't say please.

[OR HE COULD JUST MAKE VAGUE THREATENING COMEBACKS]

[ and there is a tiny girl, weapons shopping! She's giving the shotguns a cursory glance and then inspecting the knives, occasionally consulting with Avery on the quality and the prices. She's more window-shopping, really.

she glances over at Slick and at the knife he's holding. ]

Nice knife.

[ aaand back to looking at all the shiny sharp knives on display, she only vaguely recognises him and doesn't really care ]

[He spares her a quick look, the shady sort that says 'manners mean nothing to me' and 'I might not have bathed today'. Sure, he knows who she is, sort of, but that doesn't mean he gives a shit. They are tied for shits given at exactly zero.]

Sure is.

[If the words WHAT OF IT PUNK were condensed into one moment, it would be this moment, with Slick squinting his one present eye at her, knife in hand.]

You're that kid lookin' to start shit with me.

[oh I guess he actually does kind of curr]

[ she looks back over at him at the tone in his voice, grinning widely. this is more for show, however; there's no eyes in those sockets, after all.

The six electronic eyes on her arms track his movement instead, all focused on him. ]

You remember me, huh? Aw shucks, I sure am flattered!

[ ZERO SHITS GIVEN

she goes back to looking at knives again after a minute, that's how many shits she doesn't give ]

[Hey!! Nobody turns their back on the most feared larcenist in... some... parts of the City. He is insulted by the lack of shits given here!]

[So, of course, that knife is going right into her snobbily turned back. It ain't a throwing knife, but Slick knows how to throw, and he knows how to knives, and he can combine the two for middling to deadly effect.]

[(Slick also chucks a concealed switchblade into the face of the storekeeper as soon as he starts making noise about yadda yadda police, yadda yadda murderous intent. It was only really a matter of time.)]

Edited 2012-06-25 09:01 (UTC)

[ Too bad that knife doesn't seem to have any effect. If it's not metal-piercing, that shit isn't going in.

It simply bounces off, actually, and that's when Peacock whirls, grinning widely (showing off sharp, metal teeth) and yanking a large knife out of her...eyesocket, apparently. ]

You wanna have a go, huh? [ SHE SEEMS EXCITED BY THE PROSPECT. ]

[Metal. Right. This is going to end really badly if he can't find a way around that.

The way around that he seems to have decided on, after a scant moment's consideration, is the cast-iron horse hitcher. Bludgeoning things to death also works, white most times less innately satisfying than application of knife to soft parts. He'll make an exception for robot bits.]

What, you thought I was just bragging? [He personally means every death threat!]

[ She just grins, brandishing her knife with a significant amount of gusto. That enthusiasm isn't meant to cover for lack of experience, though; she has more than enough experience in knifing people. ]

It ain't gonna matter what I think, seein' as we're gonna have it out, see? [ we are having a showdown right here, right now

she is going for the gut with that knife, WATCH OUT SLICK ]

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weapons of mass frustration

( y )

GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN EVAN

it's already too late

approaching stab territory

there is a mile radius around slick deemed 'stab territory'

and evan is right in the damn middle of the thing

i'd say he's still a few feet off center

we'll fix that

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hey slick hey

oh god there won't even be a store left when they're done

RUINING ALL THE THINGS FOREVER :|

oh my god how many times can i edit one comment

go for gold

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