Participants:
| Scene Title | To Shoot or not to Shoot |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Anne sneaks in on Elvis, manages not to get shot and they discuss philosophy and violence. |
| Date | January 24, 2009 |
Elvis's shop at the dispensary is not entirely, unlike all the other shops she's ever had. Clean, clean and clean. There are no ash trays, no coffee stains, no wadded up paper towels nor so much as a hint of dirt or grit on the fine white floors. Its a clean room, in the looser sense of that word. Two RC-51s sit in hand welded chocks in one corner, with Jolly Roger parked there at the end. The walls are covered with tool boxes, bins and a very old "Honda Racing" flag across one whole section.
Elvis is up to doin, what Elvis is typically up to doing in here. Right now that'd be loading ammunition, as Mac-11s set in an industrial oven cook themselves completely free of grease and oil accumulated during the manufacturing process. She'd milled bolts and lathed out barrel blanks earlier, and set six exact pairs out in neat little rows flanked by hand wound springs and freshly heat treated stainless steel hardware. Pump, clink, pump, clink, pump, clink goes the reloader as she works its single arm like an old woman at a slot machine. Comfortable here, in the silence and solitude her shop provided.
Anne has been sneaking around the dispensary a bit today, after taking some long luxurious and sorely needed sleeping. A couple of teleports here and there might not take that much out of you, but nine hours straight, and with your brain focused on the fact that you're carrying frickin' /bombs/ around, and you're bound to get a little tired. So, the sleep thing was really appriciated. Now, dressed in soft clothes, slippers and a big hoodie type shirt she's peeking into the room Elvis is in. In her hands she has a big cup filled with something warm and steaming that sends herbal scents through the air. She doesn't say anything, not right at first, but her eyes widen considerably when she sees the steady movements of Elvis' hands. And the weapons. Good lord, all the weapons! It's kinda scary, honestly. And so she just watches for a little bit.
Elvis she doesnt hear anne, no not at all but she does smell her cargo. Elvis pauses, before slowly turning to peer over her shoulder. "Can I help you?"She rises slowly from her little bar stool, working her latex clad fingers some uncomfortably. "Your the, teleport girl right?"
"Um.. yeah, hi." Anne waves chocolatey brown fingers at Elvis before scuffling her feet and moving further into the room. "I hope I'm not disturbing you or anything. I'm Anne." She holds out her right hand in an offered greeting. "I'm afraid I don't quite know who you are, but then I haven't had the pleasure of meeting most folks around here. Honestly, I'm mostly looking around." She glances around the room for a moment. "You sure seem to know your way around a gun, that's for sure." Which is also about as much as she knows of this person.
Elvis licks her teeth for a moment, before lifting her hands to deglove. Then and only then does she shake, with a delicate squeeze. "Anne, well I'm afraid I have a name thats easily remembered. I'm Elvis, its a pleasure to meet you."she half steps back, releasing your hand to thumb towards the weapons. "Not really, I'm a mechanic. Not very hard to just play copy cat, I'm more of a bike nerd than a gun nut. You familar with this stuff, I can show you how it works."
"I'm really not." Anne replies without a trace of hesitance or shame about the fact. "In fact, I've never so much as held a gun, though I did see someone get shot at one point." Quite fabulous experience for a so called terrorist, wouldn't you say? "Anyway. Since you seem to know a bit about me and all, I thought I'd toss a question your way. Do you have an evolved ability?" Since her own was obviously known, she thought it might be a good idea to check around and see if the other woman might have one too. "That said, I can still watch you work. I might well end up knowing a bit more about this stuff after." She couldn't well end up knowing /less/, after all.
Elvis selects one of the completed test mules, it was ugly and scratched up but it was entirely functional still. She strokes the bolt a few times before handing over the pint sized submachinegun. "Its a Mac eleven, not very accurate or powerful. It just shoots very very fast, and is very quiet. Go ahead, its not loaded but dont point it at anyone." She sniffles, leaning back against a counter "I fight people, I get strong and fast and alla that shit. Killed my fair share've folks, put plenty in a hospital for good. You seem like you took a wrong turn, never held a gun before but now your a terrorist?"
Anne carefully puts her mug away on one of the counters, and accepts the gun with some unease. She holds the thing like one might hold a poisonous snake, but at least she's good with not letting it point anywhere there's people. That seems like a good precaution, indeed. "Er. Not so good with the violent part of it." She admits. "But there are other bits. For obvious reasons, I rock at logistics." She shruggs slightly, eyes on the gun still. "Terrorist, though.. yeah. I guess that's what they'd call us? Never really thought about it all that much in those terms though." Freedomfighter! ..well. Not really that either. 'Necessary' was more like it.
Goodness gracious, freedom fighter. "That what your killin folks for, freedom? You want freedom, or do you just want the same exact amount of servitude the rest of the obedient accept as citizenship?"Still in Elvis's mind its a legitimate question, if only because she's really not faking it. "You know what they called Mao, and Stalin, and Che before they won? They were freedom fighters, until they became dictators."
Elvis clears her throat, glancing back towards the oven in consideration. "So why you so afraid of taking it all the way, your not afraid of killing somone are you?"She swivels her gaze back around, though its grown quite passive by now. "You should either do something the entire way, or absolutely not at all. No sense getting half way into the pool, or half way killing a man. "
"I think.." Anne says after considering the answer for a few moments. "That if you have no qualms about killing what so ever, you're the kind of person people should be worried to have around them." She holds out the gun for Elvis to take back again. "That said, lacking a certain skill doesn't have to have anything at all to do with one's level of commitment." The cup is picked back up again then and held to her chest, to steal the warmt from it. Nice warmth, that.
The mac is accepted back with a nod, tossing it gently onto the metal counter top. "Its not like killing a man is hard Anne, and I reckon ya'll need to get comfortable with the fact your gonna be indirectly doing a whole bunch of it pretty soon. Theres a difference however, between a killer and a Murderer though. You wont see it till you get there, just pray you arrive on the top of the right mountain."Terribly wordly all the sudden right, but then again when your on a bike as much as she is theres plenty of time to think about things like that. The difference between a killer and a murderer, she knew what she was well enough.
"Maybe not for you." That's as far as Anne can go with these things though. There might well be many things with the human body that made it easy to get rid of, but that was such a small part in this in her mind that, well. "As for the rest, though.. I am aware that it's a part of the life I chose here, and I don't intend to run away from what I need to do. That said.. It's not something I intend to take lightly, is all. It's not the goal with this." She makes a gesture to the area around them. It might happen, but the way she saw it it was definitely not one of the goals. Not even a bit.
Elvis smiles, turning as she glances to her clock. She produces a pair of oven mits, and then opens the oven with a wave of intensely hot air. Elvis steps back a moment, before procuring a pair of big tenders to grasp the tray and remove it. The frames receivers still glowing a dull red as she sets the tray down. "You want one, Anne?"She nods over towards the oven"Can you push that shut for me?" She wasnt about to try and force a gun down somone's mouth, but hey she'd give Anne a fair shot at one.
Anne shakes her head a little bit. "No, but thank you for the offer. At the moment it'd really just be in the way." She sidles over to the over and closes it as requested, before moving over to lean against a wall. "And I don't think shooting myself in the foot is really going to help anyone, here. Why'd you put that thing in the oven?" She takes a long sip of her tea and grows quiet again, just listening. It doesn't seem like the earlier conversation made her upset, at least. Even if she and Elvis seem to disagree on a few points.
Now Elvis wont admit to it, but she's fantastically amused by the idea of somone she can disagree with without it immediately getting personal. "Quite welcome, either way."She smiles, gently tugging the receivers aside with another pair of pliars and setting them on yet another tray to cool. "Well, these get painted pretty soon. Soon as they cool in fact, but gun paint is really sensetive to oil or grease beneath it. So I cook the metal clean, then paint it, then cook them again. After all of that, its done. They've all already been test fired and all of that, so this is just the pretty stuff."
"Right. Cause it wouldn't do to work with an ugly weapon." Somehow, this manages to amuse Anne a little bit, as is obvious by her light chuckle. "I never really thought of it /that/ way, I mean. I've seen artists get kinda particular with their weapons.." Still, there's a bit of a difference between a gun and a violin. "But then again, there was that book named art of war, and I do know some people look at it like more of an art. So. Maybe pretty weapons are a part of that." She pauses slightly. "..you should totally make a few in pink."
Elvis hmms"I was thinking about pink, with black flames but nobody would carry it. I dont do pink."No, pink and Elvis doth not mix."its for rust really, burnt gun powder is pretty corrosive and so is hand oil. You dont want rusty guns, because they jam and generally arent very awesome. I'm gonna make one for Helena I think, any suggestions?"
Anne absently taps a nail against the porcelain of the cup. "..you could make one with the note 'h' on it?" She suggests, finally. "That's about as good of a suggestion as you'll get from me, though, I think. I don't know her all that well really. We just met a couple of times." So as far as personalizing her weaponry goes, that's going to be something best left to others.
Elvis shrugs finally, pulling off her mits to let the poor things cool down. "I dont know, black is what these will end up being. Hotrod black, maybe with some red pin striping like Jolly Roger over there. Let everyone know it was a hotrod fabricator who built these fuckers, not some jihadi jackass in a bunker somewhere stupid."yes, sophisticant indeed.
Because we really can't have those kind of rumors flying around, no. That'd just be plain horrible. Anne smiles and nods her head to Elvis. "I'm sure you'll come up with something awesome. I, however, need to get going. I've got some stuff that needs to get done today, and I don't want to end up falling behind." She waves a bit to Elvis, and then starts scuffling out the door. Tea, slippers and ruffly hair and all.
Elvis waves absently as she begins getting into the paint, setting things out. "You have a nice day Anne, it was very nice to meet you. I hope we can talk again soon, after our things are delt with at least in the immediate sense anyway."smiles and humming, though you cant effectively hum punk rock music believe it or not.
 January 24th: Tyr |
 January 25th: Eurotrash |