Snippet #2043800

Erik gave a slight cough as the women began to smoke, trying his hardest to breathe without inhaling the smoke of the expensive all-tobacco cigarettes. While Erik liked to carry them for trading purposes, he hated the smell, which burnt his nose and made his eyes tear. Regardless, he gave a polite bow to the new woman, "Miss Tyme. A pleasure to be graced."

It was then that a man entered, followed by a bodyguard. The Boss.

Erik wished to give a roll of his eyes and give a smartass comment in return to both the Master and Apprentice for their smartassery. But Erik was wiser than that. He knew that would only cost him his head. The fact alone that the Master had come down to where they were, rather than have them enter a darkened room that sealed away his being from true recognition, showed that his patience really was wearing thin. And the man looked much like a cat, eying him with a sense of death. Painful, slow, agonizing death. He would have to choose his words carefully.

"My sincerest apologies, sir." Not that he really was, but his tone of voice and body language spoke as if he were truly sorry. "I do let my impatience get the best of me. I shall do my best to hold control my patience next time." Fat chance, but he wasn't going to say that. Luckily, he could stop using his truthful-sounding lies, and speak with an excitement that was more than just sounding real.

"However, sir, I think that you'll be grateful that I came by this time around. I have an object so very rare that you won't be able to refuse to at least take a look at it. Besides, I haven't disappointed in our past trades, so what reason would I do so now?" This much was true. Erik undoubtedly brought in the rarest and most exotic of items to trade, never a disappointment with what he would bring. It was also true that the Boss would not buy these items occasionally, due to a high price for impracticality, but Erik knew that the Boss was always at least entertained and amused with his objects of trade, for he had yet to lose his head, always shushed out with a "no thank you" rather than a bullet to the brain. "And the best yet, sir, is that this gift is actually practical for use."

The bodyguard gave a snort. He knew Erik's type. "Oh?"

Erik reached into his bottomless jacket, pulling out the object with a quick motion, his arm going in a wide arc which passed all in the room. One his hand stopped, it was apparent that what he had was a gun. However, as he softly cradled the weapon, it became appearent that this was no ordinary gun. "'Oh', indeed. Had this gun been loaded, cocked, and fired, you would all be wounded or dead." He held it out to be seen a little bit better. "This is the Mini Uzi Submachine Gun. A fully-automatic weapon from before the End."

While guns were known in this era, only the elite owned them, and even then, they were sparingly used due to a shortage of bullets. During the End, in which all the world fell to Hell, Governments gathered up as much weapons as they could and destroyed them, attempting to gain martial control by controlling the greatest weaponry. However, mobs do not need guns. Only a cause. So to find such a powerful weapon--and in such nice condition--was near a Godsend in itself.

"However, I bring more than just a fancy gun." He opened the right side of his jacket to reveal six long, black rectangles. "Six extended magazines, intended to hold thirty rounds each. Three of them are carrying the full thirty rounds, two are holding about twenty each."

This was a Holy Grail of any man seeking defence or power. And it was a offer the Boss couldn't refuse: if he didn't buy the gun, there was no garentees that it wouldn't end up in the hands of a Northern Gravelord...