aaaaaaaagh_sky | Voodoo

Entry tags:

philly

Voodoo - Bala

From Valley Forge to the region where Philadelphia's outskirts might be expected to begin was a decent journey. Nothing too long or too arduous, except for a few detours around this or that environmental hazard. There's a cluster of junk in the distance that might be city ruins, or might be deliberately reared walls- hard to say.

There is also a sign. It is yellow. The figure painted is a low-slung, four-legged, blunt-nosed creature of considerable girth. Its lone head is easily half as long as the thing's body, its jaws gaping ridiculously wide. The image only shows four thick fangs as far as teeth go, two to each jaw. Under its stubby-toed feet is lettered a single word: BEWARE.

Voodoo probably has a better chance of recognizing the damn thing than anyone else here.

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"Here we are."

He guides them onto the bridge, letting his guard down for the moment.

"Watch your step. You fall in the water, we can't get you out."

Hector peers down a moment and wrinkles his nose. "If I fall in the water, I want a mercy kill," he says. "Last thing I want's to end up getting eaten by those things."

"Just cross the bridge, old man," says Al.

"I'm just saying," says Hector, as he starts making his way over. The others follow. Thankfully, nothing makes any kind of an attempt to jump up at them, and while there's a heavily armored gunman in another CCM helmet on the other side, he basically glances at the arrivals and turns his attention back to scanning the river for anything that might try to get out. "Market's that way," he says, and waves a hand.

"Thanks."

'That way' is thankfully within walking distance, and Voodoo lets his carbine hang across his chest, tightening the sling as he does so.

"You know the drill. Anything that can go boom, run it by me first."

The market, as Vetter said, is sprawled out across and in front of the Steps. The Steps may look familiar to Voodoo. It depends on his movie viewing habits; once upon a time, Rocky Balboa used them for his training montage. His statue's long since gone, of course. The replacement looks like someone found a dark brown store mannequin and dressed it in whatever combat armor they weren't using. One can only assume the laser rifle in its hand is nonfunctional; who'd put a thing like that out where anyone could walk off with it?

Assuming they got through the Market itself, of course. The Museum of Art's all but collapsed in most places, but that hasn't kept the crowds away. There are booths set up all over, like something out of an extraordinarily neat favela or an extraordinarily battered flea market. Most of them are general sellers of many things, but a few seem to be specialized- there are two gun sellers, one purveyor of clothing, and one booth stocked with bottles, jerrycans, and a couple of fifty-five gallon drums.

Indeed, the Steps are familiar - what self-respecting tough guy hasn't seen at least one Rocky? They are not fixated on, but noted.

Quickly, he scans over the market, then starts pointing out booths and giving orders.

"Josepha, Hector, you see what one of the arms dealers has to offer and I'll take the other - take what you want and look for a weapon that'll give us a good base of fire while you're at it. Machine guns, that sort of thing - you know the drill. Al, head over to the clothes vendor and report back on what they've got - if they've got armor, focus on that, if not, let me know what looks warm. -and see if they have boots for Hector. Kate, see what those jerrycans are goin' for - canteens won't last us more than a day without a refill. Any of you think you're being hustled, use your best judgement. Regroup on me when you're done."

With that done, he heads to one of the arms dealers and nods in greeting. "This everything you got?" he asks, gesturing to the displayed weaponry.

Edited 2014-12-09 10:34 (UTC)

"Not everything, but you're gonna have to outbid the Nailers if you want a Blackrock Special," says the seller. "Ratchuk put in a bid on the good stuff this morning, but he knows damn well I'll sell it to anyone who pays me more than that and faster than him."

-huh. Curious.

"Then show me a Blackrock Special."

"Sure," says the man, and turns to start unlocking a sizable reinforced metal case. "I've seen maybe three of these in the past... I dunno, five years. Damn shame, they're good guns and I can get a hell of a price for them, but whoever's turning them out's probably sitting pretty on a nice little pile of Days and doesn't need to make more."

The weapon he removes from the case is scoped, but not exactly consistent with the design of Capital Wasteland scoped weapons.

Voodoo grunts as he looks at it. It's certainly...different, but that's not necessarily bad.

"So sell me on it. Why should I go with it over this?" he asks, patting Patience's stock.

The man glances over at Patience a moment. "Not that you haven't got a fine piece there, but I'm going to go out on a girder and bet that's a semiautomatic at best," he says. "The Blackrock Special's full auto, but it's had a few modifications that compensate for the worst elements of that. You won't find a weapon from here to the Commonwealth that can put more lead into a smaller patch of a target in the span of ten seconds. Not to mention that it takes the same rounds as an ordinary American-made assault rifle, so you can afford to feed it even if all you've got to your name is Nuka-Cola caps."

Once the dealer's finished saying his piece, Voodoo grunts in acknowledgement and strokes his chin with his thumb and forefinger.

"'cept if it's as accurate as you say it is, it's gotta be heavy as hell to manage the recoil. Add that onto the bulk of the thing, and just how're you supposed to move fast with it under fire, or manage carryin' it more than a few miles? Magazine looks too small for sustained suppression, and there's no quick-change mechanism for the barrel, not to mention the rounds - five-five-six is okay for a light MG, but for a sniper rifle I wouldn't trust my life to anything less than seven-six-two. No backup iron sights, either, so if the full-auto throws the scope outta zero, you're fucked."

He's quiet for a few moments.

"What'd Ratchuk put down for it?"

Edited 2014-12-12 05:35 (UTC)

"Haven't had either of the other Blackrocks come back to me with the scope screwed up, I can tell you that much," says the man. "Ratchuk's got until sundown to come back here with either fifteen Days caps, seventy-five Champ Cherry caps, or fifteen hundred Nuka-Cola caps."

Voodoo grunts. "Then Ratchuk can keep it. Too much buck, not enough bang."

His eyes fall on one of the double-barreled shotguns prominently displayed on the table.

"Hey, Hector! How's your shotgun doing?"

"Holding up, but it's seen better days," Hector calls back. "Why, they got something better?"

"Could be," Voodoo replies. "Come check it over."

The shotgun Voodoo peruses is in remarkable condition, considering the state of the world. Its barrel and mechanisms are clean, its stock is undamaged, and it looks quite sturdy.

"How much for this one?"

"Hundred-fifty Nuka-Cola caps, eight Champ Cherries, or two Days," says the gun seller. "I'm flexible."

"Hm."

From within his pack come three boxes of 5.56, which are set down next to the shotgun.

"Where's this rank on the scale?"

"Mind if I have a look?" the man inquires. "If it's all in good condition, I could turn this around pretty quickly without having to bother anybody about caps."

Voodoo gestures to the boxes. "Be my guest, pal."

Edited 2014-12-23 03:18 (UTC)

"Thanks," says the man, and begins his inspection. "I have a reputation to uphold..."

Mind you, we're talking about ammo here, not firearms themselves, so it's not as if the inspection takes long. He gives a satisfied nod when he's done. "That'll do," he says, and pushes the shotgun across the table. "All yours, pal."

"Nice doin' business."

He takes the weapon and offers it butt-first to Hector. "Figure out what you want to do with your old shotgun - as of right now, this's your new piece. -and check on Kate and Al, see if they've found anything useful. How's it coming, Josepha?"

"How much do you want in the way of explosives?" Josepha answers. "There's not a whole lot in the way of machine guns over here, but if you're okay with frag mines...."

"If it kills, we can use it. Get...I dunno, two or three."

"Gotcha," says Josepha. "Oooh, plasma grenades..."

Kate and Al, meanwhile, have been busy; Kate's haggling over the price of jerrycans in Nuka-Cola caps, and Al's examining several boots with a skeptical eye.

Edited 2014-12-30 19:55 (UTC)

Both get quick glances and the same instruction:

"If they don't have holes in 'em and they'll fit on our packs, just make sure they're not asking for a firstborn. You got thirty seconds 'fore we're done."

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