“Besides… You’re the best advertisement I could ask for. People hear that you use my guns, they’ll flock to my store. Don’t think I’m not well aware of what you did in the dungeon.”
“...How-”
“I have ears in places even the feds don’t, comes with my age… And my profession, for that matter. Material procurement is a bitch.”
Zef half-opened her mouth to speak, but Collier interrupted her again: “Don’t ask how old I am, dear. Alright, let’s count these out…”
While Collier counted out her payment, Zef reached for the metal box and popped it open, picking up one of the brass shells. It sat hefty and cold in her hand, and suddenly, a thrumming warmth washed over her thigh where the autoloader was strapped to her leg. When she pulled up her dressed and grabbed the device, she saw it changing shape in her hand, two new openings taking shape on its side. One was marked with a pictogram resembling the speedloader tubes, while the other somewhat resembled the shotgun’s loading gate and was marked with a pictogram clearly meant to be a shotgun shell. A new projection glyph had also popped up on the same side, reading zero.
Collier murmured something about “bullshit dungeon tech” while Zef slid a few shells into the slot, the shell count going up. Zef reached out for a speedloader tube, having seen Collier quietly open the box and take one out in the corner of her eye. Perfectly consistent with the deeply arcane and space-defying nature of the device, the tube slid in without resistance and vanished, only to pop right back out loaded with four shells when Zef imparted the mental command. Just enough ofthe tube stuck out for her to comfortably pull out.
A grin crept onto her face as she handed the tube back to Collier to put it back in the box, to which the blonde said, “...I think I’ll stock up on shells while I’m here. How many do you have in stock?”
Furrowing her brow, Collier answered with feigned reluctance, “Well uh, your gun specifically uses larger shells than the mass-production Type-nineteen. However, since we’re gearing up for production on a simpler design that uses that same larger shell diameter, I do have a couple hundred or so shells, both loaded and empty.”
“I’ve not settled on pricing just yet, and these ones over here-” the old woman nodded towards the metal box, “-are free, but… Let’s say one gelt for three loaded shells and six empty ones.”
“Considering how many rounds I run through Pentacle just training… I’ll take two-hundred seventy loaded shells and another and two-hundred forty empty ones, if that’s alright,” Zef said, amused at the fact she could even afford to say such a thing. She counted out some more money, murmuring, “...And that’ll be another one-hundred and thirty, I think? I’ll take reloading tools as well, if you have them.”
Zefaris was merely guessing when it came to reloading tools, based on her knowledge of past examples of custom cartridge-firing guns and the fact said cartridges would often get reused over and over.
“Count yourself lucky that I’d rather lug all that shit out here on my own than let anyone in my workshop,” Collier squinted, turning on a heel. “Give me a moment.”
Soon, the gunsmith returned with an empty crate, containing several smaller sheet metal boxes and a metal tablet. The former turned out to hold the loaded ammunition, while the latter held empty casings, among other things. The loaded shells were split up evenly between what was labeled as “8.3mm Shot” and “20mm Slug”.
Once she had paid and - with the aid of Collier and the loading tubes - stored all the ammo she’d bought inside the blackstone speedloader, Collier shooed her away, simultaneously telling her to “Now get the hell out of my store,” and smiling at her. Zefaris couldn’t have been happier to do so, riding through Willowdale’s streets as quickly as the precarious nature of what she was carrying would allow. Even still, she got back to the sect quite quickly, and not unlike a child on winter solstice, took to examining every nook and cranny of her new toy, taking it with her to the study room nearest to the entrance before unpacking it and going through the manual.
Somehow, it felt wrong to do this without Pentacle in sight, and so Zef set it down on the table alongside the blackstone loader.
When she at last took the gun into her own hands properly, she realized just how much care Collier had taken in the conversion. This wasn’t a new weapon wrought from her old gun, this was still very much her old sparklock transformed.
Its new sights were adjustable out to a distance one would not expect a regular blunderbuss to be able to shoot, but then blunderbusses were specifically designed for near-point blank - the only scatterguns with any sort of range she was aware of were fowling pieces, and those achieved accuracy by sheer volume of pellets. Despite the noticeable outward modification that had been done, a familiar thing at the end of the barrel remained that suggested it had been shorted at the back end in order to facilitate its interfacing with the gun’s mechanisms. That thing was a bayonet lug.
Spinning it about in her hands, running the action on empty over and over again, folding and unfolding it, Zefaris spent at least a half-hour just getting to know every nook and cranny over her gun all over again before she even considered loading a shell. The rifling inside its barrel was changed - filled in with gold-coloured metal, and yet something told her it would impart a spin all the same.
Despite its shorter length and lighter weight, its center of mass remained as near-perfect as she remembered her modified sparklock being. It couldn’t have conceivably felt more right in her hands, a subtle warmth pulsing from it through her hands as if the weapon had a heartbeat.
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leif18· Mar 19, 2023
FindingClock4· Jun 26, 2022
