The Merchant

“Oh, perfect. You really are the man who has everything.” Emily takes the box of heavier-hitting 165s - they disappear into the bag as she’s talking. “Normally I’d be at least a little concerned about overpen, but this business has taught me that you should never bank on a target being less durable than you expect. Hopefully, a couple of shots should cause a forced landing. Turn it into a ground game.”

God forbid she informs this thing of the restricted airspace and it falls somewhere she can’t actually retrieve the medallion. She doubts the Merchant would accept photographic evidence instead of the intended prize.

“And now that I’ve got a reason to be looking, I’ll keep my eye out for anything else that could interest you. The village itself is picked pretty clean - that or it didn’t have much to start with. I’ve got my eyes on a couple of other staging grounds, though… if you ever set up shop near the old hydro dam, I might be able to offload some unnecessary equipment from home base.”

Who knows. Maybe this guy has a connection to a thriving secondary market for the combat stimulants Emily loaded up on and then found she largely hasn’t needed. She straightens up, puts her bag back on. “If I stick around I bet you could talk me into a new car and a timeshare…”

A pause. A snort. “What the hell. I’m interested to see what kind of a tune-up you might be able to offer. Sell me the moon, sir.”

"May not be able to sell you the moon, darlin'," the Merchant muses, the scarf crinkling as if he's smiling, "But I can definitely sell you the rocket power to get you there, if you catch my drift- heh heh heh!"

The purple garbed man stands upright, craning his hooded head as a howl pierces the forest, and sends birds scattering from the treetops.

"Eh. One of those bloody beasties."

He turns back to Emily, pupils glowing as they catch the light of the blue-glowing lantern. He holds his palms out in front of him.

"Best of luck, stranger. Go cause some mayhem! I'm looking forward to this new business relationship, heh heh!"

The Merchant reaches to the rim of his hood, pulling the leather closer to his face, further receding to shadow.

"Come back anytime."

There is, admittedly, a light whistle at the sight of the hunting rifle on offer. It cuts a mean profile, and, honestly, it's just her type. Shorter barrel than a traditional hunting piece, with a multi-port brake to assist with the resultant increase in recoil - just as the Merchant says. A silent question is asked as she holds out her hands, takes the weapon. Chamber checks, more on instinct than as a conscious choice, and the oily-smooth feeling of the bolt lever finding home already has her sucking a breath through her teeth.

She likes this gun, and is making no effort to hide it. A bead is drawn on a distant weathervane, fingers well clear of the trigger guard. Her hand comes up to work the action - four clean, intentional movements. Not hurried, but hardly languid. A quick nod. "...this does interest me. Not to speak poorly on some of the other opportunists I've been doing business with..."

The smile is visible on her face even in profile, and Emily huffs out a soft chuckle before she continues. "I was getting kind of sick of Soviet military surplus. Was half-expecting a SV-98 most of the way as old as me."

The rifle's set down with care, and she nods at the price. A lower rate for a first-time buyer, or an offering made to someone who's going to be taking on the seller's dirty business by purchasing it. "The price of the rifle is more than fair, I'm not trying to take food off of your table. Ammunition, though..." Now, the game begins to be played in earnest.

"Judging by your photo, there's a fair bit of meat on that thing. A hunting rifle needs a hunting cartridge, and you're sending me after some big game... fortunately, I have something for you to hopefully incentivize finding some hollowpoints."

The field worker removes her MBSS - she has a bigger daypack back at her main base, but this is more than enough for "walking around" equipment. The offer isn't military, though. "I'm not much of a wine snob..."

A well-made glass bottle is removed from it, liquid sloshing within, wax on the label a brilliant red. "But I'd bet Alcina Dimitrescu is."

"Oho!" The Merchant tilts his head at the beautifully presented wine bottle.

"Ain't that a beaut," he remarks, "But Dimitrescu? That old tart and her cady have an earner in exportin' fine wines. Bit dodgy, if you ask me- given there's no vineyard."

"Hah- I'll take that off your hands. Preference for 125s or 165s? I find for the .308s, the 125 grain leaves craters. 165s go deeper."

He reaches over to the ammunition he describes, setting them before Emily, and drumming his fingers over top of the ammunition boxes.

"Choice is yours, darlin'. Takin' chunks out or shootin' straight to the heart- we've got the goods to serve your specific needs. We'll tune up your kit before ya head out."

“I’m sure you say that to everyone who strolls in here with money to burn.” She knows it’s not in her best interests to be smiling when she says that, but the effort to flatten her features is almost more telling. And, of course, the pitch he offers is a good one. Some kind of flying Lycan would inhibit both of their operations in the area, and he’s willing to sweeten the pot for her to make sure it gets done. She’d be stupid to decline, really. But for one small detail…

“You’ve seen what I’m rocking out with. Having a magnified scope on the MPX doesn’t actually make it shoot further, you know.” She lets that hang for a moment, continuing in a tone that’s both long-suffering and amused. She knows he’s working an angle - multiple angles at once, and try as she might, the agent can’t find a good reason to extricate herself from what could, generously, be called a trap.

“If only some enterprising wholesaler could set me up with something offering a little extra punch at a distance, so I could more easily fulfill this need we both have. Something tells me you’ve already got something in mind that, if you’re smart, you’ll part with at a bit of a cut rate since we’ve established the only reason I “need” it is because of what you’re asking me to take care of.”

She can’t help it. The smile is out in force. “Hypothetically, I mean. I don’t want to cast any aspersions on what I’m confident is just a contrivance.”

"Heh heh!" The Merchant laughs jovially, shoulders shaking as he pushes himself upright, "I would be saying that to blokes with money to burn, but as 'twere just my luck, the only stranger with cash in their wallet would be you."

No derision, and perhaps a little bit too honest as a salesman.

He clapped twice, the sound muffled by the wool on his palms, "And, as a matter of fact, right you are- I do have something that might pique your fancy."

The Merchant turned, and from underneath the fabric of his briefcase-turned-storefront, he pulled out a rifle case.

"Got somethin' that might interest ya!" he says as he opens up the case.

From within he withdraws what appears to be a hunting rifle, with rogue camo, and an attached scope.

"Fell off the back o' the lorry," he says with a mischievous wink, "Hasn't hit the market yet, but this is new from Springfield. 2020 model boundary rifle. Bolt action, stainless steel barrel, designed to minimize recoil, long-range accuracy. Uses .308 rounds, internal magazine."

He offers her the gun to examine, "Been already zeroed to a hundred meters. They're worth two grand in American dollars. I'm willin' to part with it for five hundred."

" 'Course," he continues, "I'm open to negotiation."

A gentle snort. “Sure didn’t used to be, but times change and it pays to be prepared. Back in the day, I remember a greenback practically being gold.” Simpler times, or at least she likes to imagine they were. Emily peels two twenties and a ten off of a thick roll secured with a rubber band, then pauses, money in hand, to hear some other pitches.

He’s a multidisciplinary salesman, and no mistake. Emily isn’t much of a curio collector, but if she were to find something lying around… yeah, it’s technically still theft, but she can’t imagine the current owners missing them much. The idea of taking care of something for him, though?

She tempers her response.

“Maybe. I have a lot to get done in the next few weeks… I’m sure you could’ve guessed that, though.” The corner of the agent’s mouth twitches in spite of herself. Usually she’d be a more stone-faced negotiator, but the faintly greasy charisma of the Merchant is, “regrettably”, working on her.

“Let’s hear it. I can probably swing by if it’s on the way somewhere… and with how I’m canvassing this place odds are it will be.”

Two twenties and and a ten change hands, and the Merchant slides over all but one of his infrared emitters over to Emily with a bow of his head and a, "Pleasure doing business, darlin'."

He puts the money away, leisurely listening to Emily as she speaks, nodding sympathetically when she explains that she has a lot to get done. The Merchant turns back to face her, extending his woolen palms upward and fingers curled loosely as he makes a small conducting gesture.

" 'Course," he purrs, "You're a real lady... Unlike that bird flying all over the shop."

The Merchant raises his hand to point towards the treeline, "The bird in question is a bat. Literal bat. She's come off from the castle and become a right spot of bother for me near the ol' drawbridge."

Lacing his fingers in front of him, he continues, "I've managed to put a blue medallion on her neck in the last row, so if you come 'cross her, you should hear it. Bring back the medallion? That'll be proof it's alright to knock it out in the village, heh, heh."

Keeping his fingers laced, he turns his palms outwards to stretch, crooking his head and rolling his shoulder back.

"I'll give you a bag for the trouble. Or I can fix-up and improve one of your effects, heh."

"Well, if one of the Four Lords can see in the infrared spectrum I'm going to have immediate and worse problems than them being able to see a little piece of tech stuck onto a box."

A single flashing emitter sounds totally fine, frankly, especially considering the ones she had needed to be abandoned when she was flushed from one of her boltholes. She'll go back for it later... not like the Lycans can send word back to their superiors.

"Don't worry. "Fancy" isn't something I'm concerned with right now. I'm asking you because your competition wouldn't be able to get them soon enough." And because, well... this newcomer strikes her as the type most able to get his grubby, fingerless-gloved mitts on military (or at the very least covert) hardware in a pinch.

He clarifies his point. She smiles.

"You don't need to worry. It's a dirty business, but if it means we stay in a business... right? Now, as for payment- I have euros, American dollars, and a few hundred each of..." The spook gets her wallet out, the bills within already sorted by nationality and size.

"...Moldovan and Romanian leu, some Serbian dinar, aaand..."

She fishes out a single Bosnian fifty-mark bill. "But I don't know the exchange rates off the top of my head."

"Heh," the Merchant huffed, raising his hand with his index finger hooked around what must have been his chin under the bandana, "The American dollar's just about bollocks now."

He lowered his hand to drum on the table next to the infrared emitter, "Ten euros. Each. I've six on hand. Of course..."

The Merchant squinted his eyes in what must have been a pleased expression under his garb, leaning forward on the table and propping his cheek against his knuckles.

"... If you've got anythin' to trade, any shinies, bits an' bobs, things ya don't need- I'll buy 'em from you at a high price. Of course, scratch my back, I'll scratch yours- there's a little bit of a Barney I need taken care of. You may be just the chancer to do it."

@plaguewares

Emily clears her throat softly. The guy is an arms dealer. It's abundantly clear - and he's... probably not in league with the Duke. A scant moment is spent on considering whether this conflict of interest would sour her relationship with him.

But... his inventory tends to be a little more solid, and this is something she needs fast. The agent offers the merchant a professional courtesy she knows she won't get in return and pulls down her mask. Just this side of middle-aged, late 30s, probably. Frown lines.

"Infrared strobes. I'm not picky on make or pattern, I just need something that'll be visible from a good distance... and, yes. Discreet. They're going onto things owned by people that wouldn't be happy to find them."

The gesture, as expected, is not returned. The scarf covering the lower half of his face remains, and a gloved hand reaches to scratch around where it sat in thought.

"Hm... Discreet, but visible from a distance?"

He shook his head, "Aha- single flashing emitter- that's likely best you can do."

The Merchant turns away from Emily, reaching into a box behind him before turning around to present the emitter: a nickle-sized, single bulb, infrared device.

"These'll err on the discreet side, less on distance than those fancy emitters ya put on your helms an' packs... but from your looks, stranger, I doubt you'll be usin' these to search and rescue, heh, heh..."

He pauses a beat.

"That's a compliment."

#;;answer #crucialelement

“I’ll admit. It’s an impressive collection. How are you with outside ordering?” (From crucialelement!)

@crucialelement

The heavily garbed figure laced his fingers together, regarding this newest customer from underneath his hood with the same attentiveness as she regarded the collection of munitions he had on display.

"We source our wares meticulously, heh, heh," the Merchant responds, "Our customers are guaranteed the best prices. For outside orderin', shipping and handling will cost extra, stranger."

The Merchant leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, "But, it'll be worth the bread and honey. What're ya interested in? An' where would you need it sent? Discreetly, I take it."

#promo #“a study in” there is no study. this bug likes arms dealing and being a funny freak

Visit Original Link

The Merchant, Resident Evil. Inspiration from both the original and remake, as penned by Syd.

Permanent Plotting Call || Rules

Let's do some business then, eh!

Rules

I’m 30, He/They, and go by Syd.

I don’t typically RP stuff of a explicit sexual nature, however, for my own comfort, I prefer to RP with people who are 21+.

Zero-tolerance for any OOC queer-phobia, ableism, racism, Zionism, or sexism here. Mun is mixed indigenous. No one is entitled to my medical history or ancestry.

I use dice/D&D as writing tools for probability, chance, and skill check mechanics. If that bothers you, DNI. I will add rules as I find necessary.

If I even hear about unacceptible OOC conduct, we don't play.

#rules

nomithered

A Spanish Sabbatical? He'd been in Spain prior to Spirale?

The question sticks to the inside of his mind instead of on his tongue as he looks up in time to the keys be used on a case to the side. His mind catching up quick as he peers over the counter to the once-knife.

There is the notion internally, that maybe he shouldn't be investing in weapons. He rarely used them before after all...but then he's reminded that people out there might want to hurt him for fun. A flash of a certain patchwork face crosses his mind before he snorts aloud and places a palm on the counter to eye the piece.

"Only 25? That seems awful cheap..but then 'gain you said it's technically broken..I've no ideas to restore it so, sure."

He finally offers another little smile to the covered merchant.

"I'll think on the bracers then. Gotta say, yer a bit of a nice relief here in this ginnel of all places."

A pause. Then he points to the once whole trench knife.

"Ya mind if I try it on? I got some knobby knuckles from over th' years. Wanna make sure I'm not pissin' dust away, yeah?"

"By all means, have a butcher's."

The purple-clad Merchant hands over the broken antique, shuffling from behind the case, and walking towards the side of the shop. A pair of luxurious red and gold brocade curtains frame an archway into another room, which is set up like a posh drawing room.

The man looks back to wave David through the antiques to yet another passage into a shooting arcade with the entire range painted to look like a sunny sky over the ocean, facing a large model of a ship, with dummies rigged on a grid, the planks beneath their feet and the banisters separating the range from water deliberately styled like the deck of an old sailing ship.

The Merchant pulls a dummy out from underneath the netting, and slides it over the floor, away from all the props.

"Giver the ol' one-two, and see how you like 'em, heh, heh."

#nomithered

abladereforged

Porky.... no, he's not opening that up. He watches the other man drain blood of the meat, then follows his gaze as he points out the wooden sword on his belt, hung there from habit more than anything. It isn't poorly carved, if he has to give it something.

It's not his sword, though. Cash might be more useful for him right now, more than a prop sword at least. He isn't a criminal here. Not yet, anyway. He can walk openly in the street. He should probably make use of that while he can to find his real sword.

He needs to find it before Kafka finds him, because she'll be hell to deal with if he makes her wait.

"...alright. It's no real use to me anyway." He agrees, taking it off his belt. "What goods are you looking for?"

The Merchant sets the tenderloin down and withdraws his phone from a pouch on his apron. With a few pushes of buttons, twenty-five dust was transferred over, a sign of goodwill. He takes the wooden toy from Blade, and examines the make. A facsimile of the sword this man wielded in wooden form. Like the bronze jian.

"I can have something akin to this in no time," he says.

"What I look for," he continues, "are all sorts. I'll take rag n' bones, bits and bobs, and the Crown Jewels themselves, heh heh. I'd even buy the Hope Diamond if it came 'cross my path." Though, the Merchant assumed the man knew little about the cursed jewel. He laced his fingers in front of him, and leaned over on the table. "But from time to time, I have been known to throw a bone. I put missives out on occasion. Lately, I've been needin' golden eggs- and the best way to get 'em is nicking them from the piskies in Cotes. Interested?"

#abladereforged

"Born un' the toll of the blessed Bow Bells," he chirps, affirming the question.

The Merchant steps around the side, fingers lingering on the countertops, "Heh, good ears, lad. Right and proper placement, not like half the berks that walk in."

He adjusts the scarf on his face before clasping his hands together, "I'm with a guild that travels where unholy beasties and mayhem mingle- so I haven't been in East End in a long while. Seems it'll be a longer while now anyhow."

A brief pause, "What're you lookin' for, mate? I can getcha set with some nice pieces, bits an' bobs. I can throw in a special discount."

nomithered

"Travelin'?"

That gave him a little bit of reassurance. As if knowing that someone who wasn't necessarily up to anything good nor bad ending up here was something worth considering.

His eyes glance over to the face of the older man- could he assume that? He sounded older at least. So far he had met a guy who covered only his eyes, now one that covers everything but, the duality of it keeps that small grin on his face.

"Sure, sure. I think right now I'm... not sure I'm lookin' for a weapon- least not a Gun. Never held one y'know? Always been Safe with just my hands. So I guess.."

David lets his gaze wander to the back of the counter again, thinking of what else he might have.

"You got any bracers? Or knuckles?"

"Aye, had a Spanish sabbatical right before here." The

Merchant considers David's words, then laughs quietly.

"Heh, that's what I love about you woollybacks," the Merchant croons, shuffling over to a display case, "The men of high calibre don't need a high calibre to get the job done."

From one of his many pouches the Merchant withdraws a hefty set of jangling keys, opening up a case and withdrawing a weathered brass knuckle set with a pommel, thumbguard, and a verticle seam where a knife should be, the stamp on the side reading U.S.1918.

"This is a United States M1918 Mark 1 trench knife, missing the knife- practically worthless as a collector piece, still practical. Twenty-five Dust, it's yours."

"We can also can measure those meaty arms of yours if you want bracers. That's a custom job, and leather."

#nomithered

abladereforged

Some names he recognizes, some he does not. Unsurprising - the people here seem to be from all kinds of worlds, some of them so distant from his own that they've never heard of each other. He's certain he's been asked this question before. He can't remember what he answered the first time.

"Jian," he answers after a moment, his fingertips trailing over the hilt of the sword at his hip. The wooden handle and lighter weight feel distinctly wrong. He needs to find his sword. In case the name isn't familiar, he adds, "...longsword."

"What about you? Are you actually a merchant?"

" 'Course, I ain't tellin' porky pies." the hooded man replies, with a bow of his head, "Got a great selection of things, Stranger."

He rips the rest of the meatbag open over the sink, draining the fluids from the package. "I buy, and sell. I'll even take that hobby knight piece off your belt, give you cash in turn, hehe."

"I'll also pay to get me goods I need for me trade," he offers, "Honest labor, honest reward."

#abladereforged

lighthouseforghosts

There's a pair of goggles set into his hands that he tucks onto his face, wrinkling his nose a bit to make sure they sat properly, as the Merchant explains the phenomena of literal golden eggs in Spain. It flies over his head a little bit as he steps in beside the cloaked creature, watching him adjust the egg more securely in the putty.

"So, it'll probably smell terrible and might explode. Should I get one of the aprons from the back?"

Rixian's ears gave a minute twitch at the sound of the saw, but his interest in the work took precedence over any hesitations he might have.

"You want the sulfur out of them. I guess we'll melt and repurpose the gold afterwards? ....I wonder if you could use these for a spell."

His mind wanders to Mordenkainen - he'll have to ask later.

"Alright, are you doing this or am I?"