@fcksevastyan
After all the excitement of the Golightly Gala, Celine had realized that she was in desperate need of a few new toys to bolster her modestly-sized arsenal. The gunfight she had gotten into had not only depleted her of bullets, but she had lost her favourite Star Firestar M43 in the process. She had loved that gun too, had it for years when she was new to the mafia life. Its loss was felt keenly, and the only way to fill the pistol-shaped void in her heart was to naturally buy something shinier.
And she knew just the gentleman to help her out. Sevastyan Vasyutin had been a fixture in the Bratva for almost as long as herself. If there was any arms dealer who was certain to have a gleaming, new plaything for her to use, it was the biggest tool she knew.
Celine found him in the High Tides Lounge; the natural breeding place of all the bloodthirsty beasts who went bump in the night on the streets of New York City. Naturally, Sevastyan would be in the center of it all, making a killing of its own kind off of all the Bratva’s many fixers and contractors. But unlike the small fry, Celine was someone who mattered. And so they scattered, fleeing as she approached her target. “Sev, darling. I find myself in desperate need of your ample services. Would you be a dear and let me know what you have in stock?”