[center][h2]Seein’ A Man About A…[/h2][/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/2KDIbF6.jpg[/img] [/center] OOC: Pardon me while I try to crank up the rusty old writing machine… “She’s a beaut.” The sniper scope felt good, weighty and firm in her hand. The metal was smooth and precisely machined to the touch. Abby couldn’t help herself. Once more, the fine ocular came up to eye level, just far enough removed to avoid her lash touching the polished glass. The index finger of her left hand steadied the far end as she sighted down the length of the narrow shop. “Mmmm,” the girl hummed a quiet appreciation as she dialed the optics upon one of the myriad target bull’s eyes littering the back wall. “That is some kinda smooth. Could sight on targets ‘o’ diff’rent ranges without missin’ a beat.” The shopkeeper’s study of her backside abruptly ceased. This little girley might just walk the walk after all. “Whatcha thinking to mount it on?” “Mosin-Nagant,” Abby replied as she drew a tight bead on the target. “M-91.” “What series?” Now he really was interested. “R-3.” “That’s a fine shootin’ iron you got there, little lady,” the gunsmith leaned over the counter. “Wouldja consider sellin’ ‘er? I’ll pay top coin. Best coin this end of the ‘verse.” She didn’t bother with an answer, just a careful placement of the scope back into its’ package. “How much fer this?” Caleb Brummy, Proprietor of Brummy’s Firearms and Munitions, clasped both hands in reverence as he spoke. “This is a precision instrument,” his voice nearly quivered with pride. “Got Kraut glass in ‘er. Don’t get no better optics than what them Krauts grind out. Four hundred.” “Four hunnerd.” Abby fixed him with a dead eyed stare. “Yes, ma’am. For that, I’ll even throw in a high quality no-drill mount.” The deckhand folded her arms. While she was sure that [i]Kraut glass[/i] was something mighty fine, no way was she about to drop what she conjured to be Hank Aaron money for a piece of hardware she knew damned well she could pick up on planet for two C’s, Kraut or not. “Box is powerful dusty,” she observed. “Cain’t be good holdin’ stock fer so long. How ‘bout I take it off yer hands fer two fifty?” Brummy’s eyes narrowed. “How’s about you just walk your pretty little [i]pi gu[/i] right out that door?” Hot Tempered Abby woulda showed metal for that. Even Uncle Bob counseled to let her gun hand drift near the Colt when a man come crossways with her. But she had a new take on this. Lotsa voices, tellin’ her little bits ‘o’ wisdom all at once. [i]”Whole lotta ways folk horse trade, kid. Not all of ‘em good.”[/i] Cap’n. Always Cap’n. One thing she’s just beginning to learn these past couple years was that there’s a whole lotta grey in the black. Cal Strand had a way of putting sense to it for her. As such, Abby now conjured this man’s slight toward her person, no matter how belittling, weren’t nothing more’n a move for the high ground to cover his counter offer. The next move was hers. “Shiny,” the teenager replied. With a decisive whirl on one bootheel, she made for the exit. As Abby’s fingers twisted the knob, Brummy called out, “three seventy-five!” “Still walkin’!” “You stupid, kid?” he demanded. “That’s Kraut glass! You got any idea how good that is?” She paused to toss back a wry smile. “Good ‘nuff to gather dust on that shelf another few years, I conjure.” Brummy’s face was flushing red. “Three twenty-five. There…I metcha halfway. We gonna do this or not?” [i]”He’s a wannabe. Makes his living selling bullets and an occasional low end pea shooter. You would make his week.”[/i] Mr. Eleanor, him as she suspected was some sorta confidence man…still teachin’ her to read the room. “You heard muh price,” Abby said as the door shut behind her. He could stew. Odds were mighty long a man treated womenfolk like Brummy’d stoop to come runnin’ after her. If he did, she might just let herself get sweet talked up to two seventy-five…provided said talk was actually sweet. After all, it was Kraut glass… [i]”He got one thing right. You do got a pretty pi gu.”[/i] “Shut up, Rex,” Abby giggled to herself as two passersby traded glances.