The Sum of All and By Them, Driven

[Rusty]

"Oh, crap."

Rusty hadn't meant to double book. Honestly, he had expected to handle one appointment in the morning, and then go off to find a rumored weapon that would without a doubt be the most awesome thing ever. So, figuring that twelve hours would be enough to handle the morning appointment, he'd told [member="The Major"] to get there bright and early at 7:00. And then he'd wrap up her order, bill the ever loving crap out of Eralam, and close early so he could meet [member="Aver Brand"] at 7:00.

Only, he'd told them both 7:00 AM.

For about the millionth time, he regretted turning Koko loose. She was permanently attached to RCFC now, rather than his personal assistant, and she was much happier with that job, especially now that he was selling his stake in the company. But without her to keep track of the little things, the weaponsmith kept doing stupid crap, like double booking.

If you wanted a gun that could pot a womp rat from three parsecs over, Rusty was your man. If you wanted simple administrative tasks completed without something going horribly wrong, not so much.

This was a problem, but maybe not a world ending one. Brand was, if nothing else, really good at designing weapons. Her Nadir line of products was top notch, and her insights could be invaluable. This Major person was here for weapons for...someone? That cranky bastard Eralam hadn't been clear when he commed. Maybe Brand would be able to help.

And, in turn, maybe they could recruit the Major for their mission. Brand hadn't gotten into the details, but from what she said, the original chaingun they were after wasn't going to be easy to get to. A third gunhand might be useful.

Well, it was five minutes til 7 now. He'd find out one way or another soon.

 

[The Major]

Only a few months had passed since Eralam had provided the contact information for Rusty's Little Workshop of Wonderful Horrors. Since then Sybil had been recruited and placed into a number of wet-ops for the First Order. They were an eclectic and fanatical bunch, but mostly they were all so cranky. However, the rumors of genocide and Dark Side worship turned out to be propaganda. It was a huge empire looking to provide a measure of control and stability for its people, and in her mind, a stable population was mostly a happy one. Still, she was really an outsider -a contractor. Outside of that organization, she used her real name, and luckily no enemy had made any connection. . . yet.

"Hallo?!"​

Sybil enters the shop, looking around for a Shardbot that fit Eralam's description. She was a tall and strong looking woman clocking in at about 86 kilos. The ensemble gave off an Victorian impression: a hunters garb that flowed similarly to a trench-coat with high, stiff collars. This loosely covered what appeared to be the under armor of a knight of Ren. A clear lack of lightsaber discounted her as being one of those zealots. Instead she carried a long rifle slung across her back: http://starwarsrp.net/topic/83302-the-majors-personal-rifle/. Rumor had it that the weapon was actually crafted a long time ago at this very shop -its properties inspired by another tool of its kind from a foreign reality.

"Oh. Good morning."​

​

[member="Rusty"]

 

[Rusty]

So that's who he wanted that gun for,​ Rusty thought to himself. It had been an eclectic request, even for Eralam. Flintlock musket with interchangeable breech blocks that allowed for not one but two different types of .50 caliber rounds. It was a unique piece, and a difficult build. The Shard shouldn't have been surprised that the owner of such a weapon would return, but there you have it.

"Howdy," Rusty said brightly.

As was his norm for the shop, Rusty rode in his usual droid chassis. Over the torso was a heavy flannel shirt that, for once, would be appropriate in the chill autumn air. He work thick blue jeans, clearly custom made, and combat boots, also bespoke, of almost comical proportions. The heavily modified, and oft-repaired power armor he used as a chassis was originally built for a man of titanic proportions, and was thus titanic in scale to match. It would have been impressive, if not for the lumberjack-chic outfit.

"Glad you could make it. How's the rifle holding up?"

[member="The Major"] [member="Aver Brand"]

 

[Aver Brand]

Aver, entering, often left an impression. Usually of the crater-shaped persuasion.

Today she was simply here to settle the small matter of a few company shares. And to find a big, bad, ridiculously powerful gun. Not necessarily in that order.

Her ensemble betrayed nothing beyond what was immediately obvious – that she carried enough weaponry to arm a small insurrection, and knew how to use it. The tiny bell chimed as she pushed past the thick blast door, unheeding of its weight.

Except someone was already here. Blue eyes darted to the clock of her display – nope, 7:00 AM on the nose.

“Y’all need a minute?” Aver interjected, gaze settling on [member="The Major"] to give her a proper assessment. Any customer of RCFC was generally assumed to be dangerous, but it was always a good idea to determine just how much.

“Not to rush ya, but me an’ [member="Rusty"] here got a… well, guess we can call it a business meeting. If we’re feelin’ particularly generous.”

 

[Rusty]

Rusty sighed, which took some doing for a being without lungs.

"That's my bad, Aver. What with Koko staying on with RCFC, I've been trying to handle scheduling myself. It's not going well."

Rusty eyed the two women carefully. They were alike in many ways, at least visually. Armored, and armed, similar build, and they both gave off the distinct air of predators looking for prey.

Which was fine by him. No one considered Rusty to be prey. Not more than once, at any rate.

"On the bright side, I think you might be able to help here. If I read the referral right, some of your Nadir line might come in handy for our friend here, along with some RCFC flourishes."

[member="Aver Brand"] [member="The Major"]

 

[The Major]

The appreciative gaze that the Major made as [member="Rusty"] mentioned the antique styled rifle strapped to her back told a long, loving story -of two great friends, destined to work together, and make mighty prey fit for a righteous, dignified slaughter. She was about to preach about its intricacies, and praise how the rifle was made for a niche role that both gratified hunter and hunted alike. But then [member="Aver Brand"] walked into the store, and the woman of Victorian inclination knew it was rude to drone on and on about your passions to a complete stranger. And this woman was indeed strange! Her speech verged on crass, but her demeanor gave the strong impression of royalty.

Politely, the Major stepped aside so that Rusty and Aver could face each-other. Encouraging them both to conduct their business with an aristocratic bow. Rather than ask a clumsy question, the Major decides to remain silent and remain in the vicinity unless otherwise asked to leave. In the mean time, the spectacles she wore began to glow with scintillating, azure brilliance.

 

[Aver Brand]

[member="Rusty"] offered a half-assed excuse. Aver offered a half-assed shrug.

Behind the impassive faceplate of her helmet, she tongued a sharp tooth. Considered.

“Aight. Color me interested,” she said after a beat, eyes never leaving the bespectacled character. There was something just off about the woman – the right sort of off, Aver reckoned.

Turning her head to address the hunter directly, the merc spoke again. “What can I do for ya that you can’t do yourself?”

The path from soldier to Hand to mercenary was long, winding, and, above all, littered with corpses. After that many decades, you learned to recognize the type – could tell who was gonna end up rotting in a ditch just by looking at their sorry face.

[member="The Major"] wasn’t one of them.

 

[The Major]

Pleased to not have to wait for long for her turn to speak, this woman carried herself in a manner that was infectious. Literally. Stand by her presence long enough -give it enough time- and one can almost feel a nondescript sense of loss. Something was always being taken perpetually by the hunter as she learned who and what you were. It wouldn't be a problem for the bold -like this deliciously anonymous woman, or the mechanical. It seemed entirely an organic problem.

"Eventually, I'll need the help of a unique team in the retrieval of certain artifacts and weapons. Can't be through my order, because its something they'll want to snatch for themselves. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. As a hunter, I pride myself on the goodwill of my fellows and maintaining a clean chit of debt. From the Shard called [member="Rusty"], I'll need a set of tools of excruciating detail. I'm here to first extend my services for barter, and to you as well, Lady. . . pardon, what may I refer to you as?" She asked [member="Aver Brand"], since the robot failed to offer a complete introduction, but that was no matter.

 

[Rusty]

Rusty's metal face was, as one might expect, immobile. But also highly expressive in its own way. One photoreceptor brightened, another dimmed, the robotic version of a quirked eyebrow.

"I mean, I was gonna charge Eralam through the nose for this, but if you'd rather barter, I can definitely think of a way you can make yourself useful. Me and Aver here-" he hooked a thumb towards the other woman "-were just about to go after some such artifact, because we've got a barter of our own going. If you feel like tagging along, I'm sure we can work out something for gear that'll suit your purposes."

The Shard was pretty sure he'd come to regret this meeting, in time. He didn't know [member="Aver Brand"] well outside of a professional setting, and he didn't know [member="The Major"] at all. But, despite the complete lack of Force sensitivity, there was a sense of subtle tension in the air, like the buildup of static electricity before a storm. Either they were going to try to kill each other, or they'd be BFFs. Well, insomuch as either of them had friends. Either way, he wasn't sure the galaxy would survive.

Oh well. If things went to hell, more people would be buying guns.

 

[Aver Brand]

For someone of her ilk, this woman oozed class. Aver blinked.

She processed everything the agent told her, but eventually the only question to leave her lips was: “And who do you work for, exactly?”

Not that the merc owed any loyalty one way or another. She fought for whoever footed the bill – and if it happened to be the guy on the other side of the battlefield the next day, so be it. But someone with a permanent employer? An order? People pulled stupid stunts for their beliefs. Even trained, efficient people. Best get a bearing on the direction before the wind picked up and the shet hit the fan.

[member="Rusty"]’d beaten her to the punch anyways.

“Never been a lady,” she added after a beat, blue eyes lingering on the droid this time. Or rather, shard. Not five minutes in, and [member="The Major"] was already proving useful. “But you sure seem like one, with that posh talk o’ yours. What’re ya called?”

Because really, a name in this business was as much a choice as the gun you conducted it with. Could be just as much of a weapon, too.

 

[The Major]

"By Order I mean the First Order. It's not a problem, is it? And no, I won't waste everyone's time here by going into speeches on the merits of the Supreme Leader or any of that noise."

This woman took a moment to reset her glasses higher upon her nose before answering the second part.

"My name is Sybil, charmed I'm sure. A pleasure, Miss?"

[member="Rusty"] [member="Aver Brand"]

 

[Aver Brand]

[member="The Major"] [member="Rusty"]

“Y’all make war, and war’s my business. Long as their religious bullshet doesn’t impact your work, I don’t care.”

Aver eyed the droid behind the counter. He made good weapons, but his choice of company was abysmal. Two mass murderers doing a job together? That was a disaster just waiting to happen.

The fun kind, though.

“Mrs Brand, if you gotta be that proper.” The merc chuckled, offering a gauntleted hand. “So what’s yer poison?”

 

[Rusty]

"Now there's a dangerous question," Rusty replied with his trademark not-quite-grin.

While the ladies had been talking, he'd been working, one hand typing away at a virtual keyboard while the other started pulling items from under the counter.

"I'll be perfectly honest, I've no idea what we're getting into, so I can't say for sure how much you'll be compensated for the mission, in terms of gear," he said, addressing [member="The Major"]. "We'll assume standard RCFC merc hire rates, which last I checked are well above market average, plus bonuses based on any difficulties we might encounter. In the meantime, I've got some stuff you can bring along if you'd like. That rifle's one bad mother, but it's not gonna do us much good if we have to fight up close."

On the counter was an Executive Protection Carbine and a LCR-series revolver. The LCR was the Classic Army variant, chambered for .357 Magnum. It was a handsome piece, and Rusty suspected that she'd appreciate the flair. It fit the musket nicely.

"The pay will be in credits, of course, but you can use part or all of it to buy kit, and at a steep discount. Say, 50% off the shelf price. Sound good?"

[member="Aver Brand"]

 

[The Major]

An intense, mad-woman glimmer came into Sybil's eyes at the sight of the revolver. It was the thrill and rushing, nigh insidious appreciation for the slugthrower. In a universe of energy based projectiles and weapons there was simply something so pleasing to the Major when it came to bullets. They are visceral, transferring massive amounts of kinetic energy into delicate tissue. They are surgical. They express a certain bestial nature due to their inherent tendency to rip and tear. For a young woman trying to find her place in the universe (the bluntness and ardent nature of propellants sparking and sealing until they produced ridiculous pressure could be a metaphor) using them felt like an open acceptance of the violent nature of this galaxy.

Sybil enjoyed thinking about things when alone. One could say she was a hopeless romantic.

The .357 caliber round would do nicely in close quarters. A single-action trigger might be considered too fiddly for some, but this markswoman preferred a lighter trigger pull -not to mention the impression of further reliability it gave to the user. It would require a little practice to master in a duel but she intended to meddle about with the weapon extensively. Enough gawking.

". . . Deal. . ."​

That came off a little too pleased, almost as much a serpentine hiss as it was a merry affirmation. She proceeded to check the basic properties of the revolver, of course obeying the etiquette of weapon's safety.

"Well, Rust. Do you have a briefing on this mission?"

[member="Rusty"] [member="Aver Brand"]

 

[Rusty]

"Sorta," he said. What he didn't say was ​Rust? Really? The Y isn't optional.

​"We're going to hunt down an ancient artifact of considerable power thought to belong to one of the greatest Jedi masters in history. Normally, that would mean some mystical Force crap. In this case, it's a big-ass chaingun that's supposed to have taken down a droid army by itself."

There was something akin to lust in the Shard's voice as he spoke of the chaingun. it was no secret that he was...odd. His employees had often found him speaking to and of weapons with the tenderness of a lover, rather than a simple creator. Which was kinda creepy, seeing as how he was​ the creator. No one was prepared to guess if that counted as incest, but then again, no one had the heart to ask him what really happened behind closed doors. Or rather, they didn't have the balls. For all his airs of respectability, Rusty was still one scary dude.

"Now, how exactly it survived all this time, what condition it's in, I don't know. That's where Aver here comes in."

[member="The Major"] [member="Aver Brand"]

 

[Aver Brand]

She side-eyed [member="The Major"]. The nigh-on obsessive glint that brightened up her eyes at the sight of a gun was… enlightening. Several things became very clear to the merc, very fast. One, why [member="Rusty"] and the agent got along so well – a mutual love of the fine firearm, of course. Two, that this chick was just a hair trigger away from mass civilian casualties with an assault weapon – not sure how she felt about that one, yet. Three, that she could murder people in a variety of painful, yet highly ingenious ways.

Coming in, Aver shrugged. “Relieved a guy who couldn’t play Sabacc for shet. Ran out of credits, so he bet some old notes and a half-karked blueprint.” She turned over her wrist to key something into the datalogger, then pinched the small chip that peeked out on the side.

“You can look it over on the way there. There was enough data in that corrupted record that we managed to recover a location.” Gesturing to the door with her head, the merc flicked the chit at the agent and disappeared outside.

Time’s a wastin’.

 

[The Major]

Rather than exacerbate their departure with needless overfluff or being too picky, Sybil quickly grabs the offered gear and equips it to her person. She was anxious to begin their mission and was especially interested in how her current allies operated. With any luck there would be a gang in charge of protecting the device —which would serve nicely in getting in some much needed exercise. Rusty definitely expected some form of trouble, otherwise why bother with bringing along two different operatives for the show. Her dataglasses did a routine search of [member="Rusty"] and his enterprise. They were a little niche, but a galaxy class weapons design/manufacturer. One story that took to chilling precedence was an example of a belligerent competitor that had made it a point to run a smear campaign of RCFC. There were catchphrases referring to it as Rust, and other such stupid claims of the weapons being made of substandard metal. The person died in a freak accident a few weeks later as the result of a number of his personal droids turning him to ash smelling soup. It was ruled a malfunction, but the droids were never recovered or found again…

She made it a point to use the full bloody name going forward.

While on whatever shuttle she planned to look up the Brand next.

[member="Aver Brand"]

 

[Aver Brand]

Wasn’t too long a jump, but enough that it warranted getting out the kit and cleaning her weapons, one by one. The only reason they still worked after all the punishment she put them through on the regular was maintenance.

Okay, and really top-notch materials and engineering – though honestly, that came with the pricetag. Keeping them in shape was up to her, however.

The LeMathttp://starwarsrp.net/topic/114799-lemat-mod-2/, first. Then the Havoc gun. A pair of blades followed – a combat knife and a kukri. The lightsabers… those she kept in her belt. Her Force presence was nonexistent, helpfully hidden by a tiny chip of alchemized metal beneath her skin. No need to dash that effort by throwing two glowsticks on the table. It was rare that she needed them these days, anyway.

The motions were all but burned into her muscle memory, and so she could observe [member="Rusty"] and [member="The Major"] as they wasted their time in their own little ways. Could betray a lot about a person (or a shard), how they dealt with hyperspace transit.

Eventually, a well-paid pilot informed them they were five minutes out. Soon enough, a vaguely terrestrial planet popped into view. The flames of reentry licked along the transparisteel as they descended – the shuttle shuddered a bit, coughed, and rumbled to a stop in Bumkark, Nowhere.

 

[Rusty]

Rusty passed the time by carefully cleaning and checking Gertrude.

It was hard to believe that the massive rifle was over a decade old by now. She had served him faithfully for so long, he honestly didn't know what he'd do without her. But, he realized, that was a question he'd have to answer soon. The signs of wear were unmistakable. She would probably be okay for this mission, but he suspected it would be her last. After that, it would be time to retire her, and build a new model. He'd already done so with Olga. Her daughter was every bit the beauty that she was when he first crafted her. Would he be able to do the same for Gertrude?

For now, he put aside his doubts. The Shard caressed Gertrude's receiver lovingly, before shouldering the heavy pack that contained her battle box, hooking up the ammo and power leads, and finally, cradling her in his arms once more. They had a mission to complete, after all. Perhaps Gertrude would have another sister. Or niece, maybe.

As the boarding ramp lowered, Rusty was surprised to find the weather was almost pleasant. Cool, but not chilly, the sun hidden by a thin layer of clouds that brought shade, but not rain. They had landed on some sort of grassy plain, nothing but grass, low scrub, and gently rolling hills for miles around. It was almost idyllic, which of course set off all kinds of mental red flags. There was no way this place was as friendly as it seemed at a glance.

Off in the distance, Rusty could see a towering structure, clearly artificial. It was hard to tell just how tall it was from where they were standing. The pilot, despite his exorbitant pay, had been unwilling to get any closer than three kilometers. And frankly, the Shard couldn't blame him. That thing just looked like bad news, like a ten year old Sith acolyte had been given a box of black crayons and a bucket of blood and was told to design the perfect stronghold. It was capped by a skull, for the Force's sake.

"What the hell have we got ourselves into?" he muttered to no one in particular.

[member="Aver Brand"] [member="The Major"]

 

[The Major]

“Why, is that the tower of the cult of Yar’ghul’rath?” Said the assumed sniper extraordinaire. One had to assume with a rifle that tall and lumbering she had to be worth her salt in shot. A frown crossed her otherwise pleasant expression. Quickly, a datapad comes out of pocket lining the inside of her duster. A few thumb jabs later a clear smile of success beams upon her face.

“Nope. . ."​

"We’re a system over for that. Good thing, too. Those guys are just terrible. Happily, this tower is just a mundane horror monolith. Well, my fellows -chop chop. Let’s get in there and see what other wonders would be held in such a strange looking place.”​

Even four-eyes over here could understand that her peppy, brisk attitude and pace might possibly annoy her co-conspirators. But what could she say, it was a nice looking day, and there was nothing more pleasing than satiating curiosity.

[member="Rusty"] [member="Aver Brand"]