1861/11/05 We Always Need Guns Here
Scene We Always Need Guns Here
Characters Mick Earl Marshal Slade Dallas
Place South Street/Gunsmithy
Date Nov 5th, Evening

The sun is setting, the streets change from the usual place-to-place business traffic to more casual pedestrian activity. Someone -"Open up you son of a bitch!" Ahem, SOMEONE -bambambam "Are you asleep you bastard?" ..Someone is still -"If you don't open this door I will personally kick it down then make you eat it!" … Someone is still working.. Marshal Dallas is hammering upon the door of the Gunsmith's.. Increasingly agitated, exponentially annoyed the Federal official seems to be running out of patience. He knocks, he hollers.. No-one answers, there is no movement in the darkened smithy. "Bernie, you sideways bastard, open this door right now!"

Mick manages to be strolling down along the street at about the same time that the Marshal is banging on the door of the gunsmiths shop, The Irishman slowing in his movements as his brow begins to slowly lift. An amused expression taking shape across his soft tiered lips as he watches the man's fight with the inanimate object in the form of the door before finally that distinct brogue sounds out, "Lad, the bloke hasn't been about at all today. Last I saw he was headed west." The man's shoulders giving a small shrug as he begins to step closer, "Wha's the problem?"

Earl gingerly trots down the fairway. He is followed by one more of his ilk, the duo guiding their horses to the hitching posts outside the gunsmith. As he dismounts, he overhears the Marshal barking out loud, "Seems a bit late to be pestering businessmen, no?" he inquires as he ties his horse to the post.

His knocking interrupted, one fist halfway to the bleached wood of the door, another holler cut short in his throat.. Marshal Dallas turns, frowning. "He ain't here?" he grunts. "Guess he can't be 'less he wanted hisself ran out of town for not openin' up to the Law.." He shakes his head, "Just when I need a gunsmith.." He peers at the helpful gent, "Don't I know you from somewhere?" he asks. Then, to the cowboy "Stores open when the law calls if they want to be open ever"

Mick strolls closer to the shop doors looking towards the Marshal, "Doubt tha' ya do lad, Doubt tha' ya do.. But if'n ya open tha' door up could help ya out a turn I suppose." The words spoken simply by the Irishman. The arrival of Earl and his own words have Mick glancing over towards the man giving a chuckle, "Hell gunsmiths work is ne'er done lad, Always someone needs shooting or a gun needing looked over."

Earl smirks, "Unless yer piece is well taken care of. An there ain't much law out here anyways." he says, hooking his thumbs into his belt as he surveys the scene. "If there were, I wouldn't hear all this complainin' from the women folk about all these rats…"

"No.. No.. I know you.." The Marshal steps froward, one hand moving to his gun. "One of Radford's boys, stole a wagon from Fort Spencer.." he pauses, "Possibly one of Spencer's boys, stole something from Fort Radford.." his eyes narrow. Details may be sketchy, but the Marshal doesn't think for a second that the Irishman isn't guilty of *something* "And what could you possibly do to help me out? I need a new gun, somethin' a bit special" He looks to Earl, "The law in these parts don't concern me, son. That's why you got a Sheriff to take care of rats and drunks and dead sumbitches who can't shoot worth a damn" Slade grins, leaning forward, "I deal with fed-er-al issues, bastards from elsewhere comin' in causin' ruckus and strife. But you.. Don't I know you from somewhere?"

Mick's brow lifts hearing the comments from the Marshal, "I look like a damn wagon driver to ya?" His brow raising briefly even as laughter slips from his lips. The man's head giving a quick shake as he moves closer to the door looking over the lock, "And well if'n ya aren't the local law, but the federal sort.. And ya be needing something in the way of a gun. Ya open this door, Be more than happy to help ya." The words spoken with a hint of amusement before Mick is glancing towards Earl, "Lad, Question for ya.. when was the last time ya heard a lass tha' wasn't complainin' about something or other."

Earl gives a bit of a tilt of his brow. "Federal?" he inquires, squinting at Slade. "Ye one of those pawns of Washington?" he inquires, "Ain't no need for them or any of them agents out here fussin' over good folk jus' tryin' to live their lives."

The Marshal harrumphs, still scrutinising the fellows before him. "Because someone has to take care of the crap that falls on you from up high. I am the shovel, gentlemen. The shovel that scrapes up the bastards you can't deal with, the shovel in the face of them as do our Union wrong. The shovel that buries them. So don't forget that!" with a practised hand he slides the gun from the holster at his hip and lifts it, barrel high. "If Bernie the gunsmith would like to make a complaint the gov'ment owes him a new lock, all right and proper" Slade lowers the weapon, points it at the door where the lock meets the frame and fires, blasting the door open.

Mick smirks hearing Earl's own statement about federals sticking their noses in the business of folks in the area, The man giving a small approving nod before he is stepping back as the pistol is drawn by the marshal. Mick chuckles softly hearing the comments from the Marshal, "Don't think he will be given how fast I saw him riding out but will be sure to let him know I see him. So wha' kind a piece ya looking for?" His brow lifting in question even as the gun fires blasting the door open. Mick just grins as the door swings free the Irishman moving to step inside of the shop.

Earl moves his hand to the grip of his pistol even as the Marshal moves and shoots, glowering. "Careful." he says. "We don't need no people in Washington tellin' us good folk how to live our lives." he says, keeping down by the steet, not going anywhere near the shop.

Still on the threshold of the gunsmithy, the Marshal shrugs. "What I want is what I need" he says, if the owner can't provide then he's no owner. The town services the Union.." he looks hard at Earl, gun still in hand. "As the Union services the town. Like for like we get strong. And folks get to live as they want. Now why don't you come take a look with us?" He moves into the gloom of the gunsmithy..

..Inside is dark a gloomy. The evening light struggles to penetrate the grubby windows. The glass cabinets are mostly empty, and much of what is left is either outdated or rusty. Or both.

Mick steps inside of the dim building, The man's eyes adjusting slowly to the gloom as he sighs softly. "Bloody bastard could'e put more care into his stock.." His head giving a shake as he chuckles moving around behind the counter to see if there were any better pieces kept out of view when the shop wasn't open and in service. The Irishman not seeming to much mind digging through things though given what had happened to the owner it wasn't too surprising he might not mind digging through their stuff.

Marshal Dallas raps on a gun cabinet with his pistol, "Quality is what you pay for, Irish. And this place was cheap.." He drops his sidearm on the countertop. "Now how about you tell me about my gun, and what might be wrong with it?"

Mick's right hand extends out towards the gun lifting it from the counter, The man quickly tapping out the small lever beneath the barrel so he can begin to break the weapon down to examine it more closely. The man examining each part of the gun individually from the hammer, to the chambers to the barrel itself. "Well for one, You could go for a bigger calibre. Like the Dragoon here." The man patting the firearm on his right hip briefly. "Though could likely do something with this here piece to make her sing nicely until some colts can be ordered for here." The words spoken simply by the Irishman as he begins to reassemble the firearm. "Need it until tomorrow to give her a good work over though."

Marshall Dallas chuckles, "Don't need it, Irish. Reason being when I need to use the gun there's a whole posse of folks at my back. Calibre and accuracy can take a second place to weight of fire" He grins, "But I was just testin' you.. For fun like. Why don't you go on an open that there locker behind you" he pints to a secure steel locker housed behind the counter. "And if you can't find the key or make yer own arrangements then you ain't the guy I think you are"

Mick just eyes the locker briefly before moving over to one of tables filled with tools. The man taking up a mallet heading for the secure locker. Mick looks the locker over a bit more closely as he stops in front of it before bringing the mallet down only to stop at the last second. The Irishman moving towards the lock of the door blocking it from view for a few moments as he fishes a key from his pocket to unlock it after the second key is attempted. The man grinning as he opens the locker looking inside over the stock.

Slade raises an eyebrow, but smiles as the locker opens. "And barely a scratch upon it" he says, innocently. "What a marvel how easy you could open that secure cabinet.." Inside the opened locker there are a lot of spent shells, a few coins, and a rifle. A long rifle half-wrapped in cloth. The wooden stock looks smooth as the finest bourbon, the bolt-action mechanism oiled and glistening, the barrel true and topped by a long and expensive-looking scope.. The Marshal's eyes light up, "And that's what I came for" he says.

Mick looks over the weapon as he unwraps the long gun. The Irishman raising it up to look through the scope. The movement fluid and one that seemed almost natural for the man before he is raising up as the weapon is lowered. The man moving over to set the rifle down on top of the counter for the Marshal. "Nothin like a bit o' that Irish luck lad.. And well she is a beauty.. tha's for sure."

"Ain't she just" agrees the Marshal. He picks up the gun and plants the butt of the stock to his hip, the barrel pointing up. "And I feel I'll need her, because.." he winks, "Say, I can see you've a way with guns, and we always need guns here. Would you mind keeping this place open your own self until Bernie comes back? I have a deputy or two that could do with their sidearms being properly looked at"

Mick's shoulders roll back into a shrug as the offer is made, The Irishman grinning as his hands come to rest on the counter as he answers. "Aye, Think I could manage tha' until he comes back. Figure tha' be more than just them that might be needing things or having their guns worked over.. Be glad to be of service and well earn a bit of money in the process." A chuckle leaving the man.

Dallas nods, "Good, then. Shop's your'n for now. Long as you keep the law happy and let me know of anyone suspicious.. More than *usually* suspicious buying up arms" he grins, "Like I need this beauty for" he pats the long gun. "Couple of bastards knocked over the goods store, stole a whole mess of things and scared the folks up bad. I reckon' they ain't local, so that makes 'em mine. Next time one of them pokes his head up then I'll be ready to put a hole in it"

Mick ahs softly giving a small nod, "Shame tha' someone would resort to such a thing, Hell figured folks could still be civil even here." His head shaking slightly before he grins, "And well will keep tha' in mind far as if'n folks get suspicious.. Good look with tha' hunt of yours Marshal."

The Marshall grins, "I always get 'em. Eight Federal warrants so far by my own hand. They think they can jus' keep movin' West, robbin' and killin'.." he shakes his head. "The wire service is faster than they are, and there's a damn lot more of us" Slade nods to his pistol still partially disassembled on the counter, "And I'll expect that delivered to my office tomorrow, clean as a whistle. Now good evenin' to you, Irish. Much obliged for your help this day"

Mick chuckles as he looks down at the broken down revolver. "I figure I can get it over there to ya soon as it's done tomorrow lad. Tha' shouldn' be a problem at all. If'n not me will have someone drop it by for ya." A small smile offered to the man. "And well anytime Marshal, You have yerself a good evening."

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