Players:
Jed, Morrison, 
, and 
Summary: Everybody run, the whole town has guns
Date: January 10, 1884
Guns, Guns, Everywhere!
Balcombe Gun Shop
The shop interior is a single large room with built-in shelving covering the majority of the side walls. On three sides of the room sit wood and glass display cases in a 'C' configuration with the open end of the 'C' facing the door. Behind the rear most display case and on the rear wall of the structure are the stairs leading to the upper level. Under the stairs the back door of the building can be seen. On the left wall relative to the front door and close to the midpoint of the store sits a pot belly stove on a stone hearth. The display cases in this store contain mostly handguns and those implements necessary for the cleaning and reloading of such weapons On the open areas of store's walls are displayed leather items including gun-belts, holsters and rifle and shotgun scabbards. Rifles and shotguns stand displayed in gun racks built into the shelving on the walls. Ammunition and small barrels of black powder, patch grease, caps and other volatile items sit in the shelves at the farthest point from the potbellied stove.
The gunsmith is working behind the counter, carefully measuring powder, grain by grain into a single press reloader. A short line of rifle cartridges, already loaded, is at one elbow, while a block of tumbled brass is at his other. As the door opens, letting in a gust of wind and spilling the powder, he curses in a low voice and turns around, "Yes? What might I do for you?"
Morrison blinks minorly at the curse, shutting the door gently behind him. "Your town makes carrying shooting irons a very appealing idea.", he notes taking his time to look around at the various wares. "I need a few things. An accurate revolver, a belt to carry it in, a repeating rife with a saddle scabard, and about 30 rounds for each in a weather proof container.
Carefully sealing the can of black powder, Jed sweeps the spilled powder onto a sheet of paper, and dumps the shell he had been loading onto the same sheet and disposing the entire emss into a lidded metal can.
"Any weapon in good condition is reasonably accurate in the hands of a competent marksman. What, more precisely did you have in mind to spend? For instance, you might purchase one of these Colts," he takes a very plain, very common revolver out, and lays it on the counter, "For twenty five dollars."
Taking out another revolver, this one bearing a small, hand-stamped makers mark and obviously several cuts above the Colt, "And this handcrafted one would cost one hundred dollars." he fixes the man with a stare, "Neither would be beneficial if you do not have the skill to wield them."
"Guns are like cattle, or people, or a million other things on god's green earth mister. They look alike, but each is different.", Morrison notes as he eyes the pair of guns. "Back east they talked about new barrel technology. Effected the range and the stopping power.", he notes taking up the more custom pistol and glancing down the sights. "I rode in the US Cavalry mister, I'ld like to think the federal government teaches a man how to suitably handle guns.", he chats in side conversation as he checks the smoothness of the moving components. "This use standard or custom ammo?"
Jed's brow rises as he cooly replies, "Standard. It would do one small good to have to constantly seek an unusual caliber." He nods at the pistol being held, "That one, unfortunately, has been paid for already. Such a firearm is, of course, not even begun until order, unlike the Colt, or the Smith and Wesson."
"You'ld be surprised how many folk think the unusual calibers are good luck.", Morrison chats turning his hand at the wrist to test the weight. A dissatisfied sigh as he sets the weapon down after hearing bought and paid for. "Which holds up best in this environment?", he asks looking to the stock on display.
Patiently, the gunsmith explains, "Again, that is a factor that depends on the skill and the acumen of the bearer. This environment is no harder than many others. You yourself would be surprised to learn how many people think a weapon will clean and oil itself, and are surprised when it fails at a critical point, simply because they could not take the time to care for it properly."
"Smith and Wesson.", Morrison decides as he reaches into his breast pocket and fishes out an aged black leather wallet.
Taking the custom handgun and wiping it with a lightly oiled cloth, Jed replaces it back into it's case, then repeats the procedure with the Colt, before removing a Smith and Wesson from the case and laying it on the counter.
The weapon shows some slight signs of use, but has been gone over with a fine toothed comb, and appears to be in perfect condition otherwise, then, he lays an identical, but obviously new weapon beside it, "These are the only two Smiths I have in stock at the moment. Both are chambered for the forty four Russian."
Indicating the used pistol, "That one belonged to a young man who thought he was hell on wheels with a pistol, and boasted that he was faster and more accurate than any man and had killed over ten men..he was killed by one of our citizens in his first and last fight in this town. Which would you prefer?"
Morrison taps the older gun. "Perhaps it's time it had a more peaceful and conservative owner.", he suggests. "For a gunsmith you certainly are discouraging at times."
The gunsmith gives the man a solemn, sad eyed look, "If you but knew the number of dead men that have passed through those doors, you would become discouraged as well." Taking the older weapon, he gives it a wipe with the oily rag, and sets it aside, with a box of cartridges.
Then, turning to the rack of rifles and shotguns, he ponders the display and takes down an octagonal barreled Henry, "This is chambered, by special request, for the same ammunition as the Smith," he states, adding a second box of rounds to the growing stack.
"You will find a variety of belts and scabbards behind you, on the wall."
Morrison nods slowly and turns to walk toward the hanging leatherworks. "All men die mister. It's the how and the why that matters. That fool gunslinger you spoke of… if it hadn't been by the gun it would have by knife or fists.", he suggests as he pulls down a simple and sturdy belt waxed an ox blood red. "Bad men just exist, and they are kept in check by having more good men with guns.", his philosophy shared as he tests the belt around his hips. A scabbard of matching color and simplicity is take down, rawhide drawstrings given a testing tug before he nods in approval. "I hear a man named Franklin is looking for the crazy preacher and his gang. He got any semblance of law on his side?", he asks bring the other items up to the counter.
The gunsmith's face takes on a frozen mask, small smile fixed in place, "Several people about are seeking that murderous preacher. None have found him, and no…Mister Franklin is not working within the auspices of any law enforcement agency. Mister Marlowe, I believe, was also seeking him without such sanction, but I am given to understand he has lapsed into one of his..episodes."
"Fine and well organized town this is. Be certain to pay the mayor a visit for compliments right soon.", Morrison offers sarcasticly as he counts out slips of paper cash, setting fifty dollars down readily with money on hand to add to the stack. "How much for the lot of it and a cleaning kit?"
Jed snorts then, a sound of supreme disgust at the mention of 'the Mayor.' "Obviously, you have not been here long," he says, digging out a cleaning kit, 'Our 'mayor' has seen fit to absent himself for nearly a year..since that masked fellow began his campaign..One of our leading citizens has jsut declared himself a candidate for Mayor, but the election is still more than a month away."
The brass cleaning kit is added to the pile, and he tallys the total, "Ten dollars," he decides.."the leatherwork is made locally for me by Mexican's."
Colton has arrived.
The slight gunsmith is engaged with another customer at the moment, acknowledging the new arrival with a brief nod.
Colton nods once to the man, but stays clear of the conversation, moving around the small shop, looking at the cases.
"The longer I'm here the more I ask if this is the best place to raise my kin.", Morrison says in a weary sarcasm as he adds a few more dollar bills to the pile before sliding it acrossed the counter to Jed. "So who is this candidate. For that matter who is the law?", he asks as he begins sliding the rifle into the scabard. "Name is Randal Morrison by the way. I guess you could call me an undecide business investor."
<Public> Devilishly Angelic Charity says, "All of you who are bombarding the admin with gun requests..you do realize you do not haev to be a walking armory on this game, right?"
Putting the bills into a battered tin box, Jed replies, "Adrian Llewellyn..He and his wife own a large farm and ranch to the south. A good man, although I have always found him rather aloof, though that is perhaps because of his upbringing." Standing, he glances again at Colton, narrowly, 'As for law..there has been none since Mister Marlowe killed the Sheriff for taking liberties with his woman, and that masked man killed the replacement." He shakes his head, "Both of them were decidely corrupt and worse than no law…None since then has dared to take the position."
"I'm guessing a new sheriff can't exactly be appointed without a Mayor or some town comittee agreeing to it.", Morrison notes as his chest shakes with a held back contemptuous laugh. "How far to the nearest town with law?" he asks while belting on his gun, a curious look cast toward Colton.
<Public> Morrison says, "It's a hazy area. Some types should hit grid armed in some sense but counter to that is the stupid crazy newbs all games get. Granted certain longtime players just becoming aware of the gun item requirement I can sympathize with."
"That would be Fort Collins, a half day's ride in good weather." he shrugs, "More in winter, unless you know the ways."
Colton listens quietly to the conversation, but doesn't add anything. He turns his attentions back to the case, and keeps out of the way.
"All the more reinforcement to get a good horse.", Morrison murmurs as he buckles his gunbelt and closes his coat around it.
Jed just shakes his head, not speaking what was in his mind about wolves, two and four legged varieties, and asks instead, "Will you be needing anything else, Mister Morrison?"
Morrison shakes his head. "Not that I can think of, unless you have a recommendation?", he asks amicably. The wall of rifles is examed curiously, "Though I do wonder if you know how to make an indian style modified cavalry rifle. Crude but rather ingenious weapons."
Colton arches an eyebrow and looks between the two men. He glances over to the gunsmith, before moving on down the cases.
At this, the smith looks startled, and replies, "I do not believe I have ever heard of such a thing. A cavalry carbine, of course, and I have done hasty repairs on many for people who could nto take the time or afford a proper repair. But I was unaware the savages made their own weapons."
Cay pages: Wow! that is weird…the other games I've played on the weapon master hadn't even heard of an adams .45 let alone dealing with two request for them.
Morrison chuckles softly and draws his rifle from it's scabard for demonstration. "They don't exactly make them rather they modify them to suit mounted combat. They cut down the barrel and the stock.", he explains gesturing with finger tips to show the reduction. "To reduce weight and make for easier manipulation. They also remove nails and mounting brackets replacing with sinew and other materials. You lose some range with the shorter barrel, but they rely on the horse and surprise tactics to get in close enough. I once held one that could almost be used in just one hand.
Colton shakes his head, and glances back to the gunsmith to see what he says.
He looks scandalized, but nods, "Yes, I can see where such modifications would benefit a horse mounted fighter..but I could not condone such things..why any person with a hacksaw and a bit of string could do that."
"Perhaps.", Morrison acknowledges with a shrug. "More a mild curiousity.", he claims as he puts the rifle away and takes up the scabbard. "I suppose I should be on my way. Good day mister.", he offers with a parting nod of his head.
Jed gives the departing Morrison a nod and turns to Colton, 'Is there anything specific I might do for you?" he asks, after casting a longing look at the abandoned press loader behind him.
Colton nods once, "Yessir.. Names Reynolds.. I'm ramroddin for Lady Fiztgerald out at the Epona Ranch. I'm wantin to outfit hands with the same caliber in rifles, and pistols.. I want to buy one kinds of ammunition, and have any man jack of 'em be able to load with anothers shells."
He looks thoughtful, forming the questions in his mind, "Then, of course, you are not looking for custom weapons,the cost alone of those would be staggering, and to give them to every hand on a ranch would be prohibitive." More careful thought, "I would suggest, in your case, the factory Colt and Winchester carbine, both chambered for the forty-four forty round. Common and not so expensive as other choices."
Colton nods, "Can you keep enough 44-40 to keep us shootin if it comes to that?"
In answer, the gunsmith tosses a loose part at a stack of wooden crates in the corner, "Would that be enough?" he asks, wryly. "As the most popular cartridge, I tend to order it often and in quantity."
Colton says, "And I'll make ye a bargin mister. You keep a couple of each in stock. I'll send new hires that want to own their weapons.. You'll get all the Epona repair work too."
The gunsmith nods, once, then twice, and adds in return, "Very well. And should you find the need to send so many in, I can offer a reduction of price in bulk quantities. Every five of each type would lower the cost by a dollar fifty per handgun and two per rifle."
Colton nods once, "Sounds more than fair. How long you reckon for the first five of each?"
"For five factory Colts? I can telegraph the order tomorrow, and, should the wagon get through the road, they can be here by Wednesday, I am sure. Or, I can employ..no…not this time, I fear the man has gone over the edge and might be untrustworthy..Wednesday, Thursday at the latest."
Colton nods once, "And five of the Winchesters. Anyone I send in will ask for the Epona Standard.. One of each. Is Lady Fiztgeralds maker good in here? I can go sign for the cash if I have to."
Cay has arrived.
The gunsmith gives a slight shrug, "I do not know the Lady Fitzgerald, but, should your enterprise not live up to it's debts, I would simply have a lien placed on the property and animals. So, your marker is good."
Colton stands at the counter in conversation with the gunsmith. He glances back as the door opens, and looks the man over before turning his attention back to the man behind the counter.
Cay enters the shop and gives a shiver as he closes the door behind him. He looks up at Jed and Colton as he takes off a warm looking wool riding cloak, forest green in color. To no one in particular he growls,"bloody cold out there…" He throws his cloak over his left arm and while leaning on his cane with the right he makes his limpimg way further into the gun shop. He moves closer to the two men but remains a respectful distance until they have finished their business together.
Jed frowns a bit at the cold air coming in, and writes Colton's order down in his ledger, saying, "I may as well order ten of each, and you will realize an even greater savings..though I withhold the right to sell the extra five if needed?"
Colton nods once, and extends his hand to the gunsmith, "Colton Reynolds.. You got my work you'll get paid for 'em. If Lady Fitzgerald don't pay for 'em, I will out of my own pocket if I 'ave to." He nods, "You get extras.. Sell to who you like. I'd jest keep a few on hand so I can send 'em your way, and they don't have to wait on 'em.. and you don't have to wait on sales."
The slim hand of the gunsmith grasps Colton's firmly, then he leans back against the back counter, looking at the new arrival quizzically, and calls over, "Something specific you are seeking?"
Grace has arrived.
Colton stands at the counter shaking hands with Jeb, having just completed some business. He glances back as the door opens, and reaches up to touch the brim of his hat, "Maam."
Cay continues to wait, leaning heavily on his cane. His eyes scan about the room, making himself familuar with the place and taking in all there is to see. As jed speaks Cay's head turns toward him."Aye, looking for some rounds for this old pig iron." Cay lifts the hem of his coat and showes the man his holstered Adams .45. As Grace enters hge flicks a glance at the door then back to Jed.
Grace may be an odd figure to walk alone into a gunshop. All done up in a sharp navy walking suit after the Parisian fashion, she doesn't perhaps seem like the gun-toting type.
But she nods happily to Colton when he greets her, generally perusing the store's wares as she waits her turn.
The gunsmith's eye brow arches up, and he says, "What, precisely are we speaking of? I do not think I have seen such a weapon..it is of foreign manufacture? What chambering does it employ?"
Colton steps back from the counter, and turns to make his way towards the door. He calls over his shoulder, "Much obliged."
Cay pulls the weapon out of it's holster as he moves closer to the counter."It's an old Adams .45." he looks down at the weapon as he hands Jed pistol grip first,"she's old but still fires straight. I been having a hell…"he pauses and glances back at the lady then continues,"…I mean, I've been having a tough time finding rounds for it here in The Americas."
Jed takes the old pistol, turning it over in his hands. Breaking open the action, he extracts one of the few rounds in the cylinder, and looks at it with a growing look of dismay, "Why, this is a most unusual round!" he exclaims, "I don't know what it is called in Britain,, but here it is the four fifty boxer round..and it is the second time this week I have seen such a weapon."
Cay quirks an eye brow,"Really? Strange, that's a military pistol…hard to come by even where they are common." He sighs,"any chance ye can cap some rounds for me here or am i out of luck? he frowns,"I've only about twenty rounds left…"
Turning about, Jed reaches into one of the cabinets, and removes a box of brand new shells, taking one out of the box to show the unusual coiled case. He hands the round over, asking, 'Is that not the very thing you are seeking? As I said, it is the second time this week such a round has been requested, though the last man carried it in a Colt."
Cay says,Ahhh…thought ye meant someone else came with a Adams on his hip…" he looks down at the round and beams,"Aye, that's it! Ye have no idea how hard it's been to find these…thank ya much! he sets the round back in the case and pulls out a small coin pouch from his coat."how much?" he asks bluntly.
Jed replies, "it is nto as common as the forty five long colt, or the forty four forty, as you know," the smith repleis wryly, "I fear that it is quite expensive, a dollar fifty a box."
Cay shrugs,"they'll seem cheap if i ever get into a fire fight,"Cay gives a chuckle as he lays the coins down on the counter and takes up the rounds. ' pleasure doing business with ya…Mister…? Cay holds out his hand for a shake.
"Balcombe. Jedidiah Balcombe, at your service." he shakes the proffered hand, "I shall ensure that I keep several boxes on hand, but for the moment, that was the last."
He bends to write in his ledger, obviously noting the need for more of the exotic round.
Cay says,"Caidian McClarty, at yer service…"he hooks a thumb at the door."I'm the town's new Undertaker and I hope ye never have to do business in me shop." He pockets the rounds and then spins on his good leg and begins his shambling walk toward the door. he gives his hat brim a tug as he passes Grace and offers quietly,"fine day to ye, lass." then continues on toward the door.
Grace looks up and smiles at Cay. "And tae ye," she replies in a thick Cork lilt, dipping her head politely. Jed seems to be free now, and she reaches into her purse to pull out a small double derringer. "Good afternoon, Sir," she says, that bright smile never leaving her face. "I was wonderin' if ye could take a look at me dear 'Molly'. Seems tha' the action is a bit loose, an' I canna fix her meself."
She sets the gun on the counter. "I'll also be needin' some ammunition if ye be havin' it?"
He picks the small gun up, wincing at what was, indeed, a loose action..Something inside broken, a spring, or the retaining tooth of a lever. With few blinks, he looks up, and asks, directly, 'Have you ever fired this? The recoil would not be so harsh as the larger forty one caliber, but these thirty twos still have plenty of recoil, because of their short barrels. And of course, accuracy suffers as well."
"I've practiced with her, aye," Grace says quietly. "Worse I've had though is a twisted wrist, by the grace of tha Good Lord." She tilts her head a little. "An' I donna use it tae hunt. Molly is only fer protection when I canna get away."
Scrabbling about on his workbench, Jed finds and wields a small screwdriver, quickly removing the grips, revealing the working parts of the diminuative pistol. he sighs, and delicately removes first one, then a second piece of metal, laying them on the counter.
"I fear, Madam, that the sear has broken. It is a common problem, because they cannot be made so sturdy, the metal becomes fatigued and breaks, as this did."
"Aye… Alright." Grace as a rather matter-of-fact look of unsurprise on her face. "Sure, but I did believe that sommat had broken…" She leans over to inspect the piece curiously. "An' how much will it cost tae fix me poor Molly?"
Another sigh, and he says in a regretful tone, "I fear that parts for this are no longer available, as Iver Johnson ceased production three years ago." he compresses his lips and picks the two pieces up, "of course, I can
<Public> Devilishly Angelic Charity says, "They're playing in the new stadium, too. The one that looks like a big inflatable toy."
fabricate this piece, given these parts, but it would take several days to treat the metal, and machine it to fit. Perhaps..three dollars total."
Grace's lips frown at first but then smile. "Then, I shall pay ye six fer tha' trouble. If ye can fix herself, then 'twill be worth the money." She reaches back into her purse to fish out a few coins. "I shall leave herself with ye then and come back in a week?" she asks.
"Indeed, I see no other choice," he replies with a bit of wry humor, waving the money away, "No need to pay until it is repaired..Where might I send word wehn the work is complete?"
Grace laughs and nods. "Aye and well." She arches an eyebrow. "I should still be at tha hotel. Grace O'Coilean is tha name. Thank ye again, Mr. Balcombe."
Already engrossed in making measurements with a micrometer, the gunsmith merely waves with his free hand, then jots notes on a blotter, making a rough sketch.
With that, Grace turns and exits.
