Owner	Pose
River Banks	Ordinarily? River wasn't about the guns. She didn't like having them around. She'd been taught how to load, unload safely, clean and shoot by Beau... but usually when she had to fight, it was too close quarters for firearms.     And she wasn't sure how her benefactor would feel about having one in the house.     So she got a couple of recommendations from sources around the city, and on a chilly day of Gotham rain (does it EVER sunshine in Bristol County?), River found herself outside Powder Keg Gunsmith with her hair put in a brown clip, wearing a damp blue hoodie and worn down jeans and a light messenger bag - not a purse - slung over her shoulder cross-body, and she pushes open the door to step inside.
Cole Cash	The bell over the door dingles to let whoever is inside know that there's a visitor. The air is thick with the stale smell of cigarette, gun oil and gunpowder. "Hold your horses!" a voice calls out from the back, before a couple of moments later, a lanky blonde comes from around his back. He's easily thirty, wearing a black T-shirt with a gun on it and a slogan 'You have the right to shut the F up'. He looks the girl over when she comes inside, blue eyes rising from foot to head. "Lookin' for a place to get out the rain?" he asks her. As he talks, he moves to open one of the cabinets, placing a pistol into a box with several other pistols, before closing and locking it.
River Banks	"No, but if y'all know a place let a girl know. Half thinkin' 'bout buildin' an Ark." she replies regarding the weather, and she gives a huff out. "Looking for recommendations, actually. Ain't hd a gun before. Figured might need to pick somethin' up for protection." she explains, pushing her hoodie back. She definitely looks like this is early in her day, she's got that makeup-covering-bags-under-her-eyes look, and a scar on her chin that she's not bothered to hide at all this round. Her honey-brown eyes are looking over all the weapons in the joint, looking at the cases, thinking about how easy it might be to break into any of them if Cole had his back turned.     THen again, there's a reason why gun shops aren't robbed in broad daylight.     "Lookin' for home protection, stoppin' power."
Cole Cash	"You gonna pass a background check if I run it?" comes Cole's question. "I just opened shop, ain't lookin' to close back down cause of some sting." Did he just suggest she's a NARC? Probably. But, since they are talking shop, he takes out a pack of cigs, taps one out and goes to light it. "Home protection, huh. Got kids?" he asks her. "If you do, gonna want something big they can't stick into a backpack and sneak off to school to show off. If not, do you want a revolver or a semi-auto? Revolver will definetly give you stopping power, but you ain't gonna get many shots. Semi-auto, more rounds for you to miss with, but more rounds to shoot." "I can sell you either or, but what type of experience you got?" And he holds out the pack of cigs to her, he can smell the smoke on her clothes.
River Banks	She has to think about that. She considers if her one jouvie charge on record would be enough.     "Probably. Unless that speeding ticket's gonna cost me." she comments. She's definitely not got the Gotham City accent. It's muddled, but that Deep South drawl is there. "Semi-auto." she replies thoughtfully, and she accepts the pack of coffin nails to draw one out into her nimble fingers, and hands the pack back with a chin-up salute. "And something ah kin put under a shirt with a holster. Gotham's a dangerous town for a girl on her own." she states.     An she plucks up her own lighter and lights up the cigarette. She doesn't smoke... much... but when she does it's usually with a member of the criminal element.     "My pa used ta take me shootin' every once in a while. Know to keep the safety on unless I wanna kill what's in front a' me."
Cole Cash	"Everyone's got speedin' tickets." His accent is muddled. It's something, but mixed. There's hints of other things in there besides English. The accent of a military lifer. Putting the pack away after a moment, he considers her. "Alright, semi-auto. Want something you can have close by on hand or something that's gonna sit high in the 'in case of emergency' box? Gotham is a dangerous place, which is probably why it's got some of the most lax conceal carry laws I've seen outside of Madripoor. Which is good for business." "Did he tell you not to put your finger on the trigger unless you plan to pull it?" he asks as he goes over to a cabinet, unlocking it and opening it. Several shelves slide out with various models of semi-automatic pistols on display. "Foreign or domestic?"
River Banks	"Everyone's 'fraid a' somethin' in the city. Got a real bad clown problem."     And *That* is said with the experience of running afoul of The Joker.     She takes a drag off the cigarette thoughtfully. "I've got pretty good temperment an' trigger discipline, an' the burn scars that educated me to not fire it like an asshole." River states amicably. Good ol' girl from the South. Taught enough about guns in general. "Pa was a fan a' glocks, but I ain't too particular. Jus' want one that's gonna work when I need it to work an' be all right sittin' on a high shelf or beneath mah arm when it ain't needed."
Cole Cash	"Bama? Sounds like you're from Bama." Cole has an ear for things. As she speaks and fills him in on what she may be looking for. "Some either or, that's something. Means my choice." Now he asks her the most important question that he can ask the young woman. "What's the budget?"
River Banks	"Got an ear on you." River replies, leaning lightly against the counter. She could break the glass. Snatch and grab. Little water works and she'd be out of there. But that'd mean uprooting her younger brother again ... and probably get shot with taser rounds by Jason. That wouldn't be good.     "'Bama and Florida Panhandle mostly. Lil' Miami. Here an' there." she shrugs. "You must be ex-military. Don't know any civvies who are so careful with their firearm qustions." she gives a bright smile. Smiles are worth their weight in gold. Everyone's got one.     "Six K."
Cole Cash	"Served a few tours." That said non-commitally, when in truth he's probably served longer than River's been alive. Though as he takes a drag off his cig, her quoted price range brings a raise of his brow and he pushes the smoke out his nose. Alarm bells go off in his head, but he feels it out. It's more than the school teacher that showed up in the Alfa Romero. He needs to tell her that her order came in. "Six gee, huh. Alright, nothing's off the table." he comments. "And selling a gun is kinda like trying to get a date. You want to make sure the crazies are filtered out before you meet them at the restaurant and they tell you that they keep the fingernails of their exes in mason jars or some crap like that." Another look towards her, his free hand drumming the fingers on the counter. "You don't want anything flashy. Don't want others to see it." he gauges, trying to get a better read on her. "Nothing too big, you want to pull it quick. And you want it to be accurate with a high capacity." Opening a few drawers, he pulls out a pistol with a trigger lock running through the magazine to keep it from being loaded. "CZ P-01. Nine mike-mike, fourteen round mag, plus one in the chamber. Easy to handle, quick to load, customizable with sight or laser aim." He sets it down on the counter so that she can step forward and pick it up.
River Banks	River gives a nod. Ex military and crime, she's feeling the conversation out as naturally as he is.     "Man have I had no luck with dates." River states with a dry air as she takes another drag of her cigarette, and looks around for the ash tray -- she's not gonna drop ash in such a nice gunshop.     "Been savin' up my allowance, an' I know I need a new care kit and holsters Like I said -- been a while." River explains as she looks at the weapon that's set down, and clamping the deathstick between her teeth she lifts the weapon, and points to the side -- well away of the shop owner -- looks at it. Lightweight, aluminum alloy. She checks the magazine entrance, she pulls back gently on the slide, checking it over.     "And a nine millimeter's gonna be enough to stop most folks from wantin' ta get close?"
Cole Cash	"It'll stop any clown from trying to blow up your balloon." Cole responds casually, watching the way she handles it. There's a glint of approval in his eye at the way she made sure to check the chamber first, which is clear. "Now, if your problem is of the rodent variety? That's on you." Cole decides as he takes a last drag off his cig and crushes it out in a glass ashtray that's at least thirty years old, judging by the long faded logo of some strip club that used to exist. He pushes it over for River to use and nods. "I can get you the basic holsters and a good gun kit. You want to bedazzle that shit, there's shops for that. I ain't one of them."
River Banks	River gives a look over to Cole, and she plucks her cigarette from her mouth and taps the ash down.     "... who the hell *bedazzles* their gun? That's like... middle school girl shit. Wouldn't it just heat up the adhesive an' make it fall off anyway?" she asks, obvious distaste in the very idea of using a bedazzler on a weapon... plus side, someone might be laughing hard enough that she can hit their kneecaps.     At the mention of the rodent problem, she looks over to Cole, and she looks down at the weapon as she shakes her head.      "Ain't got a rodent problem. That tends to only happen to the sorta people who show up lookin' for trouble." she states dryly, "Ah ain't lookin' for trouble." she states, setting the weapon down on the counter with.a soft 'not anymore anyways'.     "Looks like it'd work nice for takin' out farm rats though if needed."
Cole Cash	"Wouldn't know from some of the types that come in here. Though most of the time, when those types come in, they're either clueless or dumb or want to be a cowboy gangsta. Those always end up in the streets or hanging upside down off some street post." But now she seems on the up and up, so he lays off of her just a little bit as he takes the gun back. "Different option? Less bullets? Higher caliber?" he asks her curiously to feel out the direction she may want to be going in. With his sleeve up on his arm, she can spy the hint of a dagger tattoo on his right arm and a healed pock scar of a larger caliber bullet wound diveting his skin.
River Banks	"Yeah well, they earn it. Cowboy Gangsta sounds... what's the word -- an oxymoron. How can y'all be cowboy and gangsta? Just... crime in a cowboy hat?" River is actually perplexed by this thought. She does not know that there is, in fact a pair of twins that do just that in Gotham.     "No, no that'll do nicely. I'll need two, a storage case, safety locks, and a holster. Preferably a back holster to go under an overshirt." she adds in "... or uniform." she slouches forward a little as she says it, her eyes darting to the tail end of the dagger tattoo and the bullet wound scar.     "From one a' your tours?" she asks -- and then immediately follows up with "Ah'm sorry, stupid question. You don't gotta talk about it if you don't wanna."
Cole Cash	"Eh, I have a few. Various things." Yeah, he's not opening up to River too much, but he does get out a pad and a pen to start writing down information. He's old-fashioned clearly. Or he's leaving no digital trail. "Alright, two CVs, one case, holster -- you got your permit and conceal carry on you?" he asks her as he concentrates on the issue at hand instead of on his past. "Going to need those and your ID." Reaching under the counter, he pulls out an application pad and tears one off. When he sets it front of her, for the first time, she can see his name. Powder Keg Armory, LLC Cole Cash, Proprietor.
River Banks	"Don't have that yet. Waiting on fingerprints." is a very convenient lie. She knows there's no way in hell that will pass when you got arrested because your step dad interpreted 'take my kid to work day' for a bank heist.     Thirteen was a weird year.     She takes a blue pen out of her bag from a bank down in Georgia, along with her New York City non-driver's ID.     "I just moved to Gotham, is that gonna be an issue?" she asks as she begins to fill out information. Roberta Charles. Lives on the edge of Chinatown, in a real run-down section of the city abutting The Narrows. She pulls out a Change of Address card that matches the Gotham City address she's pulling out from her bag.
Cole Cash	RED FLAG 1 Waiting on fingerprints. No license yet. That is automatically a no. RED FLAG 2 The New York City ID. Non-driver IDs are some of the easiest IDs to fake. Though the change of address makes it more on the up and up. "Yeah..." Cole drawls slowly as he looks at the application. "I need that license before I can even consider selling to you, Miss Charles." he goes to set the guns back in the case and lock them back up. A precaution, in case Roberta decides to do something desperate. Which brings us to RED FLAG 3 She offered a hell of a lot of cash for a pistol that was only worth about one thousand. Throwing money at things doesn't really work in this industry. "Hate to be the wet blanket, but I don't want to deal with a rodent problem with I just got the place cleaned up and fumigated." The GCPD? Easily paid off to look the other way, but if one of his guns gets traced back here by one of the Bats. Not a conversation he wants to have. He's terrible at small talk.
River Banks	If she wanted to do something desperate, she'd have to take the time to get real angry. And Cole's not done anything to her. Her eyes half close as she pauses writing down the burner number. She ticks the end of the pen, and the tip retracts, and she puts it back into her bag, and reaches out calmly to grasp her ID and the change of address card.     "Nah, nah, sir, Ah understand. Sorry for wastin' yer breath." she states, and takes a drag on her cigarette before she reaches over and taps the ash off. Her hands are shaking. She's scared, and covering it up with a Hell of a cool exterior. She plucks the cigarette from her lips and gives a nod of her head.     "Thank you for yer time."
Cole Cash	"Not a waste of time." Cole pauses. Oh gawd, she's shaking. There's gonna be a sob story if he asks. He knows there will be a sob story if he asks. He doesn't want to get involved. "You must be in some kinda trouble if you took this risk." He suggests. "Your ID right enough about the Dee Oh Bee, at least?" His foot moves down to crack open the fridge a hair.
River Banks	"... are you... seriously offerin' me a drink?" River questions, her eyebrows rising up a moment, and she exhales, and looks at Roberta's birthdate -- just to be sure.     "Wrong month. I'm at least legal for that." she states, stuffing everything back in her bag, and weighing if this is some sort of trap. Her weight shifts from leg to leg as she tries to suss out what Cole's doing.
Cole Cash	What the hell. It's not like it's a bar. Opening the fridge, he pulls out a beer. "Call it a kindness. Southern Hospitality, even if I'm not from there." It's not an expensive at all. In fact, it's a Molson. They were on sale. "Giving you a chance to tell me your story, if you want." he explains. "One beer, one chat." One chance.
River Banks	"Fair 'nough. Gift horse 'n' all." River replies, and she accepts the cheap beer. After all the best flavor of beer is 'free' followed by 'cold'. She turns the beer can over, and around, checking for broken seals out of habit as she weighs what to tell Cole Cash.     "Owed money to a guy." probably involved in crime. Southern girl, maybe the Dixie Mafia. "Got chased outta New York by a merc named Sabertooth." Sabertooth is not only expensive, but very, very good at what he does (which isn't very nice). "Almost bled out in the alley," he let her live to send a message. Her hands fidget and tap the tab a couple of times. She's nervous, but her eyes aren't searching the room -- "if a good samaritan hadn't brought me to a clinic here in Gotham. Left some cash." that was a lie. Her left eye ticked, pupils tracking to the side. "Now I've gotta come up with ways to convince someone Ah ain't worth their time." she cracks open the beer, and gives a swallow before drinking it. "Figure if I get five minutes of down time between them walkin' in and them able to git back up, w-Ah got a chance of escaping." More than one person involved. She hadn't answered the question of if there were kids in the home.
Cole Cash	"Heard of Sabertooth. He's a mean cat. And once he has your scent..." The can is clean, it's bad for business to try to roofie the customers. "So, you're trying to find a way to disappear without actually 'disappearing'?" he asks her. He drums his fingers on the counter. "Assume that this owed money ain't on the up and up which means that it's probably dirty." he watches her facial expressions, able to read them like an open book. "So what was your plan? A pistol is only going to piss that guy off even more, if what I heard was true."
River Banks	She shuts down. Roberta's gone. Her face goes unreadable as she lets out a breath, and she flicks her eyes over to Cole. "Could disappear if Ah wanted. Ah have before. Wouldn't be much trouble ta slip outta Gotham. Even the best hounds lose a scent." she states matter-of-factly. "HIm Ah kin deal with. The guns were for less volatile threats -- not rodents." she states to be perfectly clear, and she rolls her shoulder a moment. "But you're already doin' me a kindness not reportin' me to any authorities, an' you gave me a beer. More than Ah Deserve."
Cole Cash	"Look. What you have going on is small change." Be lucky that Cole doesn't know the truth about her name or her powers - Amanda Waller is ALWAYS HIRING. "They do, and if he was a hound, I'd agree with that. Your best bet is that your marker is such small change that he looses interest. But if he doesn't..." Reaching into his wallet, he opens it up. But instead of giving her money, he pulls out a business card. "But if gets worse. If it gets to the point where you feel him breathin' down your neck? Gimmie a call, I know some contacts." Oh man, Waller would LOVE to get her hands on Creed.
River Banks	"He ain't nothin' but a hound with a fancy name." River lies. She can feel the scars tighten on her skin, and she reaches to accept the card. Everybody gives out cards.     "Thank you kindly, Mr. Cash." she states, and then she tilts her head back, and knocks back the rest of the beer before she crunches the can down, and pitches it into a can. It misses. Her hand is shaking, and she reaches with her other hand to stop the tremor.
Cole Cash	Cole moves to hacky sack the can into the trash. "Need me to call you an Uber home?" he asks her, a lift of his brows. She's full of false, misguided bravado. Hopefully he won't read about her disembowled body being found.
River Banks	She's full of escape plans.     "Nah, I've got a friend ah kin call if I need a ride. Gonna take more than a single Molson to take me down to 'not able to use the urbarail'." she states. Carefully she builds Roberta back up as she goes to reach for the door, the strawberry blonde woman giving a plastered on smile, about to walk out into the rain.
Cole Cash	"Have a safe night then." Cole offers after her as she starts to leave. There's a story there. But he's not going to go digging. It's not the type of circus he wants to get involved in. And a beer is a small price to pay to have future information. He pulls out his own beer, popping the tab and taking a deep draught as he watches her go.