Your Blade's a Bit Dull, M'dear. (DLA)

[Kella]

ooc//
Open to: All DLA members
Time Period: Present //


The welcome was standard. 'Hi, thanks for coming, this is our mission, you're in, barracks are there, don't cause trouble'. Grizzelda was fine with every condition save the last one.

She had, however, taken a moment upon her arrival to sleep. The halls of the Jedi temple had been ghostly, though it could not have been more than a few years abandoned. She had heard whispers, during her time at the Academy, that the Jedi still kept a secret enclave on Dantooine, nestled within the old ruins. Now, it smelled only of dust and sulfur. In any event, the sleep had been well-earned considering her arrival on Dantooine. Blockade, and what-not. Even learning of the DLA had been quite the adventure, as had acquiring the tactical map of Dantooine... and the schedule detailing ships in and out. She still smiled at the way a well-timed saboteur could create enough of a distraction that a single Razorback fighter could slip right on through... It was a great story, really. She hoped someone would ask her about it, and preferably over a glass of something alcoholic. That always seemed to make the tale grander.

And now, quite well rested, Grizzelda Xanxere sat with her chair rocked back, her feet sheathed in black combat boots and kicked up on a low table, and a blaster in her hand. With a rod and dense cloth, she cleansed the poor fellow of his blasphemous dirt with motions that were second-nature. There was a grace to her movements as she maneuvered the cloth, and fingers with short, well-kept nails smoothed along the barrel from time to time. More than once, she nicked her finger on a jagged edge, but the injury simply joined countless other similar scars, born of incidents much the same. This particular blaster had been tossed aside with a gesture that seemed to imply it was being deserted for scrap, but all it really needed was a good cleaning and a fine tune, and it was a decent pistol. Decent wasn't going to cut it against the Sith, however, and soon, Grizzelda had exchanged her cloth for a long-necked screwdriver, fiddling with various bearings. The power cell still had an automatic capacitor limit, pre-installed in most civillian-issue arms, that she was quick to hack. Finally, she polished the blaster with one last swipe against the black suede of her well-tailored trousers. The result was a significant improvement, though that was hardly saying much, seeing as previously it wouldn't have been able to stun a Gizka.

Her practiced hands set the blaster to join a row of four, all sporting similarly glistening metal, the result of a meticulous clean. Exhaling contentedly, she took another look around. The bright sun of the day diffused through the canvas of the box-shaped tent, sending an even tan light across the rows and rows of weapons. Blaster rifles marched in a rack to her right, while there were a few low, make-shift tables strewn with blasters in various stages of repair -- or lack thereof. Knives were arranged parallel on rows of collapsible shelves, while next to them, a few very difficult-to-obtain weapons were treated like gods. Grizzelda herself was in a simple wooden chair, her feet propped up indifferently on one of the tent's two workbenches. Ah, weapons... she loved and knew them all, from the rifles to the blades, to the more obscure mechanisms. A quick glance at the 'discard' pile revealed a great deal of wasted potential, and such her mission had begun, repairing and upgrading as necessary and possible.

Absent-mindedly, her left hand dropped to lightly stroke the mass of hot fur and drool that snored at her feet. The Kath Hound's collar read 'Spike', and Grizzelda assumed the DLA had trusted him to protect the tent from prying eyes. She'd taken a liking to the fellow. Suddenly, he started awake, and looked up at Grizzelda with big-baleful eyes a moment, reveling in the petting. He nuzzled up to her hand, and despite the resulting drool, Grizzelda didn't mind. A few moments later, Spike was snoring again. Kath hounds.

The tent was set up on one side of an open-air courtyard, and she could look out and see some of the temple's ancient stone architecture. Being here reminded her of those years on Coruscant... She ran a hand through her dark hair, still the same, short length it had been when she was a Padawan. Oh the memories.

Never one to stay idle, Grizzelda palmed a dagger, one of the many weapons currently sheathed around her belt. She raised the blade and gazed down its length with sharp hazel eyes, and deemed the glint of the metal satisfactory. She reached forward and plucked a knife from the table, eyeing with dissatisfaction its dull blade, and large kink. From the looks of it, someone had attempted to meet a full broadsword with the thing. Admirable, but you ruined your knife unless you could catch it on the flat-side. They had not. Regardless, this particular knife was reparable, and Grizzelda used the camouflage-green fabric of her sleeveless shirt to brush the dust from the blade. Then, she set to work with the whet-stone in her lap, the steady scrit, scrit of metal on rock ringing into the air with every stroke.

[kt]

It was a gorgeous day on Dantooine, the sky was blue, the Sith were at bay, and the DLA was experiancing an uncommonly peaceful time. Xander had finally gotten a good chunk of free time and was now currently on his way to the now very hopefully abandoned Jedi Enclave. With a spring in his step and enough guns to kill a pack of Gundarks, the handsome zeltron man fast approached the outskirts of the Jedi property.

"Wow....impressive." Xander mumbled to himself rather awestruck as he took in the ruins of the once beautiful Enclave.

It wasn't until he took a few more steps that he realized that there was a decent sized tent sitting in the main courtyard. With the curiousity of a cat, Xander made his way to the tent's enterance "Hello?" he asked in his naturally suave and sensual voice, poking his head in the tent to see that the tent was indeed occupied.

"Well it looks as if i've stumbled upon the weapons tent eh?" Xander walked on in and took a seat on the only other available bench, the other being taken by a rather attractive woman. "Xander Seraph at yer service hun, a pleasure, i hope ya don't mind if i join ya before i go explorin." The Zeltron then started unloading his inventory onto the table to his side. Xander started with his best and most prized weapon, his heavily customized Iridonian sniper rifle, quickly setting it down and dumping his dual mandalorian heavy blasters on top of it. A bit more digging and shuffling produced three more pistols, the first being a Dashade sonic pistol, the second being a mandalorian ripper, and the third being a bothan hold out blaster.

With a heavy sigh, Xander pulled out a very nice looking vibro knife and jabbed it into the table and looked at the girl. "Sorry, can't be too careful right?" a smile forming on his face as he took in the woman's features "Nice..." he thought to himself.

[Kella]

"Hello?" Grizzelda glanced up to see the shadow on the tent's wall that framed the owner of that very suave, very male voice. She raised an eyebrow and looked down at Spike, who looked back up at her a moment before swiveling his ears and training a very intense gaze on the newcomer.

Grizzelda gave the humanoid an appraising glance, curious to see if the man lived up to the voice. Skin a non-offensive shade of pink wrapped around a well-toned body, though his pants were an atrocious shade of purple. His features held similarity to those of the holostars teenage girls liked to leave perpetually projected upon the walls of their rooms, and as he spoke again, Grizzelda could see the perfect white curve of his teeth.

Now, all this might have phased her if she had not already vacationed on Zeltros, many times. Actually, that particular memory provoked a mischievous smile. Good times... As it were, this one simply shared many of the traits of his species. Grizzelda knew most Zeltrons to be full-of-hot-air, lazy pleasure-seekers, or simply not possessing of any significant brain-matter. This one's swagger hinted that he was cut from similar stock as the rest. Therefore, Grizzelda was rendered unimpressed. Her focus returned to the blade in her hands, and she applied it to the whet stone once more.

"Well it looks as if I've stumbled upon the weapons tent eh?" he said.

Grizzelda heard him take a seat at the other workbench, and smirked when a low growling rumble announced that Spike was less than thrilled with their new guest. Without looking up, she said, "No, actually, this is the mess hall. Don't eat anything sharp."

"Xander Seraph at yer service hun, a pleasure, I hope ya don't mind if I join ya before I go explorin'."

She raised her eyebrow at the patronizing 'hun'. Typical Zeltron. It was tempting to give him a pseudonym, but alas, she wasn't quite that cruel.

"Grizzelda." She looked up from her sharpening to offer a sarcastic smile. "Enchanté."

For a moment, she looked down the length of the blade, satisfied by its now gleaming metal. The kink was still significant, but the knife was usable again. She tossed it up into the air a few times, alternately catching the grip in her palm, and the blade between her fingers, checking the balance. Almost as an afterthought, she surveyed the pile of weapons on Xander's workbench. In fact, she seemed significantly more interested in them than in the Zeltron, observing them closely. The sniper rifle bore many signs of customization, and grudgingly she admitted that she couldn't have done better herself. However, the Mandalorian heavy blasters earned a silent scoff simply for how common they'd become. The Dashade sonic pistol was a bit more promising, and it took at least a bit of pluck, or some well-lined pockets to snag a Mandalorian Ripper if one wasn't part of the clan. The real question was whether he could use it properly or not. Last came the Bothan Hold Out blaster, laughingly over-produced. She looked at it with contempt. The Zeltron then apologized for stabbing the table.

"Decent set. However, if you want a proper hold-out blaster," she gestured vaguely at his Bothan model, "Arkanian is the only option." She reached down to where a few of her own weapons were laid out, a small sampling of her extensive collection. Her fingers closed around a palm-sized blaster, its shape roughly triangular, a dense bit of machinery. The dark, iridescent metal was etched with an elegant, yet simple pattern, twirling about the weapon in shades of chrome -- a typical Arkanian touch. "They use a proprietary focus, and this particular one is a ten-shot model." The average hold-out only stored six shots, and Grizzelda knew for a fact that the Arkanians were the only ones to manufacture above an eight. Of course, such weapons weren't mass-produced, and were therefore either very difficult to obtain, or very expensive. For precisely that reason, Grizzelda had a particular fondness for Arkanian weapons. She tossed the blaster with apparent indifference to Xander. It was built tough enough to survive a fall, and how he handled the thing would tell her quite a bit about his proficiency with such weapons. After all, if he were just another skill-less hot-shot, then it would be terribly fun to sic Spike on the fellow.

Grizzelda returned the the knife she'd finished sharpening, and began to unwind the rotted canvas from the hilt. It was in desperate need of a new grip.

[Rugs]

It was a rare thing for Allistair Sampson to have any free time worth speaking of before the sun went down. It seemed that there were more things that needed fixing as of late than normal--from speeders to repairs around the facilities--and both he and Kabira had had their hands full just trying to keep up with all the work that'd needed to be done. But, somehow, they'd slogged through it, and had made it to the point where Allistair thought it would be safe for them to take a break. After all, getting overworked wouldn't help anyone, and a breather would be good for them.

And so he'd found himself wandering out to the remains of the old Jedi Enclave. He'd heard that a weapons tent had gone up there, a place to have weapons repaired or upgraded and other things of that sort. Of course, being the kind of tech head he was, he knew to take good care of his weapons, though his area of expertise was elsewhere; but even so, his weapons were always in good condition, or at least he thought they were. I guess I'll find out, he thought with a bit of amusement. His attire was as it normally was, with his orange shirt underneath a brown jacket that was lighter than it looked. He wore dark blue work pants, and his feet were in some simple but comfortable brown boots. His weapons hung from his belt, his modified blaster pistol hanging from one side of his hip, and the dagger that he'd gotten from his uncle so many years ago swinging from the other. Of course, he was not without one of his most distinguishing pieces of attire: a red scarf tied around the bicep of his right arm over his jacket. It had been a gift from his father, and he was never without it, even when he was going about his work around the base. The other thing that he'd become known for amongst the members of the DLA was present as well: there was a good amount of grease and other things from his work on him. It was on his shirt, his pants, in his unruly dark brown hair, on his well tanned skin... The only thing that was free of it was his jacket, as he never wore it when working. But it didn't bother him. There were far bigger things to worry about than if he was perfectly clean after a good day's work. Like trying to get the Sith off of Dantooine, for example.

He arrived at the weapons tent after a while, and made his way in. Inside was a woman with short dark brown hair, and a nice enough face, along with a man in tight clothes with the hallmark pink skin of a Zeltron. A tinge of uneasiness passed through him at the sight of the large Kath hound next to the woman--he and animals didn't really get along that well--but he held his composure and let it pass. "Hey," he said warmly to both of them. "I'm Allistair, if you don't know. Pleasure to meet both of you." His voice was, as mentioned, warm and friendly, and the 'if you don't know' was merely because, as one of the 'generals' of the DLA, he was fairly well known. An appraising eye passed over the tables of weapons in the tent before a smile found its way out onto his face. "This is a nice place you've got set up," he said to the woman. "I take it your going to be the weapons master, then? The Force only knows we need one." That was true enough. Bosco was good and all, but Allistair could only tolerate the gassy Toydarian so far. His hands came to rest on his hips, each one near each of his weapons, as he looked from the woman to the Zeltron man. "So, I can't say I recognize either of you..."

[kt]

Xander smiled and looked Grizzelda over some as she examined his set "Arkanian is quite nice, i myself have an Arkanian hold out myself, 8 shots though." Xander caught the woman's blaster and whirled it absentmindedly around his fingers, like a cardshark masterfully flipping poker chips through his fingers. "Ya any good with this thing?" He asked as he twirled it around more and tossed it into the air, catching it with his other hand and checking the cartrige and everything else he could without actually taking it apart. "Very nice gun by the way." He added as he tossed the gun back to Grizzelda.

"A shoot-off might be neccessary Grizz....mind if i call you Grizz? I can call you by your full name though if you want." The feeling that he was less than welcome in her presence was starting to set in a bit. "Soo.....i can tell you don't really, hmmmmm....how do i put this....like me. Why would you right? I'm a zeltron, a hedonistic thrill seeker, i get it.......we're not ALL that way ya know, some of us are actually pretty decent." The pink skinned man said in a slightly different way as he started to stand up and collect his things, a calm and very mellow shimmer in his eyes now that replaced the usual flames of desire that most saw. It was now that another figure stood in the entrance of the tent, it was Allistair Sampson, the little brother of the leader, Dutch.

"Well hey there Al, can't say i've had the pleasure of meeting ya personally but for what it's worth, the name's Xander, put er there." Xander offered his hand for a shake, a friendly smile on his face as he gave a smaller, slightly wary one back at Grizzelda.

"I was actually just on my way out but uh....i suppose i could stick around for a bit if you guys don't mind that is.....um......do you guys like to drink...?" Xander pulled out a rather large flask and sloshed it. He then produced three small collapsable cups and offered them to each person. In a flash, Xander's cup was constructed and filled to the brim with a slightly glowing neon blue liquid. "Made it mehself, strongest you'll ever find anywhere." A very proud smile now evident as he tipped it down his throat, the burn invigorating him like water to a dehydrated athelete.

[Kella]

Grizzelda's observations revealed that the pink man knew his way around a blaster. She caught it deftly when he returned it, nodding knowingly at his compliment.

"Of course it's a nice gun -- I wouldn't have it if it wasn't."

"A shoot-off might be necessary Grizz... mind if I call you Grizz? I can call you by your full name though, if you want," he said. She mentally shook her head at the 'have it your way' approach, knowing that any name he chose for her was likely to sound patronizing, and decided a derivative of her actual name was superior to 'babe'.

"Only necessary if you need your ego put in Check. And call me Grizz, or call me Zel, or whatever you will -- people tend to do as they please regardless of my opinion. Not that that's always the smartest of things..." There was a glint in her eye that could have been somewhere between mischievous and sadistic. She set her feet on the floor, leaning forward and reaching down to grasp a spare sheet of canvas. She straightened again, leaning back in the chair, and used her own artfully sharpened dagger to slice it cleanly into strips.

Sinking into a steady rhythm, she let the Zeltron continue: "So... I can tell you don't really, hmmmmm... how do I put this... like me. Why would you right? I'm a Zeltron, a hedonistic thrill seeker, I get it... We're not ALL that way ya know, some of us are actually pretty decent."

Grizzelda cocked a half-smile. What a moving speech. Just as she was about to make a snarky comment that really would not have helped the situation, another someone hailed from the opening of the tent.

"Hey," he said with a voice of youthful warmth, "I'm Allistair, if you don't know. Pleasure to meet both of you."

Oh, she most certainly knew. In fact, the very sight of his grease-covered self and spotless Jacket had brought a knowing smile to her face. She'd heard much about this member of the Commune many a time. He was nineteen -- the same age she'd been when she first piloted her Razorback away from Corellia. A wave of nostalgia overcame her, and for once, her expression could have been considered warm, and not simply a cordial sort of indifference.

"G'day, Ranger."

She tossed him a mock-salute, listening as he said, "I take it your going to be the weapons master, then? The Force only knows we need one." Funny thing about the Force, it always seemed to put her in the right place at the right time. Though, her preferred right place was whichever one got her the most credits... Weapons master, eh? She probably had more experience than the majority of the DLA, and weapons were -- after all -- her specialty. Why not?

"Yes, yes I do believe I am." Her tone was one of self-satisfied thoughtfulness.

"So, I can't say I recognize either of you..." he replied, and Grizzelda listened as the Zeltron introduced himself once more, shaking hands with Allistair. A quick glance down at Spike revealed that the hound was sniffing the air, his head tilted oddly at the two men. Luckily for Allistair, he was no longer growling. Grizzelda herself proceeded to stand, making vertical all six-foot odd of her lean frame. Amusedly, she remarked that all three of them were roughly the same height. Grizzelda approached Allistair, and though her walk was not a strut, it was imbued with a lanky grace that gave the impression that she knew she had assets.

"Name's Grizzelda, Xanxere. Lookin' forward to working with the DLA. Though, I must admit that your leader, that Dutch fellow, made a very generous offer." She took his hand with a firm, quick shake, as was the custom among humanoid sentients.

Xander spoke again; "I was actually just on my way out but uh... I suppose I could stick around for a bit if you guys don't mind that is... um... Do you guys like to drink...?"

Grizzelda offered Allistair a look that basically translated to 'Typical Zeltron,' before referring to the offered cup. While she preferred those elixirs brewed from fine fruits -- Felucian berries made a delectable Champagne -- it was impossible to tour the galaxy as she had and not become familiar with the universe's various drugs of pleasure. And so, she regarded the drink with some analysis, examining the colour and the scent. She fancied herself an amateur aficionado of sorts, as did anyone who did any sort of regular drinking. With no further hesitation, she inverted the glass, and immediately the fiery tingling sensation coursed down her throat. It was like swallowing a live hedge-hog, but that was, apparently, the point. Drinks of that strength had a habit of clearing the sinuses, and she drew a sharp breath in appreciation. The light buzz worked its way into her brain, and she nodded lightly at the brew.

"Not a bad batch, Hotshot. Though, before you call it 'world's strongest', ask for a Fire Ale at Uncle's Corellian Swig, upwest Coronet. You might rethink." She simply winked at him before returning his cup, and bridging the few steps between herself and her workbench. "Stay, drink, and be merry. Just don't explode anything, because then I will shoot you."

Turning away from the two, she folded to gather the strips of canvas she'd left on the floor, bending her knees only slightly. A moment later she was standing again, leaning back against her workbench and facing Al and Xander. Eyes on her hands, she began to weave the first of the bits of the canvas around the grip of the dagger.

"Anything particular service the weaponmaster can provide to you today, Ranger?" She looked up at Allistair, the shape of the dagger guiding the canvas in her fingers, as a glint of mischief flickered in her hazel eyes.

[Rugs]

So the introductions were traded and all was well. Allistiar took Xander's hand in his own firm grip and shook, nodding in a friendly fashion as he did. "Nice to meet you, Xander," he said to the man before his attention returned to the woman that sat with her chair leaned back and her boots on the table. She stood a moment later, and Allistair noted--with a small bit of surprise--that she was taller than he was. The difference wasn't much, only about an inch or so, but it wasn't often that Allistair had seen a woman that was taller than he was. In fact, it seemed that she was the tallest one in the tent, as he and Xander were more or less the same height. But it wasn't that big of a deal, and it only showed in the faintest lifting of his eyebrows as she approached. Ranger, she called him a few moments ago. A smile touched his lips at the thought of that. Truth be told, he rather liked it. He took her hand in his for the handshake with the same firm grip he'd used for Xander, and returned the same warm nod and smile.

Once those were out of the way, Xander pulled a drink--some sort of brew that he'd made himself and was obviously proud of. Allistair snickered a bit at Grizzelda's look, as he understood the meaning behind it in an instant. It was with a bit of trepidation that he took the cup of bright blue brew, but he took it none the less. Allistair wasn't really one for drinking. Or drinking alcoholic drinks, anyway. It didn't take much to push him into the realm of drunkenness, and oh the headaches afterwards... Not to mention the fact that he'd heard stories that he could be rather... ribald when intoxicated. But surely one drink wouldn't be too bad. So he upended his cup when Grizzelda did the same with hers, and found himself wondering why he sometimes did the things he did. A fire unlike any other he'd felt before raced down his throat, and he had to fight to keep himself from coughing and making a fool of himself. Even so, he had to clear his throat loudly after he'd had his swig before handing Xander his cup. "That was, uh... good," he said as his throat started to constrict before giving way to a short burst of coughing. It was certainly differnent than what he was used to. Sure, the Kylah brews that were made locally were good, but the ones he fancied, and normally drank weren't the sort to set his insides on fire. But he'd already done it, and he could feel that familiar buzz creeping into the shadows of his mind. Wonderful.

He snickered again at Grizzelda's nickname for Xander, a bit louder than the last. Then, she went back to her work and asked if there were any services she could provide. Perhaps it was the edge of that buzz the drink had put in his mind, but a number of rather inappropriate jokes ran through his mind at that, though much to his credit, he managed to keep his face straight. "Ah, well, y'know," he said as he looked at the weapons that were laid out on the table, "just wanted to see how you run things over here. 'Sides," he added with a bit of a shrug, "it's always good to see if you can learn a thing or two." That last part was earnest. Allistair specialized in fixing a number of things, and he was good at what he did, and very good at what he did for his age. He could keep a weapon in good enough condition, but it'd be good to see how it was done by someone who was better at it than he. There were, after all, always new things to learn. "And," he continued as he started to grin, "I need some way to spend my free time. It isn't something I get a lot of."

[kt]

"Been there done that Grizzelda, Fire Ale's mighty fine but this is more......enjoyable." Xander smirked as he poured himself another round as he thought about the effects his brew had on people and smiled. The zeltron then took his seat again and pulled out his dashade sonic pistol and with expert precision, disassembled it and began cleaning it thouroughly before putting it all back together and moving to his best weapon, his sniper rifle. He loved this gun quite a bit and it had cost him a rather hefty penny, not that it really mattered but still, it was something very dear to him.

"Any good with one of these Allistair?" Xander asked curiously as he started quickly pulling it apart to clean it.

It didn't take long for Xander to reassemble his sniper rifle, setting it down next to him and downing more of his brew. "You don't drink much do ya?" Xander gave a little laugh of amusement as he looked at Allistair, who's mood had already become slightly more bubbly and entertaining.

"Well at any rate, take this, you'll probably get more use out of it than i will." The handsome zeltron then tossed his custom Mandalorian Ripper pistol to Al "I've got two more in my ship so....yeah.....and....shouldn't you be out on a hot date or something? Good lookin kid like you must be bombarded with female attention am i right?" A smile formed as thoughts of his younger years came and went through his mind.

Xander shook his head lightly, returning back to the world as he pulled out his knife and started sharpening it. "Ever need help in either department, just ask, i'd be glad to lend a hand." Gold eyes remained on the brilliant silver of the blade, a smile still on his face.

[Kella]

Grizzelda chuckled as Al struggled to keep the drink down. Today seemed to be a day for nostalgia, and she smiled subtly at old memories.

"Been there done that Grizzelda, Fire Ale's mighty fine but this is more......enjoyable," the Zeltron decided.

Grizzelda shrugged, and replied with a simple, "To each his own."

"Ah, well, y'know, just wanted to see how you run things over here," Allistair said as he recovered. "'Sides, it's always good to see if you can learn a thing or two. And," he started to grin, "I need some way to spend my free time. It isn't something I get a lot of."

Grizzelda nodded understandingly. "Agreed. I've always found fiddling with sharp, jagged metal and potentially explosive weapons to be quite relaxing." Her tone was quite sincere. "Observe as you will," she added with a smile, "And if you've questions, ask. I do a lot of things, but I don't read minds."

With that, she returned to the dagger in her hand, listening to the familiar series of clicks and snaps as Xander cleaned one of his blasters. He had shown his competence so far, and was actually earning a bit of respect from the fellow gunslinger. She had moved on to the second piece of canvas when the Zeltron began to attempt to strike up conversation with Allistair. She listened silently to his speech, wondering if the gift was a genuine gesture of good-will, or a manipulative nudge in the right direction. Not that she really cared, as it hardly concerned her. If Al couldn't look out for himself, that was certainly not her problem.

"Ever need help in either department," the Zeltron concluded, "Just ask, I'd be glad to lend a hand." Ah, male bonding time.

Silently, she tucked in the last of the canvas, and smoothed across the grip, checking the balance once more. Satisfactory? Quite. Which left only one thing... Grizzelda gripped the blade between two fingers of her left hand, and raised it steadily. With a sharp, sudden motion she moved her arm at the elbow and flicked her wrist, sending the knife spinning forward. Both men had been distracted, and the sudden projectile would -- no doubt -- come as a surprise to both of them, as it traveled cleanly between the two.

Ignoring this -- or perhaps just not caring -- Grizzelda grinned in satisfaction as a thunk announced that the blade had struck one of the wooden supports of the tent, sending the canvas walls quivering.

"Ha!" she exclaimed in satisfaction, immediately sauntering over to fetch the blade. Her hands plucked it carefully it from the wood, where it had penetrated almost a full inch. She turned back to look at both Al and Xander, with an expression that showed she was quite pleased with herself. "Good as new." Palming the dagger in her left hand, Grizzelda surveyed the blaster rifles at her feet, and selected the one that looked in the least irreparable state of misery. There was a self-satisfied swing in her hips as she returned to her workbench, remarking nonchalantly, "Hotshot, you dropped your knife."

A smug smirk playing at her features, she set the dagger in a place of honor, joining a few happy others. The heavy rifle took center-stage on her work-bench. Working deftly, she extracted a crucial pin from the rifle and held it for safekeeping between her teeth. Grizzelda began to shift the parts of the rifle away from one another, moving with the speed and accuracy that one might expect out of holo-text typist. She always tended to get a bit showier after a drink, and so she worked in a sharply efficient manner, as opposed to her usual leisure. Soon, the dismembered rifle lay in front of her. Two halves of the aft-grip, and the unscrewed fore-grip. The barrel was similarly halved, the two parts having been slid away from one another, while the various chambers had required a bit of prying to click apart -- they'd rusted ever-so-slightly. It wasn't until these inner workings were laid out on the table that she could find the damning component that had so cursed the weapon to the scrap-heap.

"Well there's the problem. She's not taking a power pack.." Grizzelda muttered, dropping the pin from her mouth and setting it aside. The contacts had corroded, and so the power wasn't getting to where it needed to be. As long as one knew how to properly strip and reassemble a rifle, it was a quick fix, though usually not something considered user-serviceable. It was a conspiracy between blaster manufacturers and service companies, she had decided, for the actual mechanics weren't all that difficult to master. They hadn't been for her, anyway.

Grizzelda picked up the offending part, and the corrosion met the sharp blade of her screwdriver, falling away in clingy green dust. There really wasn't a better way to get rid of the stuff.

"So, Ranger," she said, glancing up to address him, "The Sith pansies like I keep hearin', or they as nasty as the legends say?"

[Deleted]

Here goes nothing. Saerith thought to herself as she approached what she had been told was the weapons tent. She stopped just outside the door and took a deep breath. Any sort of social situation had this effect in her.

One more breath and she found the courage to tap on the tent pole and step over the threshold. "Hello..." She greeted the group at large. A brief glance at everyone currently standing inside the tent did not reveal much. "My names Saerith Natal. I was told Alistair was here?" she glanced at the two men wondering as to which one could be the head mechanic.

he doesn't have the look... cute though she thought looking over the Zeltron at the table. She turned her attention to the other young man. His grease spattered cloths made it much more likely that he was Alistair.

"oh yeah..." Saerith pulled her gun out of it's holster on her left leg. "I need to get this looked at too... I haven't fired it in months." It was Just a standard Civilian SD2 light blaster, Nothing compared to the weapons strewn across the table and resting around the tent but that just made it more likely the woman would know if there was anything wrong with it.

Despite the fact she had owned it for nine years it looked nearly brand new with the exception of the silver streak on the back of the handle where she had rubbed away a good deal of the paint. "I can take care of it pretty good myself but I think it's time it saw an expert."with that she set it down on the table.

[Dutch]

In one of the many stone halls of Homestead echoed two sounds, the first was the clomp of heavy boots on stone and the other the rapid woosh of wings. Not long the sounds were followed by two very different voices. One was younger, and average in tone with a slight roughness to it, the other gravely with a drawl.

"I dunno, if you don't got it, I doubt this new chick will."

Said the first voice, owned by the DLA's own Dutch Sampson. He was frustrated, for the first time since his rescue, he was truly upset. During a practice session with one of his beloved weapons, a spring finally gave and snapped. Ever since the DLA's founding, and even before then, his same three chosen weapons had served him faithfully and without a hitch. But this just showed that like everything in life, stuff happens when you least expect it.

"Eh? You doubt ol' Bosco? Son, I'd 'ave thought choo trusted me. This Grizzelda is a real firecracker- and she knows just the right spices I like, I have much faith in her. You should too."

Responded Bosco, the DLA's quartermaster. Dutch then mumbled something about popping the Toydarian like a balloon, but Bosco luckily didn't hear. When it came to weapon problems, the Toydarian was always helpful and naturally gifted with maintaining tools for killing. Usually he had a bevy of unused parts and pieces for all sorts of weapons, but of course, didn't have the right sized spring Dutch needed. After a moment the pair entered a larger part of the cavern where a tent lay. He found it odd that a tent was set up within a cave, but then again, some people juggle geese.

Dutch strode right towards the tent with Bosco right next to them before they ducked into the tent. He looked around in slight surprise at the amount of people in the tent. Xander, the Zeltron he recognized from the medbay earlier along with who he was guessing was Grizzelda by Bosco's description, a green Twi'lek he had never seen, and his little brother, Al. He grinned at them and immediately strode over to Al and opened his arms to give his brother a big hug. Dutch reached up and grabbed Al's shoulder firmly.

"Hey little brother, good to see ya."

He said before his gray eyes turned to Xander who got a nod from the DLA leader. Dutch then looked at the two women and raised a single eyebrow. He felt bad for never yet meeting them, but that's what happens when you experience Sith hospitality. It was good that he had recently healed more, his cast was removed, the rope burn from the noose was gone, and his other eye could now open due to the swelling going down. He certainly didn't want to meet new people looking like hell, and he didn't want Al to see him that bad again.

"I think I'm at a disadvantage here... Ya'll know me I'm sure, and I sure dun know ya'll. Regardless, Dutch Sampson, nice to meetcha."

Dutch said as he stepped first to the Twi'lek with an outstretched hand before he stepped to the human woman with another open palm. His handshake would be quite firm, but not painful, with the rough palms and fingers of a good ol' farmboy. Bosco flapped over to the woman Dutch guessed was Grizzelda with a big smile on his slightly bearded face.

"Ehhh, Grizzelda, good'ta see ya honey, y'gonna join me for a little spicy elju tonight? My treat, heh."

Said Bosco with a wink. Dutch rolled his eyes at Al before he began to look around. All sorts of dismantled or broken looking weapons were scattered on tables, rocks and the floor with no real cohesiveness apparent to Dutch. His heart dropped again at the site of no promising looking weapons before he looked over at Grizzelda. Dutch's hand fell to his right thigh holster before he grabbed the handle of one of his weapons and pulled it out quickly, the weapon spun in his palm as he did and it stopped just in front of Xander's face. This was a truly elegant, if not dated weapon. A long black polished barrel accentuated by the deep blba wood handle and stock with silver metal interlaced throughout. Dutch pulled the trigger and grinned as it merely clicked.

"Boom."

He said before he laughed lightly and held the weapon out towards Grizzelda.

"Got a Vornac S&H Shotgun I need a spring for."

Dutch sighed after he spoke before he handed the weapon to Grizzelda. It wasn't surprising that only his most favorite weapon would be the one that gave first, but that's how all things went recently. Without thinking he suddenly blurted

"I call 'er Buttercup-"

His eyes shown with pride as he looked down at the weapon in the woman's hands. Bosco sighed and put a hand over his eyes before he flapped over to one of the tables. Dutch awaited Grizzelda's thoughts eagerly, his face that of a young boy waiting for a parent to fix a toy.

[Rugs]

"It is relaxing, isn't it," he said to Grizzelda, turning to face the woman as he did. Though he spent more of his time tinkering with vehicles and things of that sort than weapons, he understood the sentiment behind what Grizzelda was saying. Sometimes, when he was irritated, he'd go to work in the garage for a while to get away from everyone. Besides, a speeder couldn't talk, and sometimes, he loved them for that. "Gotcha," he said with a nod. "I'll ask if I see anything I have a question about."

Al watched with some interest as Xander quickly took apart and reassembled his sniper rifle. "Can't say, really," he said as he leaned back against one of the posts that held up the tent. "I've used 'em before, but not enough to really say if I'm any good with 'em." He chuckled a bit and grinned wryly at Xander. "I can usually manage to hit the targets, though. But I'm really a pistol man, to tell the truth." He patted the pistol in the holster on his hip, though he didn't take it out.

Xander's next question got a bit of a laugh from Al. "Nah, not really. And the stuff we have around here ain't really that strong..." He laughed again, and let the subject drop.

And then his eyes flew open when Xander casually tossed a Mandalorian Ripper to him. The Force only knew how much the thing cost, and Xander just gave it to him?! As Allistair regarded Xander, eyes filled with a bit of wonder with n expression to match, he found himself to be speechless. Wow... I can't believe he'd just give me one of these. "Can't say I was expecting that," he said as he turned the weapon over in his hands almost reverentially before looking back up to meet Xander's eyes, "but thanks. A lot." All of a sudden, he remembered that he'd completely forgotten about Xander's question. The one that was basically asking if he had a girlfriend. "Oh, well, y'know..." he said with a bit of too-loud laughter, "all the time!" Truth was, Allistair was single--at the moment, anyway--, though at times he thought he'd noticed... odd behavior from Kabira, one of the other mechanics that worked with him in the garage. But he wasn't sure, and dismissed it as wishful thinking on his behalf. But one could never be sure...

Allistair jumped up with a bit of a squeal in surprise as a knife suddenly flashed from nowhere to fly in between Xander and himself before sticking into one of the posts. He glared at Grizzelda as she--obviously pleased with herself--retrieved the knife and proclaimed that her work to repair it had been sufficient. "Well that's good to know," he said flatly. "Couldn't just tell us like a normal person, could you? I guess that wouldn't be exciting enough..." But he laughed a bit in spite of himself, thinking about the way that he--and Xander, no doubt--must have looked when Grizzelda sent the knife sailing in between them. But still, making him jump like that! Honestly!

Al watched Grizzelda with appraising eyes as she went through the process of taking a blaster apart before finding the offending corrosion and scraping it a way. The young man smiled at that. He'd been taught that by Lars--the former head mechaninc for the Sampson estate and Al's now-deceased mentor--a few years ago. "And here I thought I was the only person around here that knew about that," he said as she continued to go about her work.

"Well, that's a good question," he said to her. "See, I'd like to say they're pansies, but... Well, things might be going a bit better if they weren't..." Everyone knew of the recent events that had happened; of the death of Erle, the former leader of the resistance, and the capture of Al's brother, Dutch. That had been a hard time for the DLA. But they'd also been able to rescue Dutch, so the Sith clearly weren't unbeatable. "Point is, they can fight. But I'll be damned if we lose to 'em."

Al turned to look at the entrance to the tent when another person entered. She was a Twi'lek, green with a series of dark green tattoos running across her skin. He'd seen her around, though he didn't know her. "Hey there, Serith," he said warmly, grinning at her, "nice to meet ya. The name's Allistair." He waited for everyone else to make their introductions before point at Grizzelda with his thumb. "Well, if you want an expert opinion, it looks like Grizz here is your gal."

A few moments later, Dutch entered, trailed by Boscow, the Toydarian quatermaster. Al smiled at the sight of his brother--he hadn't seen him much since the rescue from where the Sith had been holding him. "Good to see you too, Dutch. And you Boscow," he added with a nod to the little creature. Shortly after, Dutch quickly pulled out his shotgun, and told Grizzelda that he need a spring for it. And then he told everyone he called it Buttercup. That could a good round of laughter from Allistair. He knew what his brother called the gun, but it was still one of those things that just made him laugh. And the way he said it, so casually! "Only you," he said as he wiped a tear from his eye, "would name it something like that, y'know."

[kt]

(Hates self for doing this aweful post)

Xander smiled a warm smile as Allistair gave thanks to him for recieving the mando weapon. "Hey don't worry 'bout it man, we don't wanna have to rescue you too. A bit extra firepower didn't hurt nobody." As Allistair responded to Xander's girl question, Xander could tell he wasn't being quite honest. "Don't worry bout it man, i betcha that lil lady in the garage would go on a date with ya, seems like she'd go for a strappin young lad like yerself." a bigger smile formed on Xander, who just managed to finish his sentence when a blade flew by his face and hit the wooden post behind him. Eyes wide and muscles tensed, Xander snapped out of his slight shock and gazed at Grizzelda "Veeeery funny Grizzelda, i might actually have been a bit ruffled if it was anyone but a good lookin girl such as yerself."

Gold eyes focused on the new arrivals now, the first being a beautiful green twi lek woman, the second and third being big boss man Dutch and the Toydarian Bosco. "Well well well if it isn't my favorite mechanic, how are ya Saer? Good i hope?" A tiny bit of pheremones started to trickle out into the air as Xander gave her a wink.

"Hey bossman, Bosco, how're you two today? The zeltron gave a friendly nod to Dutch and Bosco before returning to Saerith "So, you see Kiala anywhere? I haven't seen her all day." Xander once more turned his head to Dutch "So, when we goin on the offensive?"

[Kella]

ooc// This... is a really long post. >.< I promise I don't intend to make such disproportionate length a habit. Anyway, in the event that things become hard to follow (I'm tired. D: ) This is basically what happened:
Grizzed replaced a lens in Saerith's SD2, and gave it back to her, after which she took 20 mins disassembling Dutch's Buttercup, and then 15 putting it back together. Buttercup is now fixed, as the result of some character development. And now, Grizzelda is seeing what people are doing now, and attempting to guess what they did in the meantime. People may have left/arrived, and she wouldn't have noticed. Anyway, Max is really the only one who needs to read the whole thing... X)

EDITED: Added a bit about her comment concerning Buttercup to make it make sense. xD //


It was with much amusement that Grizzelda regarded the reactions to the completion of her knife.

"Well that's good to know," Al said flatly. "Couldn't just tell us like a normal person, could you? I guess that wouldn't be exciting enough..."

Grizzelda winked at Al. "Oh, you'll find I'm hardly a normal person."

Xander saw fit to add his own quip. "Veeeery funny Grizzelda, I might actually have been a bit ruffled, if it was anyone but a good lookin' girl such as yerself."

"You sure do talk the talk, eh, Hotshot?" She regarded him with raised eyebrows. The second half of the adage, Grizzelda left to be implied.


The conversation moved on, and Grizzelda listened intently as Al concluded his bit about the Sith, with a hearty "But I'll be damned if we lose to 'em."

Grizzelda hardly had time to nod in full agreement before she heard the flap of the tent come open, announcing the entrance of another. Such a quiet morning, and then all-of-a-sudden... not that I'm complaining. She noted that the two men in the room observed the newcomer, a lithe green twi'lek, with marginally-more-than-average attention. She chuckled to herself knowingly.

"Oh yeah," the Twi'lek said, in a voice that betrayed some uncertainty. "I need to get this looked at too... I haven't fired it in months. I can take care of it pretty good myself but I think it's time it saw an expert."

"Came to the right place, then." Grizzelda cocked a half-smile, accepting the offered blaster. It was an SD2, civillian issue, light blaster. A decent gun. "She's in fine condition," Grizzelda observed, turning the weapon over in her hand. With care, she quickly ran through the usual cleaning rigors, removing a small amount of guck, but generally focusing on simply cleaning out the dust that had settled in a few of the crevices. "You're due for a new focusing lense," Grizzelda commented. "I could work on upgrading the flow regulator, but..." Grizzelda examined the gun once more, to confirm her thoughts, "The SD2 isn't the best platform for non-market upgrades. It'd take me a good few hours to upgrade, and the performance increase would be negligible. Not worth the effort. I'll take care of the lens now, though."

Though the sarcasm still lurked beneath the surface of her character, Grizzelda always seemed to take things related to weapons seriously. She loved blasters; the way each one fit together a little differently. They were akin to people, one could say. Each one was unique in the way the world wore upon it. They were dangerous when handled incorrectly, or they could be your greatest asset. Save your life or end it...

However, no matter how much people were like blasters, people most definitely were not blasters. That'd make things to easy, I s'pose... There were far more intricacies in human interaction, intricacies which would soon need attending to.

These thoughts transpired as Grizzelda rifled through a collection of blasters, and removed the proper size of focusing lens. She made no move to stimulate small-talk as she guided a polishing cloth across the glass, reviving the dusty lens.

Just as the cloth drifted back to the workbench, Grizzelda heard the tell-tale sound of wings, and looked up just in time to observe two more arrivals.

The first, and the owner of those wings, was Bosco, the Toydarian quartermaster. He and Grizzelda were already quite acquainted -- after all, he did control access to the armory where she now resided. He was a kind creature, interesting given his penchant for weapons. Despite this, Grizzelda was a bit more specialized than he, and she reasoned that as the thing that had brought Bosco's company along.

Dutch Sampson. Grizzelda made it a point to know those who mattered in any society, and Dutch Sampson definitely mattered. He was the son of Erle, former leader of the resistance. The Elder's death had tumbled all the weight of the DLA's leadership upon the man's shoulders. From what she had heard, he had carried the burden with a strength comparable to Atlas, that figure from old Coruscanti legend who had held the world on his shoulders. And to top it off, he'd been captured. She didn't envy him.

However, Grizzelda had only seen him from afar, and he'd been oft' obscured by bandages of various sorts, and so this was the first time she'd seen him with any sort of proximity. He looked about her age -- a verified fact -- but there was a wariness to his gaze that hinted he bore the role of a far older man. His features were fair, with a strong, smooth jaw, and eyes a blue-ish grey. Grizz had heard he'd grown up a farm-boy, and the strenuous work showed in his build, even beneath the leather of his jacket. She regarded him with much curiosity.

"I think I'm at a disadvantage here..." he said, in a voice that seemed as easily able to yell out orders as to cordially introduce. "Ya'll know me I'm sure, and I sure dun know ya'll. Regardless, Dutch Sampson, nice to meetcha."

As Dutch shook hands with the Twi-lek, Grizzelda stood, clicking into place the last piece of the SD2, which she'd continued working upon, even during the latest arrival. She stood just in time to catch Dutch's grip in her own. The tradition of a handshake seemed to boggle other species even as they learned it, but to humans... the gesture just made sense. With hands strong and calloused, Dutch obviously wasn't afraid to get dirty.

"Grizzelda Xanxere," she returned the offer of a name. "Afficianado of all things thrown, shot, and," she flashed a smile at Bosco, "Spiced. A pleasure."

"Ehhh, Grizzelda," the Toydarian quipped, "Good'ta see ya honey, y'gonna join me for a little spicy elju tonight? My treat, heh."

"It depends," she sighed with mildly sarcastic regret, "I may never get away from all this slave work." Nevermind the fact that it was all voluntary.

Anyone watching would note the way in which her eyes shifted to a slightly brighter green with excitement as Dutch displayed his weapon. A smile crossed her face in answer to his laugh. In a quick aside, she offered Saerith's SD2 back to her. "The lens is updated. If you have any other troubles, feel free to bring 'er back," she said in an undertone, before turning back to Dutch.

The weapon was offered, and Grizzelda took it carefully. "A Vornac, is it?" she asked, more to herself than anyone else.

Suddenly, he spoke again. "I call 'er Buttercup-"

Not quite able to bring herself to laugh, Grizzelda instead nodded with approval. "Shows who has yellow-blood as well as the flower, no?" Grizzelda was referring to that old game every human child knew. Someone would spot a buttercup, and pluck the bright yellow bowl of a flower. If it tinted your skin yellow when you held it up to your chin, it meant you had yellow blood -- or were a coward. It was really a trick of the light, but Grizzelda remembered having started a few fights over that particular game... Her thoughts quickly moved on. She could only spare Dutch a quick glance to accompany her comment, for her rapt attention was soon allured by the gun.

"Beautiful workmanship," she muttered, running her fingers along the barrel. Though the model had been sawed-off, such had been done with surgical accuracy, and there was neither warping in the barrel, nor a catch to the lip. She admired the black stain of the barrel, and the dark, dense wood, noting that even the impressionable surface of the silver interlacing bore few scratches -- a sign of a well-maintained weapon. It was with great care and precision that she disassembled the various pieces -- Flechette guns require different handling than did blasters. Once assembled, the flechette guns were just as rugged, but the mechanics of disassembly and reassembly were not nearly as straightforward as with blasters. Twenty-five minutes passed as each component was treated with care, checked for faults, and set gently aside. A few pieces had received some wear-spots from the dry-firing caused by the broken spring, though they were common enough parts that repairing or replacing them was easy. Grizzelda became oblivious to the world around her, as much of the audience inevitably became bored, and carried on their own conversations.

By the time Grizzelda had reached the offending spring, admiration for the weapon was written clearly upon her face. Very little could make her quite as excited as a well-crafted gun.

Grizzelda toyed with the remains of the spring, pushing them around in her palm.

"Why, yes, I would most certainly classify that as 'broken'."

Repeated stress and compression had eventually worn the metal brittle, and it had broken in three places, leaving individual and useless curls of metal. It was a quality spring, with what looked like a durasteel backbone, and a woven metal plating for extra elasticity. It was an absolutely distinct, niche market spring, and one in a measure Grizzelda could immediately peg as 12C, if only because of familiarity. She bit her lower lip in thought, considering the options.

"The good news is, I know exactly where to get a new spring. Betcha I could get a discount too. The bad news," she looked up at Dutch regretfully, "His name is Ringo, he lives on Corellia, and with this blockade, getting there and back would take a solid four months." Returning back to the pieces before her, she prodded the broken spring that lay on the worktable. "The metal is too worn to repair. I could improvise something, but..." she sighed, "Springs are tricky, and anything I could make would only last you about two dozen shots before giving out. Two dozen more than you'd have otherwise, but still..." Grizzelda trailed off, but there was something in her tone that made it clear she still had something more to say, but just wasn't quite ready to say it.

The thing was, she'd met a dilemma. And not a mechanical dilemma either -- a moral one. There was one reason, and one reason only that Grizzelda had immediately spotted the spring as a 12C. It was exactly the same size as the one she used in her own Flechette gun -- a slightly different model, but manufacted by the same umbrella company, same era. It was a coincidence crafted by the forces that be. As it were, that very flechette gun lay not three feet from her, newly oiled and fitted, a benefactor of her morning work.

There was no doubt that against their current enemies, a Flechette gun would be quite useful. Though Grizzelda owned two, it was the better that was with her, and the better that had that particular spring. If she gave it up, there would be no dual-weilding with a Flechette -- and it would throw her off-balance to mix different kick-backs, so if she was going to dual-wield, giving up that spring meant she'd have to go with blasters or masers -- not bad options, but not always preferable...

Then again, she considered why she was there in the first place. As many times as she said it was because the DLA payed well, she knew that wasn't the real reason. That real reason was driven by the same force that pushed Grizzelda to offer up her spring. Here was the leader of a band, fighting for Dantooine's freedom. They were not exactly a rich bunch... and Ringo, being the only remaining manufacturer of the dated C line, charged a steep price. In fact, replacing that spring was going to cost a lot more than Grizzelda had previously let on, and Ringo was never satisfied with just credits. But Grizzelda had worked him before, she could work him again. Then, it was a matter of reputation. The last thing Grizzelda wanted was for people to come after her for charity work, but more than that... having a reputation that belied her true intentions worked against her objectives.

But it had to be done.

"Tell you what," she said quietly, so only Dutch could hear, "I've got something that will work."

Counting on the fact that conversation would keep the other three distracted, Grizzelda disassembled her own Flechette with surprising speed, owing to the fact that it was freshly cleaned, and she was very familiar with its little quirks. The spring was quickly in her hands, and the pieces back together. Unless one had been specifically paying attention, it would look as if she had disassembled another component of Dutch's gun. Her own returned to the line with the others, minus its spring.

Grizzelda was confident that if anyone had noticed the exchange, it would have been Dutch and Bosco only.

The spring slipped into the gap perfectly, completely at home within Buttercup's mechanisms. Any protest on Dutch's part would be met with a simple and quiet, "I'll get a replacement as soon as I'm off-planet."

Fifteen minutes later, and Buttercup was whole once more. She had performed no other upgrades, save for the spring exchange, for there simply wasn't anything else to update. Checking the balance one last time, she deemed it satisfactory.

She firmly gripped the barrel and handed the flechette gun back to Dutch, grip-first. As he took it, she did not relinquish her grip, and leaned close enough to see the vaguely copper ring at the edges of his irises. Her voice was low, and it was clear that the words were meant only for Dutch.

"If you tell anyone about me giving you that spring, so-help-me I will drench you in Bantha-juice and let the Kath-hounds have at you." Her tone was absolutely devoid of playfulness. "I won't have you ruining my reputation." Her eyes narrowed meaningfully. "Of course, I will expect reimbursement," she said as she leaned away. However, there was an undercurrent to her tone that somehow implied her statement was untrue. Whether Dutch picked up on that, or not, was up to him.

Speaking at a conversational volume, Grizzelda finally concluded, "She's an absolutely gorgeous weapon. You take very good care of her." It was as high a compliment as Grizzelda ever paid. "And do be sure to test that at the firing range, I think you'll find it a little more... energetic than usual." And just like that, her trade-mark smirk had returned, as if nothing unusual had transpired. She let her eyes skim around, updating herself on the goings-ons around her, figuring what the others had been up to, before turning back to Dutch to either address, or confirm the nonexistence of any further questions.

And yet, even as she did there was something ever-so-slightly different in her countenance. The place you live is a lonely one, isn't it, Grizz? Nobody understood her but herself, and a handful of days, she wished for things to be different. But only a handful, for the rest of the time, she appreciated the security such an approach entailed. You can't be stabbed if nobody knows your soft-spots...

[Dutch]

{A little short, but I got my main points across XD}

Dutch watched with a mixture of amusement and shock as Grizz worked. The only time he had ever seen work this skilled and efficient was in one other person, and they just had to bury him at sea not long ago. When the deed was done, and Buttercup was back in his hand, Dutch didn't blink as Grizz got close and whispered her words to him. A cocky lopsided grin slid over his lips as she spoke. He understood, putting up the front, shielding oneself from others the best way they could. You're not the only one putting up one, Grizzelda...

He lifted Buttercup up and examined it, it would be snapped open then shut once or twice by him and his smile only grew. Anyone could appreciate good work, Grizz even managed to fix the squeak in the join some how. Dutch nodded to her and spun Buttercup in his hand before she was slid into his thigh holster. A knowing look in his eye glanced at Grizz, and winked at the other people in the room. Even though he was nearing his thirties, Dutch had trouble hiding when he was happy, and she just fixed one of his most treasured items.

"If you thought lil' ol' Buttercup was nice, I got a real treat for ya Grizz."

Dutch started as his left hand slid to his hip holster. His fingers slid along the handle of his pistol and the long revolver was pulled from its home. The chamber was spun by his free hand and he held it forward, aimed right at Grizzelda's heart.

"Elmer .44 Special Revolver. This baby is nearly a hundred years old, family heirloom, but still works as good as day one, if not better. In the entire galaxy, there are maybe a couple hundred of these left, collector's items. I'm purty sure she's the only one being used in the galaxy even. Here, check her out."

The Elmer was spun in Dutch's palm and he offered the handle to Grizz. Anyone that knew classic slugthrowers would know this gun. Elmer himself was a legend among gunsmiths in the galaxy, with the Elmer Special being his work of art. Grizzelda said she was expecting payment, and Dutch delivered. A weapon this rare alone was a gift, and it was almost fitting for it to be used in the DLA.

[Kella]

Dutch was obviously quite pleased to have his favorite weapon back, and the knowing quality of his glance assured Grizzelda that her reputation was -- for the moment -- safe.

Dutch produced another weapon, and Grizzelda remained stock-still as the barrel swung towards her chest. From looking at the woman, one couldn't tell she was running potential dodging strategies, working on how to avoid a potentially deadly-- a flick of her eyes was all she needed to see that the gun wasn't cocked. No harm done. But in this business, you could never be too careful. She took the revolver with a proper amount of care. Grizzelda began to muse aloud, a deeply-ingrained mechanism to hide whatever minute reactions her true thoughts produced.

"Elmer was an artist," she said, hands moving across the contoured grip, "A gunmaker for the ages. Met his son, once," Her fingers flicked the revolving mechanism, "Talented, but not nearly the prolific his father was." Grizzelda was quickly becoming involved in examining the revolver, slowly becoming drawn into its workings. Such absorption lead to vulnerabilities, and so the woman continued to speak, disguising -- she hoped -- some of her facial expression. She really hoped he fully appreciated having such a thing -- to not would be sheer blasphemy.

"Archaic weapons, slugthrowers. But deadly effective. Would seem as if they ought to mass produce." She turned over the weapon again, checking its caliber. "Problem is, they're much more expensive to mass-produce than blasters, and the ammunition suffers a similar problem." After checking the chamber to make sure it wasn't loaded, she began to examine the length of the barrel, fascinated by the striations inside. "So none of the big companies take on slug-throwers. Or, the few that do, create sub-par products, which should hardly be called slugthrowers at all. As for the specialty markets, rich clients want things that feel new," she ran fingers along a stripping of genuine iron, "Things that feel... futuristic. It's a pity there's not more respect for the classics..." Grizzelda shook her head condescendingly. Her fingers ran along the long, slender barrel, curved around the subtly etched designs. It truly was an elegant weapon. Grizzelda hoped that the desire wasn't showing as strongly as she was feeling it. An expert in exotic weapons, such works of art struck a nerve deep within her. With what was practically a moan, the words 'hair trigger' slipped quietly between her teeth, disguised in her breath.

"This looks like it's been modified slightly... A few of these techniques weren't used in guns during Elmer's height." She glanced up at Dutch. "You said it was an heirloom, one of your predecessors work on it?" Grizzelda waited a moment for the answer. "At any rate, they were very skilled... this is top-notch work..."

Finally, Grizzelda had finished her analysis. It was a moment bitter-sweet. She finally drew her eyes away from the gun, meeting Dutch's again.

"Well, Dutch, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to impress me. And it seems..." she paused a moment, slowly handing the weapon back to Dutch. "It's worked." The words were regretfully reluctant, and the woman aimed one last glance of longing at the revolver, letting a wistful sigh slip between parted lips.

Mischief soon became the latest facade. "Have any other weapons I should know about?"

Grizzelda crossed her arms and leaned against the back of her workbench chair, glancing downward as something wet suddenly snuffled her thigh. Spike looked up at her pitifully, moping at the lack of attention, and she dropped a hand to pet the beast. His tail thumped noisily.

Conversation was a thing the woman only struck up when she wanted something, and at the moment, she wanted nothing more than to satiate a particular curiosity.

"Don't suppose you'll indulge me with the history of dear Elmer? Now that you've teased me so, It's only fair."