A Storm Is Coming...

[The Cinderella Man]

((Ok, I’m doing this in two parts so it moves faster.))

The day was sunny and bright, a cheerful manifest to the summer that raged throughout Corone, but for Victor Callahan it was as grim as if it was raining cats and dogs. Perhaps it was because of this quest he set out to accomplish. In fact, he was pretty damn certain that it was because of the quest. This path of vendetta he walked wasn’t bright, wasn’t vibrant. It was a downwards road that led straight to fires of hell. And he walked it, for her. For Aicha. But it wasn’t a path that could be threaded without tribulations. Nay, there would be plenty of those who would try to stop him, try to end him and his quest before he ends their lives. That was why Padre needed some firepower.

Perhaps he was in the gunshop once already, but it was so long ago that he remembered neither the shopkeeper nor the shop itself. It’s been ten years since he was last free to walk the Bazaar, ten years that brought some gray strands in his hair, ten years that added some wrinkles around his eyes, ten years that made him grow a hide as thick as studded leather. Hopefully that hide would allow him to get out of his quest alive. Not that he cared much about his life. This wasn’t about him. It was about justice.

In his raggedy leather coat that had more then a couple of holes here and there, in his faded jeans and linen shirt, Victor looked like a bum that came begging for some money. However, that he took out of his duffel bag weren’t the possessions of an average beggar.

“Good day,” he said to the seller on the other side of the counter. “I have something here that might need some fixing.”

The first item he pulled out was a black pistol. Tawny film of rust had begun to form on some parts of it, but Victor had checked the barrel and the mechanism and it was still untouched, albeit in need of some maintenance. Maintenance he was never good at. The pistol had no magazine and no cartridges. Next came another firearm, a double-barreled shotgun with both its butt end and its barrels shortened. It was in the same state as the pistol, but it was a simpler weapon and significantly less precise then the pistol, so Victor didn’t worry too much about it. But he still didn’t want it to blow his face away instead of his foe’s so he set it on the counter as well.

“I need these two pieces cleaned and oiled. They haven’t been in use for some years now and I’m not very good at fixing them,” the ex-con admitted. “I’ll also need some ammo for them. The pistol’s magazine holds seven bullets, so I’d like to know prices for a pack of seven bullets with a clip. I need some regular hollow points, some with full metal jacket and... oh, if it’s not too much trouble, a prize for a single magazine with titanium-tipped bullets. And also, I need to know the price for a single shotgun shell. Now, I know it’s a somewhat complicated order, so I’ll come again tomorrow.”

***

The next place Victor visited was the shop that seemed to deal with armors and weapons. But the ex-prizefighter wasn’t there to buy anything. No, he needed to gather some extra fundings and the only way to do that was to sell some of his stuff. Once again he walked to the counter and once again he opened up his bag. Out of it came a fancy looking shirt of armor. Made of the scales of the sea serpents, it was a rather impressive item... if one fancied swords and shields and suits of armor. Victor didn’t. He wondered now why he ever bothered paying some seven hundred gold pieces for the scales to be made into a protective shirt. He never wore the damn thing.

“Oh, hey there,” he said to the merchant while still shuffling through his bag. “I’d like to sell this here armor piece. I’ve been told it’s made of enchanted scales of some sea beast. It protects the wearer from fire damage as well as usual damage.”

His fingers finally found the metal knuckles in the chaos of his bag. He pulled the pair of titanium knuckles and placed them on the counter as well. “Also, these. I don’t know what they’re made of, but they sometimes glow strangely and make the punches more damaging somehow.”

He finally tied the straps on the bag and turned to the shopkeeper once again. “So, how much can you give me for these?”

((The pistol and the shotgun were acquired here. (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=1790&page=3) The scale mail is in the profile. The enchanted knuckles were gained here. (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=2981&page=4)))

[AdventWings]

The Bazaar was moving along with its usual sunny disposition and the general chirpiness of the merchants outside kept the atmosphere lively. Within the shades inside Weapons of the Outlander, business went on as usual. Faces came and went, some more familiar than others and trying to do more than just business. Not until the present storekeeper had a say on the matter.

"Men." The young red-head keeper shook her head in disdain as a supposed customer left with a broken heart. "If they're not for the wares, they're always for the ladies."

Singing happily to herself when the ex-convict walked in, she gave a matted black revolver a good spin before setting it down on a shelf behind her.

"Right, sir. I'll be right with you-"

Lisa paused in mid-speech as she turned around and saw the customer, half-way through turn and a walk to the counter. Even after ten years, the flame-hair maiden just turning 22 a few days ago, she could still remember those intriguing brown eyes. Back then, it was the sparkling brown ones she saw at the firing range when she tested out his revolver on a thick plate of steel. Today, however, held gloom and despair. And rage.

The maiden felt her throat lock up even as the customer explained his wares and what he needed, but she could not seem to muster a reply. Even until he left, she still felt as if someone tried to choke her to death.

"M... Mister Customer..." She finally struggled free a few words, but by then he was already out the door.

...What happened all these years...?

Looking down at the rusted guns, she felt a shiver run down her spine.

...No matter... I will fix them for you...

***

"Hmmm? How much, you say?"

Turning from the wall where his prized katana stood on a rack, Jirou turned around to address his customer's need. Already he knew the man was not interested in buying stuff from him. The wares he proposed on selling, however, did pique the blacksmith's interest.

Especially the armor made of sea serpent scales.

Isn't this-!

"We've met, haven't we?" The Akashiman glanced up from the piece of armor and trained his eyes on the fighter. His memory had been cloudy, especially since his store was now getting more traffic than usual with the subsequent close-down of several other smithy in the area. He was sure they had met before, but he could not remember either.

"Well, I guess it'll remain a mystery. Either way, I'll be willing to buy those items for... 1200 Coronian pieces, total."

Picking up the serpent-scale shirt, Jirou could not help but feel some sort of familiarity with it all...

Isn't this... Miri's?!

[The Cinderella Man]

Victor wasn't in a mood for bartering - in fact, he wasn't in a mood for pretty much anything save crushing the vile empire Walter Jimes built around himself - but the deal seemed a bit fishy to him. His memory was certainly not his greatest aspect, but he was certain he recalled the time when he made the shirt made of scales. Back then he was offered twelve hundred for just the scales. And now this merchant was trying to buy a forged suit of armor and the enchanted knuckles for the same price. He decided to negotiate ; he needed to dough.

"Well, that's strange. Last time I visited the Bazaar, a merchant offered me 1200 gold pieces for just the scales from which that armor is made of. I had to pay an additional seven hundred to have it made into a suit of armor. Surely you can offer more then one thousand two hundred for all three items? Or had something drastic happened in the last ten years in the scale trade business?"

For all Victor knew, it could've. But somehow he was pretty certain that nobody yet found a way to farm sea giants in order to peel their skins off.

((Uhm, yeah. In my last Bazaar thread here (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=3243), I could sell the scales for 1200. How come the price dropped so much? Shouldn't it go up since the scales are now turned into a usable item?))

[AdventWings]

((Well~ I guess price changes could be accomodated. ;)))

Yep, definitely Miri's.

It was a trick on Jirou's behalf, since he did vaguely remember someone wanted to have a set of scales appraised and the price came around the mentioned range. He also knew that it was subsequently made into a form of armor. How the man came about to sell it after ten years had passed, that was something the blacksmith would have to investigate at a later time.

"If you said so," he began, putting on a "thinking" face as he reworked the price. "How about this - I'll give you one thousand pieces for that scale shirt of yours. For one thing, it's been made into something beyond its original form. For all I know, it could have been larger than the one made into this shirt. Two, it's used. As for the knuckles, I'll take it for... nine hundred pieces."

Ten thousand was a lot of money, especially for a used item. However, it was made by Miri of the Leatherworks Shop. Miri's works were never of low quality to warrant a low price.

"Sounds fair enough, sir?"

[The Cinderella Man]

The merchant was only half right; the scales in their original form were much larger, bulkier. Victor remembered barely managing to fit the fragment of the hide in his bag. But the only thing that ever used that shirt was time. Padre never wore armor and never got close enough to someone to give them the shirt as a gift. So though it perhaps looked dusty, it was from ten years of disuse.

But he wasn't about to argue about it. The price of almost two thousand seemed more then acceptable now. However, despite the large sum, there was no smile on Victor's face when he said: "Fair enough."

He waited for the shopkeeper to pick the scale mail and the knuckles, placing them on a shelve before he counted the correct amount of gold pieces. It was more money then he ever had, but he wouldn't hold on to it for too long. He only counted the gold pieces in the amount of bullets he'd be able to buy.

"Thanks," he said to the proprietor before he pocketed the money and left the shop.

***

Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough for Victor who was in the gun shop almost immediately after daybreak. He half-expected to find the doors locked, but when he pulled on the knob, it opened just like the day before. The same young lass waited behind the counter. There was an air of familiarity around her, the same kind you get when you see some stranger whose face etched itself into your brain, but he pushed it aside. He had no time to be sentimental.

"Good morning, miss. I'm here about the order I made yesterday," the ex-convict said, placing a hefty pouch on the counter.

[AdventWings]

He's here...

It was the only thought that went through Lisa's head when Victor entered through the door, his shadow somehow turning the jovial man she joked with into a skulking shell that merely looked like the one she remembered.

What happened to you all these years...?

"Here you go, sir." She carefully slid the firearms to his position, minding her movement so as to not create any suspicion to the man. Truthfully, the lass was a bit nervous as she had never seen a pistol so advanced in construction she was at first afraid of not being able to put back together. As fate had it, nothing went wrong.

Rust no longer caked the various metal parts, leaving not a shiny new surface but a rather dull, gleaming shine characteristics of restored metal weapons. The shotgun proved to be a tad easier with its simplistic design, but the lass still had quite a time getting rid of the extra layer of iron oxide coated inside the barrels.

"The cleaning and maintenance are 1,000 pieces total, sir." She spoke up shyly, eyeing the once-jovial prizefighter who now looked more ready to kill than laugh. "As for the ammunition, let me write down the prices for you..."

Lisa could not even bring herself the courage to speak happily or joke with Victor like she used to when she was young, the circumstances seemingly no longer the same light-hearted matter it was. This was no ordinary Bazaar visit - He was going to war.

With who, she only hoped it was not out of rash judgment.

"For regular hollow points, the cost is 7 GP per round. For the Full Metal, they are priced at 12 per round. As for the titanium-tipped shots..." At this point, the maiden made a forced sigh. She never quite like to sell them, as not much good had ever came from them. So far, only the really heavy-pocket men could afford them. But the Rangers never had a need for bullets when they use arrows instead.

"Twenty per round, sir. For seven bullets, that comes to 140 gold pieces."

It saddened her heart to see the man in such a state. And she felt even more sad to know what was about to go down. After all...

Guns never killed anything. Only the people wielding them were the ones taking lives.

((OOC Note: 1,900 GP gained from loss of Serpent Scale shirt and Holy Mitts. 1,000 GP loss for General Maintenance of the Handgun and Shotgun.))

[The Cinderella Man]

Ah, yes, now he remembered the redhead. Back in the day when the sun was still shining and his hair wasn't graying, he made a purchase in this very shop. More importantly, he made a pass at the young shopkeeper. She turned him down, of course, stating that she already had someone or something along those lines. For all Victor knew, by now she had a husband and two children to take care of. A part of him wanted to ask her about it, make some chitchat, but once the guns were on the table, they reminded him of the task he had to do.

He picked up the pistol, pulling the sliding mechanism back, letting it click back with a healthy, oily sound. She was good with the firearms. They looked and sounded better then they did ten years ago, on that dreadful night. He listened to the prices she spoke. There were times where such high numbers would've shocked him. Not anymore. Even his bankroll was set on revenge.

"Are these prices with or without the clips? It's going to get pretty hot in Radasanth in a couple of days, and I don't think I'll have the time to reload the clips in the middle of... the heat." He smiled now, but it wasn't an amiable smile. It was tired grimace of a man who had one last thing to do.

"Also, you haven't given me the price of the shotgun shells," Padre added, flipping the sawed-off shotgun open and taking a peek through the double barrels. They were as clean as a whistle, glistening in a silvery hue.

[AdventWings]

Lisa cringed just ever so slightly at the mention of his order. She had wished the prizefighter would not need to buy anymore - he had enough to kill an entire village on his own.

"The prices are without the magazine, sir." She murmured, silently fetching the matted steel pistol magazines from a hidden shelf nearby. "I'm afraid I do not have the required magazine that you requested. It's..."

What could I say? I don't even have this kind of gun in stock to begin with...

"...We... don't have any."

But there were other things he requested - something she dreaded selling to him. But was there a choice when a customer demanded service that was required?

"Regular buckshots are 15 per shot..." She grimaced as the prices escaped her mouth. She really wished the man did not want to use them.

...No, it was not that she did not want the man to use them.

She did not want him to go.

She did not want him to takes lives of other people, no matter how evil they might be.

((Sorry, Padre. Advanced Gun Tech is not available within the Bazaar. On a side note, 15 GP per shot for the shotgun.

Note: The gunpowder commonly sold in the Bazaar are Aleran Black Powder - Quite easy to ignite, quite smoky when it does.))

[The Cinderella Man]

((How exactly is a square container made of thin steel with a spring inside "Advanced Gun Tech"? :confused: And if that is advanced gun tech, then so are the bullets, and yet you're selling those. Whatever. I'll just rp as if I have an infinite supply of magazines already. I just wanted for everything to be realistic.))

"Fine. I'll just take the bullets then," Victor responded, distantly. He had a fair share of magazines already, but they were a bit rusty. Luckily, the magazines operated rather simply so few things could go wrong with them. His focus was now more on the math necessary for him to calculate just how much bullets could he buy with his current bankroll. He needed mostly full metal jackets and hollow points, but he would need at least a single clip of bullets with titanium tips. Walter Jimes is bound to have some thick armor around himself, and titanium-tipped bullets could perforate just about anything.

"I'll take 84 bullets with full metal jacket, 84 hollow points, 7 with titanium tips and 25 shotgun shells," the retired prizefighter finally said, hoping he did his math right. He unlaced the hefty pouch and handed it over to the redhead so she could take the proper amount.

((With the 900 GP left from the sold items after a 1000 went to the repairs, I think I should have enough to cover that.))

[AdventWings]

((You forgot that semi-automatic weapons, even pistols, are fairly advanced for Althanas time period. "Modern" Althanas firearms are flintlock pistols and blunderbuss - courtesy of Aleran black powder technology. And, indeed, these types of bullets are fairly advanced. But they're not exactly that hard to make compared to guns with so many moving parts, especially if the "underworld" kept leaving behind the casing. Still fairly expensive, if I might say.))

With saddened heart, the young merchant counted out the bullets and tallied up their price, noting them down on a piece of parchment to make sure there was no mistake in the sale. Still, she wished the gunslinger did not have to use them at all. Just for once.

"That comes to a total of 3,111 Coronian gold pieces, sir." She declared, sending off the ammunition to be packaged by the errand boy.

With a heavy heart, she handed him the packaged goods along with the rest of his gold, the pouch now much lighter than it had been mere moments ago. Such an irony that weighted on the maiden's conscience as she saw Victor walk away.

...I can't let him go alone.

"W-Wait!"

She could not let him go alone.

"Wait! Let me come with you!"

Lisa rushed out from behind the counter in pursuit of the man she thought she knew, her trusty revolver slung hastily from her hip. She was not about to let this man go and face his doom alone, still believing his aim was no better than before.

"I don't know what kind of trouble you're in, sir." She glared at him, though her twisted brows betrayed the scrutiny she tried to fake. "But if you're as good as you were back then, I can't let you go alone without someone who knows how to properly use those guns."

It was a fool's errand - this was none of her business. None of her concerns to begin with. Nothing would be lost if the man did not achieve victory. She was not even in the equation.

Why am I doing this...?

"So... What'll it be?" Lisa demanded, moving forward to blockade his passage.

She was going to get some answers, one way or another.

[The Cinderella Man]

((Ah, yes, but I'm not buying a gun, but one of the simpler parts of it. The principle on which a clip works is no more complex then blades that jump out of someone's boots. In fact, I'm rather certain that it's easier to make a pistol clip then a boot with a usable boot knife. And yet you can buy the boot knives for pocket change and you can't buy clips at all. But as I said, it's not a big deal. I'll work around it.))

She was a darling, this gun worker girl, radiating with the righteous kind of innocence that Victor hadn't seen in years. Once upon a time he would've found it endearing. But she didn't really want to come with him. It was her good heart that was getting the better of her, making her apply to a mission without even knowing the fundamental information. Perhaps it were the decrepit clothes of the Padre that evoked this sympathetic offer for alliance. Perhaps she saw in his face the same bitter resolve he'd been seeing in the mirror for ten years now. Perhaps she was just fishing for an adventure, thinking they'd be doing some heroics. Perhaps it was all of these things combined. It didn't matter. He couldn't let her be a part of it. Victor Callahan was a bastard, but not that much of a bastard.

"You don't know what you're asking for, little lady," Padre responded, stuffing the ammo in his bag. The shotgun went into his left shoulder holster, the pistol in his right before he tugged at the hem of his leather coat, concealing his weapons. He shouldered his pack, but when he moved for the door, the redhead stood before him with wide-eyed resolution that was bound to kill her one of these days. The sight of her finally made Victor smile a honest, melancholic smile; she reminded him of another fiery redhead. But that was in another life.

"Trust me, you don't want to be a part of this," he said to her, reaching towards her with his left hand. He touched her cheek ever so slightly, looking down into the eyes that barraged him with unreasonable sympathy. "It would give you nightmares. And I'm not that much of a bastard yet to ruin lives of bonny dames."

He inclined his head in a bow. "Thank you. And goodbye." He squeezed past her and shouldered his way through the door. But even as he entered the coolness of the morning, he stopped in his tracks. And for the briefest of moments he felt like abandoning this vendetta, felt like marching back into that gunshop and try to have an actual conversation with that sweet girl. But then an image of another girl appeared in his mind, a face of a not so sweet woman whose blood screamed for revenge. Victor took a deep breath, exhaled the air from his lungs and with it went away the doubts, allowing him to walk away.

***

His last visit was to what looked like an all purpose shop, that had everything from a needle to a warhorse, but seldom the very thing you need. However, they had what Victor needed; he eyed it through one of the windows. A wide assortment of oil lamps looked from the other side, some less gracious, some expensive enough to make you think they were made of pure gold. But Padre didn't want the lamps. He wanted some of the stuff that fueled them. As it turned out, there were some in stock. The ex-con could see the small glass flasks filled with lamp oil meant for refilling the lamps.

"Good morning," he said, his eyes on the shelve with the flammables. "I'm going to need a bunch of those flasks with lamp oil. Those look around two deciliters, right? I'll take fifteen of them." He hoped he would have enough money left in his pouch, but then another thing occurred to him.

"Also, could you perhaps take care of a simple engraving for me? It's nothing complicated, just some letters on a piece of steel."

[AdventWings]

((Current services paid for - 3,111 GP for ammunition and general maintenance. 1,900 GP from sales of Holy Mitts and Sea Serpent Scales. Adding up the balance gives you 509 GP remaining. Happy bargaining.))

The proprieter looked up from his tome of wares, well categorized down to the year they were created and who owned them in the past. Now, most merely sat there doing nothing and waiting for someone to put them to good use. Whatever the new owner deemed as being "good use."

"Hmm? Lamp oil, you say?" The old man asked quietly, as if his throat was afraid of straining itself too much from belonging to such an old man. Without much of a sigh, he gradually rose up from his seat and grabbed the flasks down from the shelves. Placing all fifteen of them on the counter, he coughed raggedly before gazing back at the worn-looking ex-boxer.

"That be 300 pieces, sir." The old man finally managed to say, noting the next detail on the customer's request. "As for the engraving... Yes, you can have it done here for 20 pieces. Artisan's skilled labor cost, you see."

Glaring curiously at the customer as if trying to scry his future, the nosy merchant drew back and sat down on his creaky little chair once more. "Planning on going somewhere far and cold, sir?"

[The Cinderella Man]

"On the contrary. I plan to make a place just around a corner a whole lot warmer," Victor responded, counting gold pieces that were nearly running out. After he was done with the purchases, the fat pouch of gold he had at the beginning diminished to the amount that could barely buy a man a good night out. But that was alright. He would have quite a night out anyways.

Taking out the pistol, Victor slipped the clip out and unloaded the chambered cartridge. The action made a guard of the shop flinch and go for his weapon, but Padre reassured him in a calm voice. "Easy there. I need something engraved on this piece." The words didn't quite do the trick of calming the man down, but when the ex-con lowered the gun on the counter and slid it over to the shopkeeper, he finally seemed more at peace.

"I need a name engraved on both sides," Victor said, stuffing a hand in the pocket of his coat and producing a small piece of paper with five letters written on it. And they formed the name of his lost love, the one for whom he was walking this path of vendetta.

Aicha.

((The engraving should look like this (http://i131.photobucket.com/albums/p311/lordtitt0/Aicha.jpg).))

[AdventWings]

If nothing was a surprise when the prizefighter mentioned his plans for the lamp oil, the name to be engraved was merely concrete evidence about the man's vendetta.

"...Aicha..." The old man mumbled, his lips dropping into a frown and his eyes glancing down at the worn counter top where many wares had left furrows and scratches from long days past. "...She was such a sweet girl. A bit cold and distant last I saw, but she was a good, good girl." The old geezer shook his head, taking the gun in his hand and admiring the reconstructive maintenance it had gone through. "Whatever did happen to her, anyways?"

Heaving a sigh, the oldtimer shook away his dreams of "back when he was still a man" and returned to reality. "Right, sir. I'll have this engraving done for you in a few hours. If you could wait patiently, that will do fine."

Disappearing into the backroom, the old man labored away with the machine and weapon, each letter carved imprinting the soul and spirit of the girl who once owned the name.

Returning to the counter a few hours later, he laid the gun down on the counter with a weak sigh and looked up at the customer. Relics of wet streaks trailed from his eyes down his wrinkled brown cheeks, the tiniest signs of his knowledge on Victor's mission.

"That's three-undred and twenty gold pieces total, sir." He finally spoke, the frown still present on his face like the last time he was out front.

"...Be careful."

[The Cinderella Man]

"Whatever did happen to her, anyways?"

Took a ride to freedom on a bullet with her name, Victor wanted to say. But he didn't want to chew the fat with the old man about the days that were neither good or old in his mind. The shopkeeper obviously knew Aicha, but Padre didn't want to know the details. Chances were that he was a customer she serviced once upon a time and that was a piece of information Victor definitely didn't want in his head right now. He kept Aicha on a pedestal in his head, and there she was this frightened beauty that came to him in the dead hours of the night, hoping he could give her freedom. Hoping they could be free together. Victor was on a mission to avenge the death of that Aicha and not Aicha the Harlot.

So he said nothing to the old geezer, packing up the small glass vials filled with flammable substance and counting the last of his coin to cover the expenses. When he was done with that and the old man wasn't done with the engraving, he lazed around the shop, checking a shelve here, a piece of weaponry on sale there, interested in nothing but getting out of there. But when that got boring and the proprietor of the shop wasn't back, he sat on a sack of barley and stargazed. He always seemed to gaze at the same image though, the one of Aicha growing cold in his arms as her eyes stared blankly at the night sky and her lips uttered the meaningless words her damaged brain kept sending. He tried to change the picture, to recollect the Aicha he first saw, leaning on a banister, as beautiful as a woman can be. But even when he saw that picture, he looked at it through a crimson filter of her blood.

Eventually, the shopkeeper returned with the engraved gun and wet eyes. He couldn't have been a customer. People who bought women were seldom emotional about it. This man knew something about the woman whose death Victor was avenging, probably more then the ex-con did. Aicha never told him her story, never had the time. They always postponed the disclosure of their life stories or after they escaped. Only there was no after for Aicha.

"You knew a girl by the name of Aicha as well?" Victor asked, handing over the said amount and picking up the pistol. It was stupid writing her name on a gun, but he wanted it to be the last thing Walter sees before he dies. Pushing a full magazine back in the gun and chambering the cartridge, Padre returned the weapon back in its holster beneath his coat. "Black hair, blue eyes, svelte little thing?"

When the shopkeeper nodded, Victor picked up his bag and shouldered it. As he walked away, he spoke his farewells. "She's dead, old man, and her voice is screaming for bloody vengeance from beyond the grave."

It wasn't exactly the truth. Aicha was in the grave, but the voice that was screaming for vengeance belonged to Victor Callahan.

((Alrighty, I'm done. Tally it all up. :)))

[AdventWings]

The old man merely looked on quietly as the customer left, his eyes growing weary as he heard the news.

"Aye... I wish it hadn't come to that..."

Slipping down into his stool, he could only think of the times when both of them were young. When the little girl was still naive and cheerful. Of the time she was still alive.

"And she was right..." He mumbled, only the curious guard watching on from his post as his listener. "...The smoke really didn't kill her..."

((Transaction Completed.

The Cinderella Man loses

- Holy Mitts
- Sea Serpent Scale Shirt
- 3,431 GP.

Total GP remaining is 189 GP.

The Cinderella Man receives the following:

- General Maintenance for the Semi-Automatic Pistol (with engraving Aicha)
- General Maintenance for the Sawed-Off Shotgun
- Ammunition (84 FMJ, 84 HP, 7 TT and 25 SS)
- 15 Flasks of Oil Lamp (Highly flammable - Keep Away from Open Flames)
- 150 EXP Bonus for exceptional IC Interaction)