Headliners

[red_reporter]

This was interesting. If by "interesting", you meant "unnerving beyond all rational comprehension". Well, at least there weren't any zombies or leech monsters to deal with. And Jim wasn't screaming every five seconds about how much his life sucked. She hated that. It got annoying after the five hundredth time

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[whatareyabuyin]

Not far off, amidst the ruins of a few crumbled buildings, a man in a trench coat spots her. His hood is up, his bandana covering most of his face. A massive backpack weighs him down, causing him to slouch.

"'Ello, stranga. Lookin' for anythin' in particula?"

[red_reporter]

Hmm? "Well well, this is interesting." Alyssa saunters up, notepad in one hand. She blinks a few times before setting pen to paper. "A living person that isn't a zombie. And I thought the city was too far gone."

She clears her throat once. "You have any guns on you, Mister...?"

[whatareyabuyin]

"Zombie?" He chuckles, a deep laugh that comes from his belly. "Not quite, stranga." It's dark because of the clouds overhead, and his eyes glow very faintly, red and pink.

When she asks if he has any guns, he laughs again, harder and longer. Once he's done, he opens one side of his trench coat with a swish, revealing...well, guns. Tons of guns. Weapons of different size and shape. Rifles, handguns, weapons from far off lands and weapons that are barely legal in most parts of the world. After a moment, he closes his coat again.

"Why yes, stranga, I would say I've got a couple of guns on me. But the question is, can you afford 'em?"

[red_reporter]

Alyssa likes this guy. He's got enough ordinance to invade a small country! What she would have given for somebody other than that knucklehead Ryman to know what they were doing with a gun. Ah well. You roll with what you pikc up along the way. Rocket launcher or otherwise.

She grins wolfishly and starts writing down things on her notepad. "Oh, I think I can. I almost have a full paycheck from my last big scoop." She stops writing to nod once at the guy with the freaky glowing eyes and the large amount of guns and the trenchcoat. "Alyssa Ashcroft, Raccoon Weekly. And you are?"

[whatareyabuyin]

Ah, the name thing. Always with the names.

"I prefer to keep my name to myself, stranga. But you can call me...the Merchant." Pause. "The Merchant of Menace." He chuckles at his own lame pun.

LAME = AWESOME. He says so.

[red_reporter]

Oh great. Somebody else who thinks he's a comedian. Alyssa groans at the horrible pun before trying to regain her composure. "All right then, Merchant. I assunme you have a handgun under there that taks 9mm parabellum rounds? A laser sight would be nice, too." She rattles off the general specifics of an RPD-issued handgun.

Mostly because, hey, that's what she's been using to survive up until she got... wherever this place is. If something works, you stick with it! Rule Number One in Alyssa's Rulebook for Reporters. ...Not that said book actually exists outside of her own mind, but that's just arguing semantics now.

"And I assume you know where we are?"

[whatareyabuyin]

"Not really, no." He replies, digging through his trench coat for the weapon in question. He's got a few, but finally settles on the handgun that Leon (a.k.a. the stranga) sold him way back in the village. Mainly because it's an extremely basic handgun, and matches the specs she wants, more or less. He checks to make sure the clip is full, then pulls it out.

"9mm handgun with a laser sight. Decent aim, weight and firepower, eight bullets in a clip, no reloads. Bring it back to me if it breaks, but if you get it demolished or lose it, tough. I can tweak it a bit and upgrade it significantly if you'd like, but that'll cost you."

A pause.

"Payment, stranga?"

[red_reporter]

"Here." And Alyssa hands over... well, a lot of money. She must've been saving up for an all-night booze binge. Which was interrupted by zombies and outbreaks and Umbrella-made viruses. It never fails. She tries to take a break and the stories come falling right into her lap. Oh well. At least that means more money.

"If that's over the amount you need, hand over the change, would you? I need money to live off of." She's assuming there's still some sort of economy going on. Somewhere. Where she can't see it. And besides, it never hurts to hang onto stuff! She might need to upgrade her new gun, after all.

"So! Any idea where the welcome wagon is? Or are you it?"

[whatareyabuyin]

The Merchant counts the bills, then hands back roughly half of it. What he keeps is more than the weapon is worth anyways. Besides, he wouldn't want a customer to starve. How would they come back for more weapons and such?

"Pleasure doin' business with ya, stranga. As for the welcome wagon, well, I've just arrived meself. No clue where I am, but I ain't where I was a minute ago, that's for sure."

As he speaks, he runs one last check over the gun, making sure it's clean and functional, then hands it over.

[red_reporter]

"Yeah? Well, good luck there, buddy. Hope you find some more customers." She checks the laser sight on the gun and, satisfied, sticks it on her pantsline. Now she's cooking with gas, to quote her mother. Time or her to go investigate that man standing a ways off, watching her. "Good luck, Merchant. See you around."

And then she's off!