Make a business for yourself, boy, set some goals/make a fair dime out of dusty coal
Katja is standing in front of the Conrad, staring up at its roof. Squinting. She's not really doing much else (other than chainsmoking), and hasn't decided whether she's even going to venture in or not. On the one hand, it seems like a good idea to see who the enemy is. On the other, she's a demon and those are angels. Yes, those, right there
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And then she almost trips over her own feet and falls on her face because what the fuck is she doing outside?
She doesn't even wait to try and work out the logic. Doesn't think, doesn't apply any sense at all. Just slams her way past a businessman on his way in, thunders up to Katja and stares at her.
"Who the fuck are you supposed to be?"
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Whut.
Sure, if Katja'd been paying attention to the ground level, she would've noticed the blue-haired doppelganger stampeding out of the hotel, but as it was, she was too invested in memorizing the number of windows on the top floor that had their curtains drawn. And now there is a tiny version of her, except with worse hair, yelling in her face. Oookay, then.
"Clearly, we came to the party dressed as the same person, so I could ask you the same question," she snaps, then takes another draw on her cigarette and huffs out a little cloud of smoke at Fritz. Bitch gets up in her personal space, bitch gets her lung cancer. It's not as if she hasn't already stolen her face or anything.
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"See, might have come dressed the same, but I was here first. What happened, a bloodbank vomit on your head?"
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She takes another drag on her cigarette. "And I put the blood on my head myself, honey."
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Guns. From the stuff she's seen on TV, they're not exactly the most elegant of weapons. In fact she doesn't much like the idea of them at all. They're like crossbows if the gods got drunk and redesigned the things. Aniki sighs.
At the same time, if her opponent has a gun, it's not like she'll be able to outmaneuver a bullet.
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"Looking for anything in particular?" he asks, keeping his voice neutral. He's not going to hint that she looks a bit apprehensive about this, or lost around the various makes and models in the displays and on the walls.
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"Don't know which one would be best for that, even." She raises an eyebrow at Arlin. "You know these things." A gesture at the weaponry. "What d'you think?"
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He closes the journal, setting it aside behind the counter carefully, before leaning forward on the counter. "It would entirely depend on what you were planning to use it for. For instance, protection usually means something small but reasonably powerful, able to be concealed. As opposed to, say, the more specialized guns for hunting--" the tone of his voice implies that he knows most who come in claiming 'hunting' don't mean weekend retreats in the woods, "--which might mean you're looking at something more powerful, yet harder to conceal."
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However, he can't really help but notice the teenage girl eating that sandwich like it's the first meal she's had in a long time.
He gives her a nod and a sympathetic smile. "Always said I admire a girl with a healthy appetite, but that went past healthy and hit 'starving child in New Guinea' like it was a brick wall. You know, if you haven't eaten in awhile, that kind of speed'll give you a stomachache."
Hey, he's a doctor and he likes kids, even she's more 'teenager' than most of the kids he's used to. He can be concerned for her wellbeing if he wants, dammit.
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She and the Pack might not always be animals, but you'd be hard-pressed to tell when dinnertime rolled around in their humble little hotel-room abode.
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There might be some minimal sarcasm on the 'nice' bit, but really the tone's more sympathetic. Nothing breaks a man's heart more than underfed homeless kids.
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She goes back to gnawing on the sandwich for a moment before, stopping, suddenly suspicious. "Why d'ya care?" she asks. He looks well-dressed and all. He better not be from social services. Or be someone who'd call them. Huck had enough of dealing with them even when she was still living at home.
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On the plus side, apparently any thoughts about Ariel are dispersed the minute he notices a random red-headed woman just staring at the building. Suspicious and suspicious..er.
"For your sake, I really hope you're not working for the CLF." Sark doesn't particularly have any fear of saying the name right in front of God and everyone. He would be more than happy to show more of those bastards why they shouldn't mess with him.
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Then she gives him his suspicious look right back. "What are you, the haven's watchdog, then?"
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Of course, he can't actually say that... Well, he could, but he doesn't really want to. Having a reputation tends to make people stalk you. Yes, he's still sore about that. No, he's rather displeased that he can't actively have a reputation without that screwing one thing or another about this sham he calls a life up. Le sigh.
"Hardly." He gives the Conrad a wary look. "Merely someone bored of the this lofty attempt at a pointless and utterly unsubtle power play the CLF seems to be engaging in. They watch the building occasionally. I was starting to wonder if their utter lack of subtlety had devolved further. At this point, it would not surprise me."
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Not that she's going to fight him, but she could...point him in the direction of a bar or something. Katja's idea of fighting is shooting them from far away or injecting them with something nasty and then watching when their eyeballs explode and ooze down their face or something.
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Dev is very pleased.
He practically floats into the gunshop, and when he spots Arlin he bounces toward him like a puppy.
"Aaaaaarooonnnn, hello, hello! I've had a fabulous few days. Whatcha got in the way of pointy lovelies?"
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"Dev," he says, giving the other man a little nod. "Possibly not as many as you might like, but there's a small selection over here." He tilts his head toward a smaller display a little offset from the rest; the display case has the smaller folders and balisongs, with the larger knives (and even a few swords) on the wall behind it. "There's a few more in the back, but these are the main ones; anything not here can be ordered if you've got something in mind. Or are we just waiting to see what calls?" he asks with a small smirk. He has a hunch Dev might just want to play with the shinies for a bit before actually making any sort of decision.
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"Call! Yes, call! Ah, man after my own heart, you are. So I can play with the pretty toys, I can?" He clasps his hands together in front of him, like a kid begging for candy.
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"Yes, go ahead," he says, unlocking the knife case and stepping back to give the other man enough room to move past.
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