Trip Ryker (silvertongued) wrote in the_dome, @ 2013-04-04 11:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | 03-23-2017, mannix, mannix and mickey, mickey |
Another Good Deal
Who: Mannix and Mickey
Where: Trader’s Market
When: Morning
Warnings: None
Mannix sat behind the table at his booth, a dismantled radio spread out in front of him. It would be worth keeping or selling if he could get it to work, but so far he hadn’t been able to pick up a signal and he knew there was one inside the dome. There was at least one radio station in every dome, providing news and music to it’s citizens. It made him miss the days of endless radio stations. There were even more on the outside, since they weren’t controlled, but you had to be within range of someone broadcasting and that wasn’t all that often. People had better things to do. In fact, there were probably better things to fix, but fixing wasn’t exactly Mannix’s expertise. If he could talk the radio into fixing itself, that’d be an entirely different story. He flipped the switch again and ran slowly through the dial. Nothing but fuzz.
Mickey was back to lumbering his way through the booths. He was walking with his bike, leaning on it, which helped with the limp, even if his overall slower pace gave away that there was something wrong. He was glancing here and there, looking at a few things, keeping his eyes open for what most people would find useless, but it was the soft buzz of the radio that caught his attention and he found himself glancing over at the mess on the table. Really, he barely noticed the guy, just the pieces. “Not working?”
“Nope,” Mannix sighed. “Can’t get much for it if it doesn’t work.” Some things might sell broken, but electronics usually didn’t. Most people wouldn’t give away their hard earned cash for an appliance that turned out to be a paper weight. Mannix looked up from the radio to Mickey, deciding he’d better focus on selling what did work, rather than playing with what didn’t. “See anything you’re interested in? Or looking for something in particular?”
“How much do you want for it?” Mickey asked, touching the dial and looking up at Mannix. He seemed innocent about it, just watching, curious how it would go over.
“The non-working radio?” Mannix asked back, looking from Mickey to the radio. He didn’t want to give it away for free, but he certainly couldn’t charge full price for it. “Couple bucks, only cause I went through the effort of getting it in the first place.” He paused, considering the situation, then, “You think you can fix it?”
The answer was that he knew he could fix it. Without a doubt. He already had an idea of how to fix it. It was a pretty simple thing really since it was making some noise, just not the right one. “I have a good feeling,” he said, ghost of the smile he used to wear all the time on his features. “You see things like this often? Broken type stuff?”
“About half the stuff we find is broken. Some of it’s worth picking up and taking with us, on the off chance we can get it to work. A radio’s one of those things,” Mannix said. People couldn’t make them themselves, but it was an electronic that served a use in the dome, moreso than some others. “We’ve got a whole crate of it in the trunk, some items that we didn’t know weren’t broken when we grabbed ‘em. We don’t usually put ‘em out, since it’s bad business to sell things that don’t work.”
Mickey raised his eyebrow at that. “Can I see it?” Because really? He preferred the broken stuff. December wasn’t completely off in thinking he wasn’t being social. He wasn’t being antisocial, but he did find himself spending more time working on spare parts than anything else.
“Sure,” Mannix said as he stood, leaving the broken radio on the table. Things that didn’t work would just get dropped in the middle of nowhere when they left the dome, so what was the harm in showing them to this guy? Hopping on the back of the truck, he grabbed the crate and set it on the edge, then jumped down to move it to the ground. “None of this stuff works,” he said, gesturing to the box.
Mickey was slower, hating that he envied the ease at which Mannix just jumped on the truck like that. He hated his knee. And hating it made it hurt more. That probably wasn’t what actually made it hurt. That was probably all in his head. He looked at the box, squatting with a barely covered wince. He worked through it, picking out a few things, trying hard not to grin as he found certain things he wanted. Putting it all back in he looked up at Mannix. “How much for the whole box? I’ll fix the radio and toss it back your way.”
Mannix hadn’t noticed Mickey limping when he’d first approached, but he noticed it now. It made him glad he’d kept his mouth shut; he’d considered asking why a guy who could fix things would want to be in the dome, since he’d made an awesome trader, going out and finding things, then fixing them up before selling them. But with a bum knee, he’d be safer in the dome. Mannix’s ability to run was the third highest reason he was alive, right below his ability to shoot and having his brother beside him. “For the whole box?” Mannix asked, taking off his hat and scratching his head. “Twenty-five. Which would be a steal if it all worked.”
Mickey didn’t hesitate in handing off the cash, reaching for the box. “Might work soon enough.” He looked up at Mannix again. “You know...we could do something with that. If you find things you want fixed.”
“I think that sounds like a pretty good deal,” Mannix grinned, pocketing the cash. They were going to have to start making Delphi a regular stopping point with all the deals they were making there. Good thing they already had family in the area. “Think we could pick things up, then give you a cut of the income?”
“Depends on how reasonable the cut is,” Mickey said, holding out his hand. “Mickey.”
What was the best way to split it? 50-50 didn’t exactly seem fair, seeing as he and his brother were the ones putting themselves in danger acquiring the items, but then they couldn’t sell them at all if they didn’t work. “Would you agree to a 60-40 split?” Mannix asked, then shook Mickey’s hand. “Mannix.”
It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. It wasn’t like Mickey was unemployed. He really had started getting around as the guy who could fix it, whatever it was. He shook Mannix’ hand, recognition on his features. “The compass.”
There were only two people in the dome that knew about the compass, Jack and December. “Yeah,” Mannix said, his eyes lighting up. “You know December, I take it? I’m supposed to get over there today, but I don’t know if I’ll make it. If not today, then tomorrow.”
“I do,” he said turning his hand to show off the tattoo of the bird there, the one that matched hers. “She’s why I’m here. Or I’m why she’s here.”
“Nice,” Mannix grinned when he saw the tattoo. He remembered the one on December’s hand as well. “You drag each other in here from the outside, I take it? Did you meet on the road, or know each other from before?”
“Met on the road. She followed when I ran out of options.” Which was something, what he never really figured out, but something. “Been together for years now.” He knew how that sounded, but he didn’t bother to clarify. It wasn’t that, but sometimes he considered it deeper than that. They’d survived together. That was more than some hook up.
“Hey, that means something, getting through it together,” Mannix said. “It’s just me and my brother, so I know how that can be. Trust is hard to come by.” But he wondered if it was more than that with Mickey and December. He wasn’t going to ask; that would be rude. It was just the way that Mickey said it that led him to believe they might be more than friends.
“Means everything,” Mickey agreed with a nod. “You’re still out there...” He wished he could be some days. He might still be if he hadn’t gotten hurt. “Sometimes I think of it as trust, sometimes fate. Not always sure.”
“Yeah, can’t give up the adrenaline rush,” Mannix grinned. “I know it’s safer in here, but I think I’d get bored.” Think was an understatement. He knew he’d get bored, and then he’d start doing things that would get him into trouble. Liking breaking and entering just because he could. He’d lived on the wrong side of the law for too long to suddenly become a model citizen. “Either way, she seems like a catch.”
“I remember that. It was a little ridiculous, but there was that rush. Especially when you made it out of something alive.” At Mannix’ last comment Mickey laughed slightly. “If you think that? Then you didn’t meet the real December.” Nothing about her was catch-like. She was more like a pincushion.
“Oh, I think I did,” he smirked. “She’s no sweetheart, I got that much, but she’s... different.” She’d seen through him and called him on it, and for some reason that impressed him. He understood how she’d survived and he appreciated it. Maybe she was a little bit of a bitch, but that didn’t make her any less interesting.
Mickey scoffed slightly. “Different is one word for it.” But he really cared about the different. He liked it. But sometimes he figured maybe it was just because he was used to it. If she was some other way, like she’d been all positive for him the night before, it felt more off than the ‘off’ about her. “She’s not average that’s for sure. She’ll do you good though.” And it carried a tone that December didn’t come alone. Sure, she was more than capable of handling herself, he’d seen it, but if he could? He’d still jump into something if she needed him.
Mannix nodded and made a mental note to make sure he got over to her place to get his tattoo done tomorrow at the latest. The trade show usually ended on Saturday and he didn’t want to miss his chance. “Well, let her know I said hello if you see her later today. I’m looking forward to getting my ink done. And now I’ve got a deal with the both of you, so I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”
Mickey took the box, fixing it to his bike. “I’ll do that. If I see her. But we will. Looking forward to it already.” There, he was getting his hands on some product and being social. Step one to getting back to where he belonged. Or where December had so sweetly reminded him that he belonged.