Long Road Home (the_wolverine) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-03-22 23:22:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, jack, logan howlett (wolverine) |
"Mornin' darlin'. Don't suppose you've gotta real blade."
Who: Logan & Jack
What: Sword shopping
When: Today!
Where: The Pawn Shop
Rating: PG-13 language
Status: Complete
A motorcycle rumbled up to the pawn shop. The engine idled for a few moments, before going quiet. A man walked in. He wore naturally faded jeans, a white t-shirt and a brown leather jacket. Steely blue eyes looked out from a scruffy face. The man snorted, and looked around the shop.
Jack raised an eyebrow at the man. Scruffy rode a nice bike. Which meant Scruffy knew how to take care of it, probably. And possibly had cash. Definitely worth watching.
Scruffy glanced at her. In a few short seconds his eyes had taken her in, and assessed her. She seemed to come out fine, because he walked over, and leaned on the counter. His voice was gruff, weathered, "Mornin' darlin'. Don't suppose you've gotta real blade." He gestured at one on display, "Not that fake gaijan shit."
Fake gaijin shit. Jack tilted her head slightly. What was this guy, some sort of overgrown anime geek? Looked too old and too scruffy for that, but you could never tell. "Not your darlin', but if you're looking for full tang honest to fuck battle ready katana, yeah, we got a couple."
"I'm a collector," He replied, smirking. "Something just draws me to 'em, can't really explain it. Damn near didn't leave." Of course the woman he'd met there had been rather...difficult to leave too. He nodded his head at her, "Can I see one, darlin?"
The last word was almost a challenge.
Jack rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah you can see one. And fuck you." Jack headed to the real deal collectable and useable swords. She pulled on a pair of gloves and pulled one out. She looked it over, then brought it back to Scruffy.
Logan looked it over, a little reverently. He nodded his head, "Good condition. Scabbard ain't damaged, an' it hasn't been restored. May I?" He gestured, wanting to hold it, and draw the sword.
"Go ahead," Jack said with a nod.
The sword sang as he drew it from its home. Oiled. Cared for. He could tell from the hilt it was pre-World War Two. Maybe even turn of the century. Has it killed? Has it seen blood? It had a story to tell.
Freed of it's scabbard, it cut through the air. Logan took it through a traditional practice form. He was lighter, nimbler on his feet than he looked, but his movements seemed to indicate a savage grace being held back. This was a man who's killed, up close and personal.
Okay. Dude knew swords. That was...kind of hot and kind of creepy at the same time. Jack gave him some more space, just in case.
Logan finished the form, nodding his head approvingly at the weight and balance of the sword. He flicked his thumb along part of the blade near the tip, sating the sword's thirst, then sheathed it. He laid it down on the counter, "Damn good katana. Ain't goin' to be cheap, I know that already."
Jack nodded. "Yeah, that ain't anywhere near cheap." She quoted him the price. Interesting customer, Scruffy.
The man pulled out a wallet, and laid out the cash, "Got anything to wrap it in? Rather not get pulled over for carryin' a weapon." He figured the woman had an interesting story. You don't get those kinds of tattoos without an interesting story. He had a few of his own.
Jack's eyebrows shot up. Very. Interesting. Customer. "Got some brown packing paper shit, yeah. I'll get some of that. Don't know if I have a box that size."
"Paper'll work enough. Thanks darlin'." He flashed her a toothy grin.
"Pff, fuck you, dude." Jack smirked and wrapped the sword.
"Don' offer if you don't intend to follow through," He replied, taking the sword and receipt.
Yeah. Interesting customer. "Whatever. Have fun with the sword."
He laughed, "Will do, bub, will do." Logan walked out side, securing the sword to the bike and then straddling it. The Harley roared to life, and its rumble gradually reduced in volume until it was gone.