the_long_con (the_long_con) wrote in witchinghour, @ 2014-06-23 15:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: gretel, character: sawyer |
Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better...
Who: Gretel and Sawyer
What: Lessons in modern barter systems and slang
Where: The pawn shop
When: Backdated to Thursday, June 19th.
Warnings: Language and snark are guaranteed
Status: Complete!
Accepting the general weirdness of this place had been a step by step process for everyone here, not excluding the German twins. The apparent ‘time period’ Marrowood existed in was a leap in itself for the pair of them- among others, it seemed, but not many- with inexplicable technology and half a new language to learn, on top of the general horrors their new dimension liked to throw at them, Hansel and Gretel weren't particularly fond of their new existence. Who the hell was?
At least a few people had tried to normalize their lives through various efforts around town- efforts in the form of occupations. Gretel understood the desire, but it just wasn't possible for her or her brother. The witches here… they didn't need hunting. There weren't any children to go missing, and the town’s magical borders were so damn small, there wasn't exactly a big market in bounty hunting. They were mercenaries, at best- and this place didn't need them until the shit started hitting the fan. That was all well and good, but between those times? They didn't know how to do anything else.
It made for a lot of down-time, which was more than aggravating in a place like this. With that plus Hansel’s slow recovery from the nightmare at the hospital, then meeting her brother’s doppelganger just wandering around, the steam was starting to build under Gretel’s collar- and she knew it.
The offer to check out this ‘pawn’ shop triggered a memory of a conversation she’d had with a woman from this modern era, about ‘retail therapy’. Maybe it was worth a shot. Not like she had anything else to do except get more high strung. Finding the place wasn't difficult; Gretel pushed through the door, still wearing all her gear save for the leather riding coat, thanks to the summer heat and humidity. She stood at the foyer, letting her eyes adjust from the sun.
Sawyer was not used to this legitimate, workaday life. He was used to conning; lots of subterfuge, minimal work, with a big payoff to set him up until the next job came along. The boring, repetitive monotony of working in the pawn shop was torture the first couple of days but Sawyer was a survivor...he’d make it work. Besides, bartering and trade were abilities he was exceedingly good at and very familiar with so it wasn't like he was starting from scratch. He couldn't be any worse at it than Dirty Randy, so he had that going for him, at the very least.
He was adding some new merchandise (a sad, grimy silver locket and a surprisingly decent set of throwing stars) when he heard the bell over the door tinkle, signalling a customer. Sawyer sighed and then painted a large, phony grin on his mug and set to greet the customer.
In walked in a gorgeous brunette with a banging figure and a determined air about her. Sawyer was immediately more invested in the sale than he normally would have been. He leaned back against the counter, his arms crossed against his chest and cocked his head to the side as he appraised her.
“Well, howdy there, Miss,” Sawyer drawled with a wink. “What can I do you for on this fine day?”
That look may as well have left faint welts in it’s wake, like that of fingernails over skin. Not something Gretel was unused to, but it was more common back in Germany than here in Marrowood, due to the fact that the people here were much more occupied with avoiding horrible deaths or figuring out how to deal with this place- or they were simply the soulless projections of ‘people’ that milled around the town. That look signified that the man propped against the counter wasn't one of those. She deduced he was the one who’d so casually slapped her with pet-names fashioned from baked goods.
He was a lot better looking than she’d imagined- she’d give him that. Of course, her expectations had not been all that high.
“You’re the one I should call Princess,” she answered after her brief reflective pause. Her steps inside were light in spite of heavy-soled boots- they drifted toward the display case he leaned on, her eyes sweeping the wares with a cautious interest.
“I’ll answer to ‘Princess,’” Sawyer said airily. “‘Hey you,’ or ‘studly’ works as well, but Sawyer is what I go by normally.”
He watched the woman start perusing the shelves idly. It didn't seem she came in for something specific, except maybe specifically for him, which suited Sawyer just fine. Flirtations helped passed the time...not as enjoyably as some other, more carnal pursuits, but he only just got here. That would come in time and in the meanwhile, he could think of worse things to do than chat up the fine ladies of Marrowood.
“I didn't catch your real name, sweetness; but then again, I doubt you threw it my way. It’s alright, I like a little mystery. You looking for anything specific this fine day? See anything you like?”
Sawyer winked cheekily at the last comment, unable to help himself.
Sawyer. That would be easy enough to remember- like many names of other kidnappees in Marrowood, it wasn't very familiar to her, but it was simple, and somehow seemed to suit him. Her gaze jumped from the various well-used items on display, up to his face just in time to catch the wink. Her eyebrows arched, and lingered that way for at least two heartbeats.
“Is this where I’m supposed to say ‘yeah- standing right in front of me’?” she asked, with a note of humor in her voice. A meager one, but it was there. She moved on, abandoning the adjustment of her glove to fold her arms mildly across the ribbed and laced front of her corset, and adjust her stance to something more comfortable. “My name is Gretel- at risk for you coming up with more pet names for me.” Then, with a little more sarcasm, “Glad to see that habit hasn't died in three hundred years.”
“Well I don’t want you to say it unless you mean it,” Sawyer said, his eyes on Gretel’s arms folded across her bosom. Her mentioning “three hundred years” reminded him that she was not of this time, and Sawyer was glad for whatever fashions they had in Bavaria or Narnia or wherever she was from that warranted that corseted physique. It accented her figure in a very pleasing manner and Sawyer liked looking at her.
“But if you do mean it, then I am not at all opposed to hearing you say it. But we can leave that for another time we are better acquainted with one another, Gretel.”
Sawyer didn't hate using people’s actual names but he certainly found it uncomfortable. It was so much easier to disassociate himself with other people’s feelings and true selves if he simply called them “Hoss” or “Slick” or “Cupcake”. Referring to someone by their first name was an almost intimate act to Sawyer, whose real name was unknown to everyone but himself. He’d call this chick Gretel, but that didn't mean he liked it.
“Three hundred years, eh?” Sawyer asked, finding the concept no more strange than anything else he’d come to expect from this town. “Finding it hard to adjust to the modern age? I might have something for you…”
Sawyer shifted from his relaxed pose and started rummaging beneath the counter. He brought up an antique, ornate knife with an ivory handle. It wasn't his style really (he had found the biggest, nastiest looking machete his first day on the job and Dirty Randy let him have it as his first week’s pay) but it might be right up Gretel’s alley. Beautiful, practical, and lethal...yes, it might be just what she needed.
“I ‘spect that you had pig-stickers like these where you were from,” Sawyer said, laying the item down on the counter if she wanted to look at it. “I won’t insult you by asking if you know how to use it.”
“Pig-stickers.” Gretel parroted back the term in mild amusement. That definitely wasn't one she’d heard before, especially not something attached in description to craftsmanship like that. A dagger like this would've been a personal commission by aristocracy, meant to be hidden in the folds of heavy skirts, or possibly discreet pockets like those between the boned lining of her own bodice. An assassin’s weapon as much as for protection. Not exactly for battle.
She picked it up anyway in fingertips exposed from leather worn too hard over the last four winters. Though it obviously it had age, the blade was untouched by a stone, and there were no wear-marks for an owner’s grip, like every single one of her weapons had, including the oak and iron crossbow on her back.
“Doesn't look like it’s seen much use,” she commented idly, spinning it once in her fingers to check the balance. “Pretty- but too delicate.” She set it down and leaned comfortably on the counter, meeting Sawyer’s eyes with the first notable half-smile of the encounter. “A lot like this ‘modern age’. What else you got?”
“Hmm,” Sawyer mused, tapping a finger to his chin in thought. Obviously Gretel knew her way around armory, or whatever they called where they kept their stash in ancient Middle Earth. “Obviously what we have here is a lady of discerning taste. Let’s see what else I have around here.”
Sawyer, remembering what he had been doing in the first place before Gretel had stepped into the shop, pulled out the box of throwing stars. They were a flashy piece that would probably only be practical to someone who knew how to wield them.
“These here are shuriken,” Sawyer said, opening the box and motioning for Gretel to come in closer to look. “I only know they’re called that because they told me, I just call them throwing stars. The kind of stuff your mother warned you never to buy, so you know they’re fun. They’re a bit more worn...they've been used but not extensively.”
Sawyer picked one up, more mindful of how Gretel’s boobs looked in their corset than of the sharp edges of the weapon and accidentally sliced his his finger, causing him to drop the star back into its box. Sawyer jabbed the injured finger into his mouth, feeling the pain ebb away quick enough, though his pride was a bit more wounded. He sucked away the blood but the cut still seeped sluggishly. He glared at the offending implement.
“Obviously, they are really goddamn sharp,” Sawyer said ruefully, wiping the blood from his finger on his jeans. “Apparently I am not man enough to wield them but you might be. Give them a look-see.”
“Perhaps if you were more aware of your fingers than my neckline,” Gretel smirked mildly- by her tone it was clear no offense was taken. She was, for lack of a better description, used to it. In the meantime, she carefully plucked the star he’d dropped up from it’s felt-lined box, and held it up to the light for a better examination.
“Where I come from, throwing weapons are a lot heavier. These would definitely be a good deterrent, but I don’t see how they could do a lot of damage.”
Shruiken, he’d said… the word was a candidate for the most unfamiliar term she’d heard since being brought here. The only context she could possibly place on it would be the obvious stealth advantages of these things. Another assassin’s weapon, maybe. Her eyes moved from the well-crafted silver edge to Sawyer’s blue-green gaze right behind it. Gretel’s crooked grin flashed a hint of straight teeth.
“Let’s try it,” she said, then without waiting, turned the star in her fingers for a better grip, and flung it hard into a beam ten feet to their right. It stuck home, the razored branch buried deeper in the wood than she expected.
“Well, damn girlfriend,” Sawyer said with a low whistle. He was impressed but not surprised at her ability to chuck a throwing star, perhaps even without doing it before. This girl had a toughness about her, someone who had been around the block a few times but not in the sexy way. She might be a good person to stay on the right side of. Giving her a good deal on something she wanted might push her into feeling favorable toward him at an opportune moment somewhere down the line.
“You’re a right hand with those things,” he said, walking over to where the weapon was buried deep in the beam. “...and here I thought your cleavage was impressive. Doesn't hold a candle to your throwing skills. I can only imagine the damage you’d do with an edged weapon.”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a bandanna, and wrapped it around the sharp exposed edge. With a hard yank, he dislodged the shruiken from the splintered wood and placed it back into the box, managing not to mangle his hand again with his carelessness.
“We’ll call that those little guys a maybe,” Sawyer said, getting the feeling she wasn't completely sold on the throwing stars. Hell, he didn't have a lot of experience as a shop boy but he had peddled a lot of crap in his day. He could sell a ketchup-flavored Popsicle to a lady wearing white gloves and she’d come back begging for more. He had just the thing in mind for this little lady...but she’d have to have something special for him in return.
Holding up one finger indicating to wait for him, Sawyer went to the back to look around. After a few minutes of fighting with Dirty Randy, giving him a noogie, and tussling a bit, Sawyer got the key to the good stuff and brought out a genuine crossbow for Miss Fancy Corset to check out.
“Get a load of this sucker, baby girl. I think this is right up your alley.”
The crossbow was worn and not in optimum condition. But it did work. He and Dirty Randy had shot the arrows through a couple of watermelons, beer cans, and a very sad houseplant during lunch the other day with it and the weapon was still impressive despite being previously owned. It was of a modern design and came with carbon arrow shafts and heads. Sawyer thought about purchasing it himself but he didn't have the coin and was more comfortable with a gun than a trumped up bow and arrow. Wrapped in a tacky camouflage tape, it wasn't a pretty weapon, but it was reliable.
She watched him stalk toward the back of the store, noting the thread of pride or excitement in his voice that even reached his eyes. Gretel guessed it wasn't just the joy of a happy customer, or even pleasing or impressing a woman he wanted to bed (she didn't put it past anyone until they proved otherwise). He had the swagger of a salesman- a good one, perhaps, but that cologne was unmistakable.
It was also harmless, considering she was no stranger to the game, either. Honestly, she rather enjoyed the easy back and forth. Took her mind off other things- and so did the piece of weaponry he came back with.
She looked at it, then at him, the corner of her mouth that’d been tugged into a patient smirk cut into her cheek with a full-fledged grin. But it wasn't the kind she guess he wanted.
“May I?” she asked courteously, her hands held out to accept the crossbow- which was roughly two-thirds the size of the one currently strapped across her back.
“Be my guest,” Sawyer said, placing the weapon within her grasp. “Can’t say it’s going to be as mighty as what you’re already sportin’, but that’s as good as it gets here. It packs a pretty good wallop on watermelons...let’s see what else she can do. But let’s go out back...shooting off deadly weapons in the store is generally frowned upon. If anyone asks, the throwing stars didn't count. ”
He gestured her to follow him out front of the shop and around the corner to the alley behind the store. Rats scattered at his and Gretel’s approach but Sawyer paid them little mind. A few rodents were the least of the town’s problems and, besides, they were only doing what rats do. He left them be and rummaged around in a nearby trash can. He came up triumphant with three beer cans, which he placed on the opposite end of the alleyway on top of some overturned wooden boxes.
He walked back past where Gretel was standing and to a safe distance where he was certain she couldn't accidentally make a shishkabob of him. He crossed his arms in front of his broad chest, tapping his fingers on his bicep.
“I’m anxious to see what you’re working with, milady,” Sawyer said, calling to her. “I’m practically breathless with anticipation.”
“Breathless, are you,” Gretel parroted back without looking his way, for now. Her attention was fixed on the piece of weapon work he was so smoothly trying to sell her. It wasn't a scam- the crossbow looked solid enough, and she didn't think it wouldn't work, or that it would fall apart in her hands, but she still wanted to see what the big deal was. She had the same opinion about the flimsy clothing and disposable everything that seemed so common in this ‘modern’ time. “I didn't even have to try very hard.”
Gretel loaded a thin, nearly weightless bolt under the knock string and clicked it in place. With her eyes on the pieces of rubbish set up to be sacrificed, she lifted the bow to eye level, the way she’d done with her own a million times before. A twang of string sent the arrow into the can and through the other side, taking it completely off the box to fall off the other side. She made an impressed look, pressing her lips together with a nod.
“Shoots straight enough. I’m just worried it doesn't pack enough punch. Here-” Gretel unshouldered her personal Beast of a crossbow with one hand while strapping the modern one on and out of the way with the other. The one she offered- quite the tell about how appreciative she was of his personal effort, if with a little show-off attitude- was three times as heavy- mostly because of the hinged dual-head that could swing out at the pull of the second trigger, to shoot two arrows at once at ninety degree angles. “Try mine.”
The bolts were made of a mix of iron and silver, heavy and solid and one-whole piece. The string was cabled leather with a copper core.
“Oof,” Sawyer said with a groan, accepting her personal crossbow. This sucker was durable, deadly, and heavy as shit. Sawyer shouldered the burden as best he could, but being unused to such heavy machinery, and to crossbows in general, he wagered he didn't look quite as effortlessly bad ass as Gretel did.
“Can’t believe you don’t look like a linebacker after lugging this monster around all day long,” Sawyer said, not without admiration. He positioned the weapon and lined up the cross-hairs on the can on the opposite end of the alley. His aim was true even though his skill was not exactly inclined toward medieval weaponry. The arrow’s trajectory was not as accurate as Gretel's but even so, Sawyer managed to nick the top of the beer can, toppling it off the box and burying itself in the wooden fence behind.
“Check me out!” Sawyer said proudly, pumping his fist in victory. Even though he was nowhere near as good as Gretel, it wasn't bad for a first timer, though he was a bit biased toward himself. “That could knock a damn dinosaur off its ass in one try, if you’re as good a shot with moving target as you are with beer cans.”
Sawyer had gone hunting with his uncle as a child, before he got on the wrong side of the law. They mostly used rifles, shotguns occasionally, and Sawyer was a dab hand with those. Hell, he had taken out a charging polar bear with nothing but a tiny hand gun on The Island. But guns were blunt instruments compared to the precision needed to kill a living, breathing baddie effectively with a crossbow. Any idiot could kill with a gun. It took the sure hand of a damn surgeon to take something out that could run away from you.
“Not bad,” Gretel remarked with a pleasant nod and the tone to go with it. Her bow wasn't exactly user-friendly for those not used to it- the fact that he actually hit the small target was worthy of praise. He even held the thing right, which she could tell by the flexed lines of arm muscles from wrists to shoulders. Even under his shirt.
“The things this Beast was designed for are always moving- usually away. Sometimes charging, and in packs,” she added, siding up to Sawyer with a few easy steps, her fingers lifted to a latch barely a breath away from where his rested on the trigger. It reduced the pace between them to a bare minimum- enough for her to catch the hint of the hotel’s strange but not unpleasant scented soap. “That’s what this is for--”
She tripped the secondary trigger, releasing tension in the steel works inside the stock that swung both bows in opposite directions, dry-firing toward the sides of the alley.
“Also,” she quirked a curious brow at his profile. “What’s a linebacker. And a dinosaur…”
She was all up in his business, which Sawyer was not opposed to in the least. Sure, it was only to show off her what her fancy-pants crossbow could do, but Sawyer didn't sweat the particulars. He wasn't paying the strictest attention to the weapon he was wielding when she approached him, so when she released the mechanism, causing the ends to shoot out unexpectedly, Sawyer almost dropped the damn thing altogether.
“You better take this back,” Sawyer said, handing the crossbow off to its owner. He pointed to the one he’d let her try out. “I’ll take my dainty little weapon back, thank you. Might not take out packs of charging whatever-they-are’s, but at least I can hold it without feeling like my arm is going to fall off.”
He wondered what you’d need to take out with the “Beast” as she called it. Looks like Gretel was far more prepared for what howled at night in the woods behind Marrowood than most...certainly more than himself. She might prove to be a helpful ally, if he played his cards right. She’d make an excellent bodyguard. He’d be the Whitney Houston to her Kevin Costner any day of the week.
“A linebacker is a position on the football field,” Sawyer mansplained, glad to be able to speak someone intelligently on something masculine while she showed him up at shooting stuff. “Uh...how can I put this so you’ll understand? Big, burly man tackle each other for sport. I’m not saying you’re big or burly, but I would bet dollars to donuts you could take down a 300 pound bruiser without so much as breaking a sweat.”
Dinosaurs, on the other hand, might be a bit more difficult to describe.
“I guarantee that if you see a dinosaur terrorizing the streets of Marrowood, you’ll know exactly what it is,” Sawyer said unhelpfully. No need to get into things they weren't likely to encounter. Though, in this place, you never did know.
“You, are you going to let this fine killing contraption slip through your fingers? I’ll make you a hell of a deal. Unless, you have something else in mind you’d like to try out?”
After taking back Beast in exchange for the one he’d shown her, Gretel reset the hinged arms, listening to him explain while on the way to the other side of the alley to retrieve the metal bolt. She had a decent supply, but never did they miss an opportunity to collect spent ammo if it was at all possible. Sometimes she and Hansel had even sifted through pyre ashes and bones the day after a burning.
“I’m pretty sure my brother would kill me if something happened to this crossbow,” she drolled mildly, working the metal arrow out of the wood where it buried itself. Her hair slid over her shoulder with the effort; a long, loose braid that reached her waist and was more annoying than she’d ever admit, especially in the summer. “To be perfectly honest, I came by to check the place out-” The arrow freed, she tucked it beside a row of others tucked into the crossbow’s own strap, then grabbed the can she’d skewered with the smaller weapon and liberated that arrow before heading back.
“Seems to be the only place in town that sells anything useful.” By that, of course, she meant supplies for an arsenal. “My brother makes and repairs weapons,” she added, placing the small bolt in Sawyer’s hand. “We both know how to use them- there isn't much use for witch-hunters in this place until the shit hits the fan… and we’re running out of money.”
“Glad I could be of service, ‘mam,” Sawyer said, accepting the arrow with a gentlemanly bow. The gesture was more ironic than sincere but he thought it appropriate anyhow. At the mention of repairing and making weapons, Sawyer’ found his interest in the subject piqued. Such a business venture could either be really good or really crappy for their profitability at the pawn shop. Maybe if he stayed on the good side of the Wonder Twins, they could be beneficial to him.
“Tell you what,” Sawyer said, inspecting the arrow for damage even though he knew it to be fine. He wanted to look casual and nonchalant when he made his suggestion, as to not tip his hand at how potentially good it would be to go into business with Gretel and her brother. “You could make a pretty penny making and repairing weapons in this town. I’m not saying witch hunting isn't lucrative...but that shit ain't lucrative.”
He kept forgetting, or more likely, not caring about their vast disparity in timelines. He should probably worry about offending her with his language but it was obvious that no matter what time she was from, Gretel was no shrinking violet.
“If I were to, say...give you a discount on needed supplies from the shop. You know, gadgets and gizmos needed to make and repair these scary weapons of yours. Maybe we could share the profits? I have the space for selling and the know how to make a profit. That eliminates the need for you to pay rent at a shop somewhere or waste your precious time trying to them. You make the product, I do the selling, and you have all that extra time to go off killing all the witches you could hope for. What do you say?”
Sawyer waggled his eyebrows, as if that would sweeten the deal. It was not perhaps his most eloquent pitch but then again he doubted pretty words would get him anywhere with Gretel in the first place.
It wasn't a bad deal. Actually, it sounded somewhat perfect, besides the fact that they would still need a building with a forge or at least a good strong stone oven to be of any use, and she doubted this ‘pawn shop’ had one- that didn't mean it couldn't be useful in all the other areas Sawyer so smoothly mentioned. Still, Gretel listened with an air of impunity, a little note of being impressed on her features that wasn't completely intentional. When he’d finished his pitch, her lips pursed thoughtfully, smiled, and gave him a sage nod.
“Sounds like a good arrangement,” she commented genuinely. “Tell you what-” That was a play on the phrase he’d used. “I’ll bring Hansel in, let him see what you have to work with, and if he likes what he sees, we’ll hammer out the details.”
Sawyer didn't know this Hansel from any other Tim, Dick, or Harry, but if he was cool with this situation, it could make life here in Marrowood a bit better for good old Sawyer. Being the opportunist that he was, he meant to make his stay here as lucrative, enjoyable and safe as possible and it seemed he might have found his ticket with Mary Kate here. He’d just have to wait and see if Ashley was on board.
“I think that sounds like a fine idea,” Sawyer agreeably, feeling a lot better at missing out on this sale now that a better opportunity loomed on the horizon. “You talk to your bro and get back to me when you have an answer. In the meanwhile, I’ll make sure to set aside any utilitarian corsets that come into the shop aside for your perusal. Couldn't hurt to sweeten the deal a bit, am I right?”
Sawyer leaned the crossbow against his leg and held out the hand that was not in possession of an arrow for her to shake. He was unsure how they said goodbye back in the Old Country, or wherever Gretel was from, but clasping hands was as fine a salutation as it was a farewell in Jasper, Alabama. It would do here in Marrowood.
“It was a pleasure,” Sawyer said, hand extended. “Even if you only did a little more than window shop, I won’t hold it against ya. Bring your broski next time you want to come around and shoot some tin cans. In the meanwhile, I am much obliged at your patronage.”
The hand offered was just as customary to Gretel as it was to him; she smiled and nodded, clasping Sawyer’s wrist with a good shake to properly seal the deal. Besides the word ‘broski’, which she could glean meaning enough from context, the rest of it settled into perfect sense.
Even the bit about utilitarian corsets. She didn't comment on it; teasing remarks about him wanting to get under her’s to help with a perfect fit could wait.
“‘Til next time, Princess,” she quipped with a dimpled smile. “It was fun.”