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"Sounds like fun," he says cheerfully. "I didn't get into that much when I was younger, though. Teenage me mostly whored around and stole stuff."

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"That is also fine if he's stealing from people I don't like," says Bell serenely. "They have a lot of stuff."

Then she moves on to something she does generally ask after a long enough friendly conversation.

"I'm trying to collect any magic trinkets or neat tech that I couldn't get at home. Do you have any? I mean - you're in space - so maybe not, but I ask everyone."
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"Mm, not unless a shotgun's big news to you," he says, shaking his head.

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Bell thinks.

"I can't easily get a gun at home," she admits. "They exist but I can't casually lay hands on them. Does it need special ammo?"
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"Not special to me. Probably special to you."

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"Then that depends on what you want for it." Pause. "It would depend on that anyway, but the threshold changes if it's only got a fixed supply of ammo."

(Tony can probably cannibalize it for parts, but that's not something she has to bring up in negotiations.)
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"Tell you what," he says musingly. "Why don't you come upstairs and see what I've got?"

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"You said you've got a shotgun," says Bell. "Is there also lots of other stuff?"

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"Some guns, some knives," he says. "I don't have much use for 'em these days, I just collected them because I could."

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"Can you at least give me a ballpark of what you'll want to trade? I don't have a standard complement of resources and a number of people have things they're willing to part with but don't want anything I can give them."

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"I haven't," he says with a slow smile, "decided yet."

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"Oookay," Bell says. "Usually I dispense advice on taking over the world, but I get the impression that the object you live on is already all yours." She gets up, prepared to follow him.

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"Yep!" he says, scoots out of his booth, and leads her toward the stairs.

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Up she goes. She hopes he's not going to proposition her. That happens sometimes and it's always awkward.

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He does seem a little bit flirty, doesn't he?

Well. Only one way to find out.

When they arrive at his room, he opens the door and leads her inside.

It is a godawful mess.

There are, in fact, guns lying around; most of them are on the floor, between piles of discarded clothing. There is a sewing table shoved up against the wall, and a half-sewn dress suspended in the act of falling off it. It's very pretty, if you like red.
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Bella's room is so much tidier than this it's hard to believe both of them occupy the same dimension.

"Yep," she says. "Those look like guns."
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"Mhm," he says, and perches on the one small part of the edge of his bed not covered by an enormous tangled blanket monster (this being the only place in the entire room to sit down), and regards her thoughtfully.

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Well, if he's not going to answer her question about exchange rates yet, she'll carry on beholding scattered objects.

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"You don't scare easy," he observes. "Do ya."

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"You told me you had guns," Bell points out. "If I came up to your room and there weren't any guns I would be thrown into sudden uncertainty about your motives. Why would there being guns that you told me about that I voluntarily came to shop for scare me?"

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"Maybe I'm losing my touch."

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Bell spreads her hands. "Maybe. Have you decided what you want for 'em yet?"

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He reaches down t the floor, grabs the promised shotgun, and offers it to her grip-first.

"You can have it if you shoot me with it," he says. "In fact, you can have all of 'em. Anything you want outta this room."
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Bell takes the gun, and looks at it. (It is currently pointed at the ceiling. She has watched Peacekeepers handle guns.)

"That's weird," she says, "but if you're serious, I'll go ask Bar if that'd bother her."
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"She doesn't mind as long as everything's consensual," he says. "But suit yourself."

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