Rusty's Custom Firearms and Cutlery

[Laguz Vald]

Xe liked people who didn't waste time. It brought the fabled "pick two" to mind, where the options were cheap, fast, and good.

Many in her business foolishly went down the fast and cheap road, but Laguz knew better. What was a thousand credits more if it meant you could live another day? It was a stupid way of thinking, really, to pick lower cost over quality, but in the end, the shapeshifter didn't really care beyond the occasional scathing remark or underhanded dig. Less competition for contracts; what more could a mercenary wish for?

In any case, the comission was done, and the sniper would hate to leave the good inventor waiting. With a hefty credit chit carefully concealed not only beneath her casual clothing, but beneath her very skin, the shapeshifter pushed those blast doors open again and beelined straight for the counter, lest the enticing weapons put on display charm a few more credits out of her pocket.

Not that she couldn't afford it — a century or so of prolific illicit activity had yielded her an enviable sum spread across various banks throughout the Galaxy — but she had a policy of going in light no matter the mission.

But dear kark, did they ever look gorgeous.

She tore her gaze from one of the smaller exhibits and faced the grim features of the man with no name. Hopefully, she'd never have to learn it. The less you knew to spill, the better.

"Stress-tested and all?" she addressed him as her gaze left his impassive expression to look over the final product laid out on the counter. Judging by the craftsmanship and looks alone, she was in for a treat, but one could never be too trusting when it came to these things. Her green eyes narrowed somewhat as the decidedly fake redhead leaned forward to inspect the armorweave plates up close.

"What kind did you use for these?" Laguz asked without looking up as she ran her fingers along the material, comparing it mentally to the one safely tucked away in one of her caches. It certainly was no Asheran armorweave, that was for sure.


[member="Rusty"]

 

[Rusty]

"It's been stress tested to [bleep] and back," Rusty said.

He pulled a panel out from behind the counter, one that had been used for testing purposes. It looked like it had been in a warzone, but when he flipped it over, there was mild heat distortion on the back, nothing more.

"I don't have access to the really high grade armorweave. This stuff is good, well exceeds your original request, but there is better out there. If you can get ahold of some, bring it in and I'll make you a new set of panels. As it stands, each one is made out of several layers of armorweave, stacked tightly against one another. So long as you don't get drilled in the same spot over and over, you should be alright against small arms blasterfire. It'll stop slugs too, though it's going to hurt like Vader's bum on the scenic shores of Mustafar. Better than getting shot though."

He slid across a datapad that would double as the instruction manual. A holoprojector sprang to life, demonstrating the construction of the armor, the bodysuit by itself, instructions for care and maintenance, and how to work the datapad. It also had the minimum and maximum limits for stretch.

"The bodysuit itself won't offer much protection, but in the event of an emergency, you can ditch the armor and use it to blend in with the crowd."

The Shard gave the customer an appraising look. Nothing lewd, mind, the Shard didn't know how. This was simply an appraisal.

"I reckon you'll do find blending in with a crowd in a club or something. Just remember that the larger you are, the more transparent the elastex panels become."

That was the first time he had indirectly mentioned shapeshifting. Rusty was curious to know the species, as that would help him perfect the armor in future versions, but he knew better than to ask. That was a good way to get killed, and he doubted he could tangle with a really talented shapeshifter in close quarters without at least wrecking the shop.

[member="Laguz Vald"]

 

[Laguz Vald]

Her eyebrows raised as she let out a small snort, looking up at the odd man on the other side of the counter. The sound he'd made was entirely electronic, and combined with his silver eyes and metal complexion, Laguz was free to conclude that she was, indeed, dealing with a droid. Curious.

She managed to keep her realization well off her face, straightening her back instead and resuming their conversation with nearly imperceptible a pause.

"Appreciate it," she stated simply as she turned the testing plate in her hands, trying to imagine what that would feel like against her body. Not too good, but she had no intention of getting shot in the same spot more than once.

"I don't have it on me right now, but I can get you some top notch material in a week or so," Laguz nodded absently and made a note to pick up her payment from the services rendered to one Alric Kuhn. The mercenary ran a tight schedule these days, but a short stop in wild space would be manageable.

Her smile faltered only slightly at the subtle implication woven into his words, but the shifter recovered fairly quickly by flashing him a wide grin instead. "Are you saying I look fat in this dress?" she inquired with a quirked eyebrow. Ah, redirection, my old friend.

Of course she couldn't trust the man — Droid. Whatever. — but she rarely paid a job well done with a bullet between the eyes unless it was absolutely unavoidable. Preliminary judgement said that the armor was a fine peice of work, and staying on civil terms with creative murderers was in Laguz's best interest. If he knew what she was, he also knew better than to attack her.

She picked up the datapad with instructions in order to commit them to memory on her flight back to Bastion, leaning back onto the counter to conceal the small movement of her fingers as she slowly fished out the credit chit.

"How much?"


[member="Rusty"]

 

[Rusty]

Rusty handed over a flimsi with the invoice. The grand total was 10,200 credits.

"If you do bring in new materials, I'll just charge you the labor to get everything made. Just pop on by when you're ready."

There was that hint of a threat in that. Do you think I look fat was, as near as he could tell, humanoid female speak for answer this wrong and pay the price. It was something he had occasionally witnessed before, and even from a distance, it had been unpleasant. He'd back the Captain to the hilt in a fight, but occasionally he did feel bad for her lovers.

Coming from a shapeshifting most likely assassin, the message was clear: back off.

"I meant no disrespect, ma'am," he said, bowing slightly. "Just pointing out that a lovely woman such as yourself may want to consider something supportive underneath."

He was careful not to actually point to her chest. Frankly, the Shard hadn't the faintest idea where it fell on the humanoid scale of big versus small; he had about as much use for breasts as he did for an oxygen mask. Hopefully, she'd pick up on what he was trying to say without taking offense. He was merely a craftsman trying to advise the customer on the best use of the the equipment, not an experienced assassin warning a shapeshifter that the wrong form would get her arrested for indecent exposure.

[member="Laguz Vald"]

 

[GhostOfProtocol]

He had no real like for this place. He'd found it on some computers a couple of months ago and figured it was time to pay a visit. He was a wanted man, or would end up as a wanted man if what he was planning on doing worked. The One Sith would hate The Hutts, The Hutts would hate him and he would be sat back hidden.

Why was he here though, a store out the way owned by a Rusty. It was because he wanted, well needed two things. He needed all One Sith and Assassin details removed from his assassin armour and hidden blade. He also needed a weapon. A special weapon small enough to hide in a pocket but deadly enough to kill a few people and cause an uproar. Terrorism on Courcasant which he could pin on the Cartel, who would instantly either assume him or [member="Lady Kay"].

He used the force to push the door open, afraid of catching something from someone who'd touched that door. Turns out that hadn't died when he'd decided to walk out on the One Sith. He wasn't against being a Sith, he was still more Sith than Jedi. What he was against was the way the One Sith did what they did.

He might as well be classed as Gray Jedi in that retrospect.

Why would he pin it on the Hutt Cartel though. Simple, they'd never offered him anything. He'd done heaps of work for them, he'd tried to track down Lady Kay and still he got nothing for it. When it come down to it he'd offer her a full apology and a seat in the council of the Dark Jedi if it ever actually become a thing.

He stepped inside the stop, strolling lightly up to the desk. "You must be Rusty" he asked to the clerk, eyes flicking up to the sign, hardly noticeable under his hood. "I have a few... tasks for you. You shall be paid most handsomely my friend. Not in credits, no. In weapons that you could only dream of. You will have the ability to form Lightsabers my friend " he muttered, the dark hint still in his voice.

Slowly he reached behind him, crossing his arms under his cloak.

"You accept the tasks?"

[member="Rusty"]

 

[Laguz Vald]

Green eyes flickered from the angular planes of his face for a moment to apprise their owner of the sum. Said owner gave a small nod both to herself and the craftsman, and then promptly placed the credit chit on the counter as she straightened her back once more.

"Clean as a whistle," she remarked as she set down the thin chip, allowing herself a small smile. "Untraceable, too. If this armor pans out, you can expect to see more of me in the future," Laguz added with a playful tone to her voice as she gave his tall bulk an unashamed once-over. Could droids even understand suggestions of such nature?

The merc dismissed the thought with a minute shake of her head, but made a note to ask Kiran about it later. She suspected it had something to do with modules that one choose to install in the model, but she'd never been one for tinkering with that side of technology. Guns were all fine and well, but when it came to things that were supposed to operate with some degree of autonomy, Laguz was dead in the water.

"Forget it," she waved her hand with an easy chuckle and pushed away from the counter as she produced a matte gray suitcase to pack up the armor.

"See you around, Heavy Metal," she shot him a sideways grin as she clicked the valise closed, and then the shifter was gone.


[member="Rusty"]

 

[Rusty]

[member="Jardo Snow"]
[member="Laguz Vald"]

"Take care, ma'am," the Shard said as the shapeshifter left the shop. He hoped she would be back.

Meanwhile, he turned his attention to the new customer.

Rusty would have cocked an eyebrow quizzically, if only he had an eyebrow.

"Sorry friend. I'm happy to do custom work, but I can't take trade for it. If you see something on the shelves that suits you fancy and want to trade, we can work something out."

There were, after all, a variety of weapons of all shapes and sizes and various grades of legality. Blasters, slugthrowers, disruptors, even a charric or two could all be found on the racks and in the display cases. They were all decent, quality pieces. The Shard wouldn't stoop to selling junk. It was common practice for gun stores to take trade for full or partial value of a weapon for something used, but not a whole lot made the cut.

Custom work was almost always cash only. Since there was no way of knowing exactly how long or what materials would go into a piece, and there was no guarantee that the trade item would equal the value, it was a pointless exercise that, 9 times out of 10, came back to bite the gunsmith on the [bleep].

And besides, the implication that this fellow could turn up with something that Rusty hadn't seen a thousand times over the centuries was more than a little insulting. When he set his mind to it, he could make weapons that could turn the tides of wars, and in fact, had. It wasn't likely that some outsider who hadn't the faintest idea about how business was conducted could find something that could match that.

 

[Laguz Vald]

[member="Rusty"]


True to xir word, a week later saw Laguz Vald crossing that reinforced-turadium threshold once more, a quetarra case on her back and a suitcase in her hand. A passing glance had nothing out of the ordinary to latch on — which was, of course, the shifter's goal — and though her figure boasted some pleasant curves, the clothes she was currently wearing made nothing to exaggerate her manufactured assets. All in all, the merc was just another face in the crowd of Dressel; just the way she liked it.

"Morning," she greeted the man behind the counter, who might as well have been a permanent fixture there. If she didn't know better, she could easily mistake him for one of the products in the shop.

With little ado and even less pleasantries, the sniper deposited the suitcase onto that same counter and flicked it open to reveal neatly folded sheets of Asheran armorweave winking up at the droid beneath the hood. Leaving the craftsman to examine the contents of the valise, Laguz set down the case as well and made short work of the seemingly simple lock. With dexterity that was nearly impossible for virutally any other species, the shifter slid her fingers below the false bottom and lifted it up along with the functioning prop quetarra resting on top of it.

Below lay a whole another story.

Her face lit up in childish glee as she lifted the compact rifle with a great degree of reverence, turning it around in her hands to see if it had suffered any damage during the journey before she placed it beside the armorweave.

"That's the high-grade material, as promised," she started and nodded towards the contents of the suitcase, "and this here is another project I'd like you to look into."

Pushing the first exhibit slightly to the side, the assassin reached forward and disassembled the sniper rifle with deft, quick movements, setting its components down again after perhaps a dozen seconds or so.

"Verpine shattergun design, light and compact. Virtually soundless. The only thing I really need to kick up a notch is the stopping power, and potentially the muzzle velocity. I have an idea for the the first, the second one, though… not so much."

She picked up the barrel of her rifle again and offered it to the man with a wink. "Beskar," was all she said at first, letting the word and all its implications settle in good and proper. "Now, before you stop me; yes, I can get my hands of some of that. The bigger problem would be working the metal, but I might have a solution for that as well."

"That is, if you don't mind getting your hands a little dirty… or was that rusty?"

 

[Rusty]

The armorweave was way better than anything he had every worked with. Rusty was sure it would easily outperform his original armor paneling.

The idea of working with beskar was intriguing, but the Shard had a feeling that the assassin (there was no doubt now, that wasn't a common merc's rifle) was better off not discussing such things where the general public might interfere. It was a slow day at the shop, and no one else was in there, so he didn't feel bad about closing the front door and switching off the "Open" sign.

"Come on back," he said with a jaunty wave. "We can talk about it while the fabber makes the panels."

Once in the workshop, the Shard fed the material into the fabrication machine. It confirmed that it could, in fact, replicated the panels with the new material, although it would take a little longer.

"We'll get to the beskar in a second, but first things first: any chance you've got the bodysuit with you? I can make a new one if I have to, but the original would be better. We just have to fit the new panels on when they come out."

[member="Laguz Vald"]

 

[Laguz Vald]

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he finally moved from behind that counter of his and crossed the shop with a few long strides, her hand inching imperceptibly closer to the holster of her sidearm when those massive blast doors closed with a definitive thud. The guy had proven to be trustworthy so far — or at least as trustworthy as people in her line of business could get — but it never hurt to be too careful. When you owed allegiance to nothing but credits, loyalty was merely the thickest credit chit. On the other hand, most craftsmen didn't make it a habit of alienating well-paying customers.

Laguz's eyes narrowed for a moment, but then she decided that the man couldn't possibly know enough about her to have reason or means to sell her out, and promptly picked up her belongings to follow him into the back.

"Figured you'd ask," she nodded and pulled the neatly folded suit from the case, handing it to the towering automaton. With that, the merc leaned back on a desk and crossed her legs at the ankles as she met the silver gaze of the photoreceptors cast in a low shadow by the hood drawn over his metal face.

"Now," the sniper began again, raising her voice ever so slightly over the chugging of the fabber. "The beskar itself won't be a problem. The issue with that stuff is forging it, right? I know a guy who can. Thing is, he might need some... convincing to spill his guts."

"Figuratively, of course."


[member="Rusty"]

 

[Rusty]

"Hah!"

Rusty couldn't help but laugh at the last part.

"Every Mando smith I've ever met would need to have his guts spilled literally if you planned to get the time of day out of him, much less ancient metallurgical secrets."

The Shard carefully slipped the bodysuit onto an expandable mannequin, then adjusted it for minimum tension. The fabber had started popping out anchor panels, this time with the magnet system already installed, so Rusty began hooking them up to the bodysuit. It didn't take nearly as long this time, since he already knew exactly where each one was supposed to go, down to the millimeter.

While he worked, he talked.

"Now, I don't have any problem with a bit of enhanced interrogation, but just waterboarding the guy probably won't do the trick. How far do you want to go with this?"

There. First panel was attached. He turned back to the customer.

"You don't exactly strike me as the sort to balk from getting blood on their hands, but this is more than that. We might learn to make beskar, but we're almost certainly going to make enemies in the process."

[member="Laguz Vald"]

 

[Laguz Vald]

Laguz smiled.

For someone who was capable of making weapons of mass destruction, the droid was almost adorably ignorant when it came to intricacies of speech and inflection. Still, in its own way, the merc could find a measure of solace in that simplicity; it meant she wouldn't have to watch her every word, her tone, her timbre, for gods' sake, and that would be a small blessing indeed. When the sniper wasn't putting hyper-accelerated pieces of metal into people's brain stems, xe could often be found working a variety of different jobs across the board, a number of which required exactly that: careful watch over each syllable that left her mouth.

It was a karking relief to leave it at the door for once.

"Mm. A valid concern to be sure, but…" she let the word hang in the air for a few moments, "I find myself in the privileged position of having access to a smith that, how should I put it… won't be missed."

The merc leaned slightly forward, her lips curling into a dry smile.

"The guy is KIA already, as far as his people are considered."

It was one of the many prisoners the Primeval had thrown into the dungeons of Bastion following the battle of Wayland, and while he wasn't the only one who was confirmed to be a beskarsmith, he was the one in the best physical condition when she'd last seen him. Between the two of them, they could easily play some bad cop, metal cop; the droid was inventive as far as technology went, and Laguz had a solid two centuries of experience to draw from.

"Enemies shouldn't be a problem."


[member="Rusty"]

 

[Rusty]

"Word," Rusty said as he fixed the next panel in place.

That was a relief. He didn't mind shooting bucketheads. So long as the pay was good, it could actually be quite fun. That didn't mean he wanted to spend the next decade looking over his shoulder, not when it meant putting the Captain at risk. He could wait a few decades if it came down to it.

But one that was, for all practical intents and purposes, dead to the Mandalorian people, on the other hand...

This could be fun. Rusty was used to killing Sith, but they had to be pretty heavily drugged to keep them from accessing the Force. That sorta took the fun out of running a catheter under their skin and inflating it. The separation of muscle and skin by through air pressure alone was fascinating to watch, but it just wasn't as much fun when they couldn't really feel it.

As it turns out, thoughts of torture and conversation made the work go much more quickly. They were only a few minutes in, and the chest was already finished. The back would be next.

"Won't be missed, won't be avenged, won't talk without a considerable amount of persuasion. I like it. Is it my birthday or something? After 900 years or so, one tends to loose track."

[member="Laguz Vald"]

 

[Laguz Vald]

The merc gave herself a mental pat on the back for choosing so well, and for reserving a spot — read: two weeks — of alone time with that particular mandalorian on her last trip to Bastion. Call it instinct, or maybe years and years of experience culminating in the ability to predict how a deal would go with a great degree of accuracy — which, at that point, was basically the same thing anyway — but this whole thing was looking up by the minute.

She liked it.

And then she nearly snorted out loud at the nonchalant admission of age, biting on her cheek as she stared at him with some incredulty. Droids could survive for a while with good upkeep and replacement parts, but even she knew that a millennium was a bit far reaching.

"Yeah, sure does," the merc chuckled and shook her head, forcing her eyebrows back from their trip to the edge of her scalp.

"Now, considering you're down… what would you need for this? I figure you don't chit where you sleep, and this place is too open anyway. I'd suggest the Bastion dungeon, really. No issues with transport, and a crapton of tools is already there."


[member="Rusty"]

 

[Rusty]

No one had a poker face like a droid without a face, which was a good thing. Rusty thought the assassin's befuddlement at his claimed age was kinda funny. He couldn't crack a smile though, and he didn't trust her enough to mention the Shard word.

"I have a couple of my own I want to bring to try out."

He went over to a workbench and picked up a cauterizing garrote. The electrified wire weapon was designed to slit throats cleanly, but the Shard suspected it would have other utilities as well.

"Check this out."

He wrapped the wire around a spare wooden dowel, made sure the grips were anchored, hit the button and gave it a slight tug. The wire cut cleanly through the wood with a puff of smoke.

"I've not had a chance to test it on a live target yet. I figure this is as good a chance as any. Want one?"

Rusty picked up his other working model, still coiled up, and tossed it over.

[member="Laguz Vald"]

 

[Laguz Vald]

Of course you would.

Laguz grinned and resolved to clear up the whole 900-years-old matter at some other time. Maybe after they'd bonded appropriately over murder and torture; that kind of thing always seemed to bring their ilk together.

She pushed off the counter she'd been leaning on and followed the droid deeper into the shop to see what other gadgets he'd crafted. She'd tested out the shifting armor a few days back when borrowing a certain set of jewels on Alderaan, and the thing had worked exactly as advertised. It was one of a kind — far as Laguz knew, and Laguz knew a lot of things — or at least the only one that worked well enough to be useful in the field. The droid wasn't the first one she'd approached with the issue, but he was the first one to be successful. That feat alone was impressive enough to make her practically ecstatic to view more of his handiwork.

"Damn," the merc whistled appreciatively as the wood clattered to the floor.

"Do I ever!"

The woman laughed and caught the garrote easily, turning it around in her grasp, nodding to herself still. "Sweet. How's it work?" she inquired without looking up, still inspecting the weapon with a careful eye. Melee wasn't her area of expertise, but it never hurt to be on top of the latest advances in the field, especially when they were as smooth and clean as this one.

"But yeah, I've got a ship, transport shouldn't be an issue."

"I mean, you can fly your own, if you wanna, but I can't guarantee they won't ask you questions in the Bastion port."

And you didn't want to be asked questions with a cargo hold full of torture devices. Ahem. Enhanced interrogation paraphernalia, pardon.


[member="Rusty"]

 

[Rusty]

"Semi-conductive, high tensile strength wire. There are batteries in the grips. Run a current through the wire, it heats up. Useful for stealth garroting, when blood spatter might give you away. Gotta watch out for the glow, and it's important to make sure the batteries are charged before you head out. Otherwise, I'm [bleep]ed proud of it."

There was something special about the child-like glee of an assassin with a new toy. Honestly, if it wasn't for the fact that Rusty couldn't stand children, he'd probably make toys instead of guns. It always warmed the cockles of his cold, mechanical heart to know the customer was satisfied.

"I don't mind riding with you. I don't need food or drink as such. I am gonna want to bring Gertrude along."

He hefted the massive weapon onto the work bench in the middle of the room.

"I've got a policy of never punching Mandos without having the old girl on hand. Your pet smith might be a captive, but it never hurts to be ready, just in case."

[member="Laguz Vald"]

 

[Laguz Vald]

"Yeah, no chit. Sweet piece of tech."

Laguz turned it over in her hands once again before sighing with content and tucking it into her jacket, marveling at how discreetly it fit into one of the inner pockets. Beautiful.

"Hah. Sounds practical for stakeouts. Do you need oil or something?" The merc was only half-joking, because let's face it, Laguz didn't really know much about droids — or whatever this guy was — because her expertise lay firmly in the organic part of the Galaxy's population. She could probably pretend to look like one reasonably well, but the intricacies of their workings were lost on the shifter.

"Gertru— ooooh holy chit."

It took conscious effort from the sniper to snap her mouth closed again, because holy Netherworld, that was one big karking gun.

"Yeah, you don't say. Chit. How much does that motherkarker weigh?" Her voice was wrought with fascination as the merc joined [member="Rusty"] at the workbench, eager to inspect the weapon up close.

"And what's the recoil on this son of a blaster?"

Laguz might as well have been in love.

 

[Rusty]

"Gertrude weighs in at 32 kilograms. She's a big ole girl, but when you lob 17mm rounds at 2 kilometers a second, that's the price of doing business. She's got dampers, but recoil is enough to put a grown man in his rump. She's one of a kind."

Rusty left out the part where building amother would get his gunsmithing licenses revoked in at least 43 systems, and another twenty or so would take out a bounty. Truthfully, the Shard could get around such restrictions if he wanted to via the simple expedient of not registering the thing, but he didn't want to. Sheer unbridled terror was the correct response to such a magnificent weapon, and he was proud to say he had the only one.

Also, it was a [bleep] to build and nearly killed him several times.

One Gertrude was enough.



[member="Laguz Vald"]

 

[Laguz Vald]

"Damn. Sound slike fun."

"But! Not my kinda fun, I'm afraid. Too flashy. And big. And…" she waved her hand, shooting the droid-man a lopsided grin, "a whole host of other things."

"Now, as entertaining as this has been, we can fangirl about our weapons my ship. We're going to be riding for… quite a while."

Another smile, and then Laguz turned to check on the plates sitting neatly stacked below the fabber. Only then did the merc realize that the machine's chugging had long since quieted, and before it now lay the product of its work; carefully cut asheran armorweave, ready to be fitted onto the suit in place of the old, cheaper material.

"Mind if I stick around for the plate replacement?" She'd checked out the instructions [member="Rusty"] had provided her with upon crafting the suit in the first place, but nothing beat a practical demonstration by the master himself.

And his conversationalist skills didn't hurt either. She could enjoy his 'to-the-point' presence for a few moments longer before she left to run the few errnds she had to run.

After that, the beskarsmith.