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Lars - Bullets — Description

“You want how much for a box!” Lars protested as she looked at the worn carboard box of shells, her nose twitching as she picked one of the .45 out of it and gave the bullet a skeptical inspection. “The power is probably wet and worthless.”
“You’re more than welcome to try and buy somewhere else if my merchandise isn’t up to snuff.” The shop clerk grumbled, a burly scared man who had just started to go to seed in his later years. “That is if they don’t shoot you on sight.”
Snorting, Lars met the mans flinty gaze. “At the price bullets are going for they would be out of business before they could stop me from getting through the front door. Is this all you have?”
“What I have is what you see.” The man shrugged, gesturing to the polished glass, still caked with dust that never quite seemed to leave the edges. “And you are paying for this all up front, right? No store credit.”
Lars gave another disdainful snort. “What, you don’t think I’m good for it?”
“No, I think you are likely to get yourself killed before you can pay me.” The man grinned, showing off a gap-toothed grin. “Let’s just say you have a reputation of causing trouble.”
“That little incident at Prairie wasn’t my fault!”
“Sure, and the fire that nearly burnt down what was left of the town afterwards wasn’t your doing either?”
“I didn’t start that fight!” Lars snarled, her ears folding back as her black lips pulled back to expose white teeth. “I was just there for a drink and some quite.”
“Quite? You!” The shop keep barked a laugh, waving Lars away with one hand. “Look Lars, if you want quiet, you’ve got to stop picking fights in every settlement you try and walk into. This one too, people are starting to get nervous with you around.”
“I don’t start those fights!” Lars protested, it was true, she just had a habit of finishing them. “Now are we going to do business or not?”
“Fine, it’s your scalp.” The man said producing two more boxes of shells. “Anything else I can do for your majesty?”
Ignoring the jab, Lars folded her arms over her chest and looked down at the meager selection. “Those .44s, those any good, or am I going to have a misfire every other shot?”
“Those? Eh, I’ll give em’ to you at half price if you take the lot. Fair warning, those are junk built rounds, so no telling how well they will work.”
Lars frowned, not enough, not nearly enough.
“How about those .308 boxes, those just for show?” She jabbed a finger casually at a small stack of boxes that dominated the corner of the shelf. “I’ll take all of those too.”
“You planning on carrying all this?” The shop keep gave her a quizzical look. “Bullets add up quick, and you aren’t no pack mule.”
“I’ll manage.” Lars grunted, fishing into her pouch and pulling out a roll of New California Republic bills. “How much?”
The store keep frowned as he eyed the bills, they were a second choice to caps at best, but they were still accepted well enough around the hub.
“For NCR paper, that’ll cost you extra.”
Lars’ fingers stopped folding the bills as she leered at the shop keep. “How much extra?”
“Normal exchange rate is a good fifty percent, but seeing how you are a usual customer, I’ll knock ten percent off the top.”
“Forty percent!” Lars barked, her hands crushing the bills. “That’s raider talk!”
“That’s business – now if you have caps, or, something more tangible…”
Her features locked in a wooden scowl, Lars reached into one of her side pouches and produced a several small pieces of jewelry, gold glittered in the hazy light.
“This tangible enough for you?” She growled dropping several of the pieces onto the table.
“I think this, plus that,” The shop keep said, then gestured at the fist of bills in her hand, and then down to the pile of ammunition on the counter. “Will cover that. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Lars growled.
She resisted the urge to slap the money down onto the table or drive her fist through the glass just to be spiteful, though the urge was there. This was one of the few places left that would do business with her, and she needed to stay on the man’s good side. Or as close to as she could.
Pulling a loose sack from her belt she began to load up her purchase, gave the shop keep who’s name she had never learned a jerking nod and made for the door.
“Oh, uh Lars!” The man called as she neared the door.
She hesitated, looking over her shoulder at him without speaking.
“Best keep that head of yours on a swivel, there’s a wanderer came into this morning asking around about you.”
That held Lars’ attention, visitors were never a good thing.
“Did this stranger have a name?”
“Mac.”
Lars grunted and slammed the door behind her.