Gunslinger for hire

#1The Silver NoblePosted 1/19/2012 1:00:50 PM
Inspired by the assassin topic, I decided to do one of my own. Playing an old gunslinger, new to the Mojave and looking for work. If you need a problem dealt with (preferably of the "I need someone dead" variety) then he's your man. Tell me what you want done and the job's location, and I'll handle it, writing a short little story for you.
There are a few conditions. He's a somewhat honorable man. If it's just a single person you need handled, he will always attack them from the front, with warning, with a gun. If it's a group, he'll use whatever advantage he can, with one exception- he won't kill anyone in their sleep. Also won't do anyone from the DLCs. I don't have GRA, though I don't know that it would make a difference.
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GT: TheSilverNoble
Every now and then, a man's mind is stretched by a new idea or sensation and never returns to its former dimensions. (Excuse the typos)
#2defjamz26Posted 1/19/2012 1:25:28 PM
So what are his S.P.E.C.I.A.L. stats, skills and perks im curious? And also, does he work alone?
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Not changing sig untill Somoa Joe comes to WWE. Started 1/15/12
#3The_404sPosted 1/19/2012 1:31:51 PM
You should get the Mysterious Magnum or Ranger Sequoia, a duster of some kind (I know you said you wont be doing DLCs for some reason, but the Desert Ranger Combat Armor would make a good armor for this character) and Raul in his Vaquero outfit as your companion.
#4The Silver Noble(Topic Creator)Posted 1/19/2012 2:31:10 PM
I'll post my SPECIAL stuff + perks when I get home.

I was using the Sheriff Duster for a while, but I was getting killed WAY to easily, so I switched to leather armor for now. Figure it looks the most cowboy-like among stuff that'll actually protect me. I only started the guy last night, so I'm at level five right now. Be a little while before I can get get some Ranger armor, but I intend to.

As for the Mysterious Magnum- not opposed to keeping any nice weapons I happen to come across on a job.
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GT: TheSilverNoble
Every now and then, a man's mind is stretched by a new idea or sensation and never returns to its former dimensions. (Excuse the typos)
#5The Silver Noble(Topic Creator)Posted 1/19/2012 4:16:07 PM
Alright
S- 7
P- 5
E- 7
C- 1
I- 6
A- 9
L- 6

Strength and agility being high seem natural for a gunslinger. Intelligence and Luck mainly for the gameplay benefits. But seeing how he's old, he had to be at least a little smart and a little lucky. Perks are Educated, Trigger Rapid Reload, Trigger Discipline, and Wild Wasteland.

So, any jobs?
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GT: TheSilverNoble
Every now and then, a man's mind is stretched by a new idea or sensation and never returns to its former dimensions. (Excuse the typos)
#6QuintonBeckPosted 1/19/2012 4:41:10 PM

"Well howdy there stranger. Don't suppose you'd be looking for work would ya? I gotta warn ya, it might involve gettin your hands a might bit dirty. Interested? Good.

Name's Cliff Hanshaw, I'm a caravaner from out East a ways. Got pushed into the Mojave when those damn savages pushed me and my folks outta our homestead. A'course when that happened I didn't know the damn Crimson Caravan were such a big damn deal around here and the bastards have wrung me dry for 'infringin on their territory.' Pssh, I don't see a damn NCR flag over Goodsprings or Vegas.

Anyways, I want a message to be delivered, from what I hear tell them Crimson Caravaners got strong ties over at that big ol NCR base, McCarran. I want you to take out their envoy, from what I hear he's usually outside the main gate. Stranger, if you do that for me I should be able to handle the politicin from there to leverage a fair business deal, and I can promise you a nice bag o' caps. To the ring of 500 caps?" 

#7The Silver Noble(Topic Creator)Posted 1/19/2012 8:19:16 PM
Shooter took his feet off the table and looked the man, Cliff, over. He was dressed like a merchant, carried himself like a merchant. Odds were, no on knew him out here, but Shooter still tried to size everyone up. “I think we have an arrengment, Cliff.”
Shooter poured the last of his whiskey into two glasses from his table. He stood and offered one to Cliff. The merchant took the glass, but his nose wrinkled a bit when he held it to his mouth.
“I think I’m good,” Cliff said with a half-smile. “It’s a little early for me.” He held the glass back to Shooter, but Shooter made no move to take it.
“Gonna have to insist. It’s a rule I have: I can’t trust someone who’s afraid to be drunk around me. And I have to trust the people I do business with.” He held the glass up. “Cheers.”
Shooter downed the foul, cheap whiskey that the Garrets paid him with to sit around all day in case they needed something. Keeping him “on retainer,” they called it. Cliff paused, glass away from his face, and Shooter smiled a little, imaging that the man might be praying. But Cliff drank the whole glass in one gulp, and while he didn’t look happy about it, he barely had to clear his throat afterwards.
“Meet me back here in two days,” Shooter said on the way to the door.
“Wait,” Cliff said. “What’s your name? Just in case.”
“You can call me Shooter.”
Cliff cocked his head slightly. “Is that your real name?”
Shooter shook his head. “Gets the point across, though.”
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GT: TheSilverNoble
Every now and then, a man's mind is stretched by a new idea or sensation and never returns to its former dimensions. (Excuse the typos)
#8The Silver Noble(Topic Creator)Posted 1/19/2012 8:19:32 PM
Shooter reached Camp McCarren early the next day. Sure enough, the Crimson Caravan envoy was hanging around the entrance. He had another man with him, armored and armed. A guard. Cliff hadn’t said anything about a guard, but it shouldn’t change anything. Such was the nature of his line of work.
Shooter watched him, looking for a good moment. Throughout the morning, the NCR patrols coming and going would stop and barter with the merchant. Shooter knew the NCR wouldn’t take too kindly someone shooting anyone on their doorstep, especially a friend, but he wanted to avoid an outright firefight if he could.
Eventually the patrols slacked off and there was only the envoy, his guard, and one NCR trooper guarding the front gate. Shooter began to approach. As he got closer, he could see that the NCR trooper was practically just a kid. Probably about 18 and not a month out of California. Shooter didn’t think he would be a problem.
Shooter didn’t smile or greet the merchant as he walked up. He used to try that, but it didn’t come natural to him. Always set the targets on edge, which was never good. Instead, he answered the envoy’s greeting with a slight nod and began to look over the wares hanging from the back of his Brahmin. Both the merchant and the guard watched him for a moment, but the guard turned away.
As soon as the guard turned his back, Shooter drew his gun. Nothing fancy, just a good ol’ .357. He preferred a .44, but hadn’t seen one since he’d been in the Mojave.
The guard took two shots to the back of the head and went down, his helmet not doing a lot for him at point blank. The merchant’s eyes widened and he went for his own weapon. Shooter was much faster, and he put a bullet right through the man’s eye just as he got his gun from his holster. He fell backward and was still.
“Freeze!” a slightly shaky voice called. Least he didn’t stutter. Shooter turned slowly to face the NCR boy pointing a gun at him. The kid’s hands were mostly steady. Shooter kept his own gun as his side, though he made no move to drop it.
“Ain’t got a quarrel with you,” Shooter said, loud enough for the kid to hear, “and I’d just as soon keep it that way.” The kid said nothing. “I understand you gotta tell your superiors about this. Hell, you don’t even have to lie. Won’t be able to find you again. But you try to settle this yourself, now, and it will go badly for you.”
The kid swallowed, considering. A little sweat built on Shooter’s brow. The Brahmin hadn’t ran when the shooting started. He could see it from the corner of his eye. He’d have some cover, if he needed.
But he didn’t. The kid began to back away, still keeping his gun trained on Shooter. Shooter made no move, save to turn slightly, so as to stay facing the kid when he went through the gate.
As soon as the kid was out of sight, he went to work. He inspected the two bodies. The merchant had a fair number of caps on him, which Shooter pocketed. The guard had a caravan shotgun, a nicer one than Shooter had. He also took the man’s helmet, figuring it might be worth something, even with the holes. He took a few things from the Brahmin’s pack so he could present them to Cliff as proof of service. He considered putting a couple bullets in the Brahmin and decided against it. Cliff may have wanted to send a message, but Shooter had only been hired to kill the Crimson Caravan man. He took one last look at the scene before setting off.

Shooter pushed open the door to the Wrangler and stepped inside. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the low light, he spotted his man, sitting at the very table Shooter had been two days ago. He sat down across from Cliff, startling him a little.
“It’s done,” Shooter said. He pulled some of the Caravan man’s wares from his pack. Mostly odds and ends, a little food. Cliff looked the things over, slowly nodding.
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GT: TheSilverNoble
Every now and then, a man's mind is stretched by a new idea or sensation and never returns to its former dimensions. (Excuse the typos)
#9QuintonBeckPosted 1/19/2012 9:28:17 PM

"Looks good," Cliff nodded, "Hope you were thorough, I heard tell o some Courier risin' from the grave after being shot somewhere in these parts. Well hell, ya ain't here for wives tales is ya? Here's your caps," Cliff said pulling a drawstrung bag from one of the pouches on his jacket and plopping it on the table in front of 'Shooter.' "I oughta get a move on, head down to Crimson Cravan and have a nice chat with Ms. McClafferty, hope you spend those caps wisely, which is to say, I hope you spend them at my soon to be prosperous caravan." Cliff said smiling brightly for a man who had just completed a contract that had ended a man's life. "I'll be seeing ya Shooter." Cliff said rising and leaving the bar.

 

"Most impressive Mr., Shooter is it?," a slick voice came from behind, "So you're some sort of, gun for hire are you? Because, I could use someone of your particular stripe. You see, I represent a, well let's say a major player in the Mojave, and we can always use someone willing and capable." The slick voice took a seat at the bar. Dressed well, old world gambling clothes with a fedora covering his head and sunglasses on, even inside. "Two shots of whiskey Mr. Garrett," he called out taking one of the shots and sliding it over to Shooter. "Your first assignment, should you choose to pursue employment with us would be one Veronica Santangelo, a person of interest to us whose radical ideas and fraternal connections could leave the Mojave in a very compromising position. We are willing to offer a more than fair 2000 caps for her demise." The slick stranger smiled and downed the glass.

#10The Silver Noble(Topic Creator)Posted 1/20/2012 1:21:57 AM
“Just Shooter,” Shooter corrected. “No mister.”
“Shooter, then.” The man remained smiling, maintaining eye contact- Shooter assumed.
“So, you want me to kill a little girl for you?” Shooter asked.
The man’s smile didn’t move, but something about it became slightly colder. “Yes. Is that a problem?”
“Not really. Just wanted to make sure we were both clear on what I’m doing.” Shooter’s left hand absently fiddled with the shot glass.
“How did you know her age?” the man asked.
“Radical ideas and troublesome ‘fraternal connections’ don’t tend to come from older folk,” Shooter explained.
“No, they do not,” the man agreed. “So, do we have an arrangement?”
“Sure do.” Shooter downed his whiskey. “Where can I find her?”
“The 188 Trading Post is the most likely place. It’s a two days south of here if you’re travelling on foot. She always turns up there every few days.”
“I know the place,” Shooter said. “Give me about a week.”
“A week it is.” The man nodded slightly.
Shooter wiped his hands across his leather armor. “I’ll need some money in advance. Travel expenses.”
“How much?”
“Half.”
The man shook his head. “Ten percent will more than cover the trip there and back.”
Shooter was quiet for a moment. “Twenty five,” he said eventually.
“Done.” The man pulled out a small satchel of caps. He counted some out, placing them on the table in front of him. Shooter counted as he set them out, then gathered them up and added them to his satchel. He stood up form the table and walked toward the door.

The 188 had a small bar, which suited Shooter just fine. Many people passed through, likely either headed to or coming from New Vegas. The client had indicated that this Veronica Santangelo would probably stay around the Post at least for a while, so he only truly studied anyone who seemed to settle in. He came across one possible prospect, a weapons dealer who seemed to have set up shop at the 188. Said she mostly sold to underequipped NCR patrols that passed through. Shooter wondered if she was selling the back their own stolen supplies, but he doubted it. She was a former NCR soldier herself, and seemed to have a great deal of respect for the Republic, if not for her old CO.
After the first day turned up nothing, Shooter spent the night in Boulder City. He awoke the next day with a horrible headache and a sick stomach. He tried not to let it bother him much as he forced down a greasy breakfast. His stomach felt a little better by the time he left, and his headache was a dull thud by the time he returned to the 188.
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GT: TheSilverNoble
Every now and then, a man's mind is stretched by a new idea or sensation and never returns to its former dimensions. (Excuse the typos)