Chef Bryardee
King of Condiments
A Few Good Fellows Doc | Ketch 2,648 In the still-cresting light of the morning sun, the color of Apollo’s plumage was brought out brilliantly. On that particular day he had meticulously chosen an outfit and color scheme that he was certain would leave its mark. Apollo wore a pair of neon orange boots and loose-fitting trousers, a magenta top and vest, and an emerald green visor utterly covering his eyes. Apollo’s plumage was bright aqua throughout with reddish mahogany highlights. Once inside the little shop Apollo’s expression soured somewhat. A smile nearly turned into a frown. All of the loud noises, the smell of oil and burning in particular brought up unpleasant memories. Worst of all was the light which he decided would only damage an otherwise immaculate ensemble. “Hello? Mister Tycho?” Apollo called out from the counter. To punctuate his point he dropped the only item he had on him, a sack filled with exa, on the counter. The enlil tried his best to make it shake and jingle on its way down. The symphony of meshed gears and gyrating drive belts spinning rapidly completely drowned out the newcomer’s words at his distance; the proprietor was seated on a rotating stool at the opposite end of the shop, his line of sight almost completely blocked by the tall machine ahead of him. Luckily, the man glimpsed the flash of light as the front door opened up. A few moments passed before, slowly but surely, the latticework of pulleys and all the standalone machinery came to a halt. When the statuesque gunsmith stood up, his ever-furrowed visage was fully in view. Even through the pitch-tinted sunglasses adorning his face, Apollo could tell the dark-skinned man was assaying him. Cleaning the oil and grease from his long and boney hands with a dirty rag, the man started toward the front. Tossing the rag aside, the proprietor brushed the fragments of swarf from his white t-shirt and blue jeans. Kinky and just slightly greyed dreadlocks spilled down from the bun atop his crown, each of them soaked in perspiration from a hard day’s efforts. Amber eyes flicked down to the sack on the counter before returning to the man’s ostentatious hair. He winced, restrainedly. “Can I help you?” Tycho asked. With the noise banished Apollo found his ability to stay focused restored. The sight of the smith before him ticked nearly every box he expected of a person that worked with their hands. Little to no useful description of Tycho was given other than Tydeus’ usual grumpy, derisive epithets. “I hope so! You might remember a tall, grumpy old velen that visited you the other day. He left a firearm here to be repaired," Apollo was grinning from ear to ear. Something about a task even as simple as exchanging money for goods seemed to light up his day. “And I have come to collect. I’m certain I’ve brought enough exa to cover the requested service. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble!” The gunsmith nodded, deciding to neither distort the truth of their mutual and malevolent acquaintance nor say exactly what was on his mind. It was a rare show of restraint, one that only those intimately familiar with Tycho could appreciate. Peeking into the bag, Tycho took it up and flipped it upside down. The loud clatter of dozens upon dozens of coins spilling across the countertop filled the room. He didn’t count it all, one by one, but a cursory glance at the silvers and golds reassured him it was all there. “Aight...” Without removing his eyes from the enlil, Tycho nodded to his left. There, the repaired and refurbished twelve-gauge firearm awaited; there was no sign of the blunt-force damage on the trigger assembly, and no speckles of dried blood to taint the almost mirror finish of both barrels. A courtesy the man typically reserved for customers would spent around the same hefty amount in his store, there was a box of buckshot sitting next to it as well as a small basic cleaning kit suitable for any kind of firearm. Tycho reached down beneath the counter, revealing a small wooden crate, and started scooping up the coinage. With transaction completed Apollo pushed the gun to the side. He was watching Tycho intently as he took his payment. Not until the last coin had been removed and accounted for did Apollo decide make his intent clear. “You didn’t so much as count the exa there, did you?” Apollo smiled and nodded smugly. He lingered on the question just long enough for Tycho to think he’d allow him to speak, and then cut in. “I imagine you didn’t count the money you collected originally, either. Tell me, Mister Tycho, are you a man in need of help?” Apollo stood back from the counter as he spoke. Tycho furrowed his eyes, confused. “What...?” As though the explanation were itself a thrillride Apollo’s face lit up with a broad smile. He stood openly, and as a prelude to his response to Tycho’s confused mumble he spread his arms and extended his hands. “I am Apollo, and it is my mission to help people. Anywhere in the world, any shape, size, or consistency.” Apollo gestured to himself and then let his arms rest at his sides. “Usually, I’m brought to those that need help, or they come to me. But, this time I think fate brought us together. My grumpy friend could have found any gunsmith he wanted, but there’s a reason he found you, Tycho. It was so that we could meet. “But you’ll have to help me first, before I can help you. Just how much money do you owe?” Apollo’s tone was calm, but he felt some urgency when it came to the subject of discovering the depth of Tycho’s troubles. He placed a hand on his hip as he awaited the response. His amber eyes cut to the side. A sort of violated feeling crept up his spine, one that was more familiar than Tycho ever would have liked. Instinctively, the proprietor took a few slow sidesteps until he was behind the front counter; underneath the desk was an unloaded pistol that he typically left there as a sample of his work for customers... And for those rare occasions where he needed one nearby “just in case”. There was hesitation in his tone, but the man exuded that sort of uncomfortable level of perception and keenness that both irked and unnerved him. There was a long pause of contemplative silence before Tycho replied, “That ain’t got nothin’ to do with you...” “That’s what makes it such an easy decision!” Apollo proclaimed gleefully. “I don’t know just what you’ve gotten into, but nobody would blindly sell a box of guns to a complete stranger if they weren’t in some kind of trouble. However, I’ve dealt with this kind of trouble for a very long time.” Apollo nodded as though to affirm his own statement. He approached the counter but stopped just a couple of feet away. “You know, every single time I’ve approached somebody in trouble they treat me the same way. They think I’m like them — a gangster! Can you believe it? Little old me!” Apollo gestured towards himself, and after gazing at Tycho for a moment his expression twisted from a grin to a fearful grimace. “Without fail, they look at me just like you’re looking at me right now, like they were deciding whether or not to shoot me! It’s terrifying!” Apollo put his hands on his hips and leaned forward, as though behind his spectacles he was focusing somewhere on Tycho’s body. He leaned back a moment later as though he had found it. “I’ll understand if you prefer to stay in debt. Maybe you’ve grown attached to having it hang over your head? If that’s the case, say ‘Apollo, get your colorful butt out of my shop!’ and I’ll skedaddle. But, if you’re willing to accept some help to free yourself, I will work with you, and together we can do a lot more than just clear up a debt.” Tycho clenched his jaw, holding back his ire at how the avian so casually broached his financial issues. The only reason he didn’t let loose the fire within was obvious enough to the both of them; he was definitely considering accepting the offer -- whatever it was. “How exactly is this gonna get me out of debt?” Tycho began, standing tall and folding his arms. “Instead of owing him money, I’ma just be in debt to you. And I don’t even know your ass.” The gunsmith squinted on him harder through his tinted shades. “And who says you even got that kinda cash anyways...?” The broad grin returned to Apollo’s face. He relaxed considerably but kept his hands on his hips, where Tycho could see them. “I don’t know you very well, either, but that’s the point of a friendship. We’ll get to know each other!” Apollo took a few steps and after finally arrived at the counter rested his arms atop it. “First of all, you should know that I am not a debt collector. I help others because I like to, not because it’s lucrative. As for how we’ll settle your debt...” Apollo rapped the countertop with his fingers. “Paying it off won’t accomplish anything, Tycho. You make money, you pay off a debt, you’re stuck doing the same thing for the rest of your life. It’s dull and drab, and you deserve better. Wouldn’t you prefer to be the person collecting on debts, rather than paying them?” Tycho raised his head up to nod in agreement, but he couldn’t. Confusion overcame his expression. This was way too good to be true. Giving him the money to pay off the debt, even somehow putting Calvinus in his own pocket instead -- for absolutely nothing? “The only kinda person that does shit like that,” Tycho stated, resting both hands on the countertop. “Is the kinda person that has so much damn money, he don’t know what to do with it.” There was a short pause, then a shallow grin surfaced and Tycho shrugged, quipping, “I could use that kinda friendship...” “Wonderful!” Apollo exclaimed with a toothy smile. “I will, of course, need some information from you. A name, a place, any little detail for me to get started. Make no mistake, I want to see the debt settled, but I like to do things with a little flair!” Apollo paused and briefly cocked his head. “Not that I think it’ll be necessary, but I might have my fiercest enforcer drop by. I won’t spread your business across Terminus, of course, but it doesn’t hurt to have a little muscle,right?” And, there it was. Suddenly, this too-good-to-be-true deal lost just a bit of its luster. “Hold up,” Tycho said, shaking his head. “Muscle?” He stood up, sighing through his nose as he crossed his arms again. “I don’t need anybody droppin’ by with anything other than the money he needs. Regardless of whether or not Cal knows it has shit to do with me, he’ll probably just assume it was me or anybody else that owes his ass money.” Despite his words, Tycho couldn’t help the salivating images flashing through his mind: Zedock and Petros cut down in a hail of bullets, and Tycho standing over them as their life fluid slowing drains from their perforated husks of flesh; Calvinus on his knees as he watched his empire smoldering before his watering eyes; his brutal ascension to the top as usurper of an underground throne. He was lost in these ambitious thoughts as another moment of tense silence passed between the two of them. “What’re you thinkin’ about doin’...?” Just then, Apollo huddled closer to the counter. He folded his arms and, after glancing to his right and left at nothing in particular, stared back at Tycho. Again he’d taken a serious expression and. “Oh, I don’t mean just any muscle,” he spoke in a hushed tone, “I’m talking about a real problem solver. I heard just recently he was sent to retrieve some old dusty document from a retired hitman. One of those rough and tumble types from ‘back in the day’, and when the old man gave him the slightest bit of trouble he...” As Apollo spoke he became increasingly hushed, and eventually trailed off as he came closer to retelling the gorier details. By the time the enlil was ready to finish the story he had become so hushed he came nearly down to a whisper, and with his hand placed on his chest, carefully said, “he set him on fire.” Visually shaken from the retelling, Apollo withdrew to a more reasonable distance and took a breath to calm himself. Mentioning fire still elicited a bit of an uncomfortable grimace. “Regardless, my only intention, for the time being, is to gather information.” Apollo slowly worked himself up until a smile returned to his face. “I like to keep people informed, just in case something goes wrong, and that’s where the muscle might come in, but only as a last resort. I can’t stand violence, Tycho,” Apollo explained, “and it is my hope that we can convince...er, Cal, to accept a course of action beneficial to everybody, including him and his coinpurse.” Tycho propped both hands on his hips, and reclined his head. A deep breath vented through his nostrils. Little of what the enlil said brought the indebted proprietor any peace of mind or made him feel they were on the same page. Regardless of whether or not they were, Tycho was still mostly reluctant to take Apollo up on his risky offer. He wasn’t, however, so foolish that he wasn’t aware that whatever help came his way was direly needed. “Alright,” Tycho relented, finally. He glanced at the pile of coins in front of him, eyes shooting between the dozens of silvers and bronzes and the few pieces of lustrous gold. “Who’s this ‘muscle’ of yours?” “His name is Speedy, and I’m certain you’ll see eye-to-eye,” Apollo assured the terran, “but don’t fret. You’ll only be talking, like we are now.” For the next few seconds Apollo straightened himself out, and then pushed his sunglasses up so they were resting precisely on the bridge of his nose. “Look, Tycho, I’m certain you think what I’m proposing is overly complex, or unnecessary.” Apollo gazed back at Tycho. “but, I haven’t come here to tell you that your problems are out of your control, and to sit back and let uncle Apollo take care of everything. I will put you in touch with Speedy, I will look into this Cal character, and I will return to you. Nothing will actually happen without your say-so! You’re already in charge!” Gradually, Apollo slid across the counter towards the weapon which he’d originally been sent to collect. It so happened that the change in perspective allowed him to study and assuage more from Tycho’s expression. Before sliding too far over, he stopped abruptly. “If it’s your preference, I will dig through my finances, and I can see about just paying the debt off.” Apollo relented somewhat, “Our business can end there, and you can go back to do what you do without having that dark cloud raining on your parade. I prefer it my way, of course, because then the bad guys don’t just get away with whatever they want. I like it when the good guys win[COLOR00000]. Don’t you?”[/COLOR] Tycho laughed once under his breath. “Yeah...” Turning on a heel without a word, the gunsmith began walking toward the gun rack on the rear wall where the refurbished twelve-gauge was resting. Both hands slid into his pockets, and a shallow and subtly devious grin emerged on his rigid cast. “We can’t let the bad guys win, can we...?” |