Colt Davin
Location: Road's End - Das Thulewerk
Phase: Evening Phase
Date: 08.09.1994 (THU)
Weather: Overcast
Composition? Shadows. Genetic make-up? Misery. Form it appeareth as? Huge. Colt mulled over the question some more, trying to nail at least one productive answer. The thing that had lumbered from the forest’s edge and into the storm was one of his primary motivations to seek something more than just the pistol he found at the Junk Garage. Nailing it with a heavy dose of whatever medicine it hated most would be great.
But before he could arrive at anything useful, the exchange between Tris and Frauke caught his attention.
"And maybeth sanguine for suckers of blood as well..."
"Fräulein, vampiric creatures grow stronger as they ingested blood - that is their whole deal," she said dryly. "I wouldn't suggest that."
"O-oh, right, that art true..."
The whole thing served as a good reminder that he was asking Tris for technical advice. Sure, the blond obviously eclipsed his knowledge of the reflection of reality called the Turnside. But compared to her peers on that side of the world…
What was it she had said last night?
“Alas, research has never beeneth strong suit of mine... 'Tis why I am here in the first place. Mine grades were too low, and with the holidays approaching, I wereth sent over here to the sticks to maketh up for my shortcomings along with a partner of mine..."
He tried not to grimace at the theoretical scenario where he took her advice and blasted vampire steroids into his mosquito friend.
“I’ll be passing on the ‘Sanguine.’ These Holy ones sound promising though.” Frauke hadn’t shot down that suggestion, so it likely held water. He took five and set them on the counter. “So ‘Light’ is a gamble?”
The teenager rubbed his chin, eyeballing the rest of the boxes and dividing them into categories in his head.
Category A, things labelled with words he knew and could almost guess what it meant in the context of shooting something with it.
Metal, Ice, Lightning, Fire, Plasma, Nuclear, Air, Sound, Water.
Category B, things labelled with words he knew but couldn’t begin to guess what it meant to shoot it at something.
Gravity, Holy, Wood, Melancholic, Curse, Soul, Decay, Darkness, Light, Life, Earth, Phlegm, Force.
Category C, what in tarnation even is that word?
Azoth, Mana, Aether, Eitr, Alkahest, Prana, Yliaster, Choleric, Sanguine.
“C is out…” Colt mumbled to himself, deleting the choices from his shopping list. “Hmm…”
Slowly, one by one, Colt began to pull out the ones that he wanted. By this point the selection process was hardly one founded on expertise. He was merely grabbing what sounded good.
In addition to the five ‘Holy’ slugs, now laid out and selected for purchase were two Nuclear slugs, two Metal slugs, two Lightning slugs. His choices from category A, those that felt sensical.
Then he began to grab more. These from category B, lining them up separately from the rest.
“I’ve mostly made up my mind, but first,” Colt pointed at the ammo from category B one by one. One Gravity slug, one Decay slug, one Force slug, and one Soul slug. “Mind giving me the rundown on these?”