Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20190722215436/@comment-7262318-20190723181636

Rick was off fawning over possibilities in this store. These Van Graffs might have lived in the shitter, but they sure seemed to know a thing or two about quality weapons. Right now, the ghoul was practically drooling over a revolver in a tightly-locked display case.

"Rick, come on, we gotta get to business," Duncan muttered.

"How much money you got on you?" Rick responded.

"I'm not given' any money to gangsters, Rick."

"For fucks sake, man, look!" He pointed at the revolver. "Smith and Wesson, Model 500 X-Frame! Fuckin' clean as a goddamn whistle! Do you know how much tail you can get packin' this thing around?"

"How much tai-... What the bloody hell kinda logic is that?" Duncan spat. "What am I gonna do, fuck'em at gunpoint?"

"It's a status thing. Women appreciate a man who's packin' heat," Rick explained. "Especially Raider chicks... they're into some freaky shit, Raider chicks are."

Duncan blinked. "As much as I'd love to hear about whatever drug-laced orgy you were in... I'm gonna go somewhere else,"

"Fine. You stick with your peashooter and your zombie girlfriend," Rick said, continuing to fawn over the revolver as Duncan went elsewhere.