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| A Fixer-Upper; Hawkins tries to repair a broken weapon; A Very Short Solo | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 1 2018, 07:15 AM (86 Views) | |
| Skyhawk347 | May 1 2018, 07:15 AM Post #1 |
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Wastelander
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Big Brown was often overlooked by most. It was stereotyped as a giant slum, the folks there so poor that outsiders joked that raiders didn’t attack it because it would be worth the supplies. Sadly as far as Hawkins could tell, this stereotype was right on the money. Big Brown was located almost entirely in a giant mine, and it was about as dirty and rundown as you’d expect it to be from that description. The large caves were just wide enough to allow for small shacks for families to live in. Individual people slept in even smaller shacks the size of closets. There was almost no order to the layout and size of the buildings, and everything kind of just seemed to spring up as it was needed. He asked quick question to one of the guards by the main gates on where to find Ingrid, the Blacksmith he had been told about at Bucket Town. “You mean Blacklung Ingrid?” The guard asked, “I mean, she’s the only blacksmith we’ve got. She’s just inside. Look for the stone chimney that reaches up to the ceiling.” Hawkins nodded before realization set in. A chimney would mean smoke. He looked up and sure enough there was a small patch of smoke rising from the top of the hillside, and if it weren’t for the brim on his hat, he would have seen it. He thanked the guards and went inside. Finding the forge wasn’t that hard. He just had to look for the building that had a chimney extending up to the ceiling. Opening the door, he was immediately greeted by a raspy voice firmly saying “Isaac!” like a mother who wanted to scold her child. The voice belonged to a muscular woman in her early 40s wearing a thick leather apron, her skin pale as all hell from the lack of sunlight. “Y-yes ma’am?” This voice belonged to a kid, maybe around sixteen or seventeen, who was bracing himself for the whirlwind he was about to receive. “You failed.” The woman said before clearing her throat, displaying a warped pick-axe head “What did you do?” “Well... I...” “Well, what?” “I-I guess I treated it too quickly.” “You idiot!” The woman coughed. “This requires patience.” “Uhh...” Hawkins said, drawing the attention of both of them. The older woman – who he had to presume was Blacklung Ingrid – shot Isaac a look that screamed ‘We’ll continue this later’ and once Isaac went into the backroom, she turned to the potential customer. “How can I help you?” Despite the polite greeting, the woman’s sour expression hadn’t changed, and Hawkins had to wonder if maybe she was one of those people for whom frowning was their default expression. “Hi,” Hawkins said, “This might sound weird, but I have a broken gun I need repaired and-.” “Price depends on what it is.” “No, no. I can probably fix it myself, but I was wondering if I could use your workbench?” The woman raised an eyebrow. “And what makes you think you’re *cough* qualified to handle the tools back there?” “My dad is the gunsmith in Sheffield and he was trained in the Armory. He taught me almost everything I know.” “Hmm.” The woman put her hand on her chin, before saying, “Let’s see what you kno-.” She erupted into a coughing fit, and Hawkins was worried that the woman might actually hack up her lungs. “Jesus!” Hawkins yelled out, “Are you okay?!” “Just dandy.” The woman bit back sarcastically. “None of your business. Now, let’s see what you know.” She pointed a calloused finger at him, “You’re maintaining a wooden buttstock that’s been over-oiled. You’re at the point where you can actually remove it. What do you use?” “A nylon brush. First you brush one way, travelling along the lines in the wood, and then the other.” “Good. Next question. You’re dealing with a rifle that has a *cough* bent barrel. How do you realign it by hand?” “Oh that’s a trick question. You can’t. You need actual machinery and decades of experience to do that. The only solution is to replace the barrel.” “Hm.” Ingrid looked at him. “Alright, you *cough* know more than Isaac does.” “Hey!” Came a yell from the back room. “Shut up, it’s true.” Ingrid didn’t even look back at her apprentice when she said that. Tough lady. “You can use the workbench. But you pay for any supplies you use.” “No need.” Hawkins said, smiling “I have my own kit. I honestly just need the table and maybe a few parts.” “Thanks.” The hunter said with a wide smile. “Whatever.” ‘Jesus. What a bitch.’ |
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Ryan Hawkins - Level 1 SPECIAL: 5, 8, 7, 3, 6, 9, 3 Equipment: "Talon" (customized rifle), handyman's auto revolver (PC), knife, throwing knives x5, duster coat (desert camo), tan wide-brimmed hat, biker goggles, blue bandana, blue jeans, gloves, gecko-skinned boots 21 years old, 6'1" and wiry; boyish face with shaggy blonde hair, grey eyes, and a mutilated left ear (upper part has been bitten off) Traits: Scatterbrained, Small Frame http://s3.zetaboards.com/The_wastes/topic/9048978/1/ Companion Blue Collins - Level 3 thefortunepsker: Youre like thefortunepsker: What we need thefortunepsker: In the cbox dynamic thefortunepsker: A straight man JewsphGordonLevitt: I need to get in my writing zone, so activate my thot powers thefortunepsker: skyhawks like the old man of the cbox | |
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| Skyhawk347 | May 1 2018, 07:16 AM Post #2 |
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Wastelander
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Sitting down in the chair at the workbench, Hawkins pulled the looted gun from its holster. Looking over the revolver, Hawkins raised an eyebrow at the fact that the upper part of the gun slid backwards, before realizing that he was in fact dealing with a rarity. He had heard of semi-automatic revolvers, as much of an oxymoron as they seemed. This particular one used the recoil to send the upper part of the gun back like the slide of a regular semi-automatic, and used that action to cycle the cylinder. Cool. Best of both worlds... Probably... Hopefully. Hawkins honestly preferred revolvers ever so slightly to semi-automatics, but that was just his personal preference. Revolver vs. Semi-auto was a centuries-old debate, and both sides had valid viewpoints. Semi-autos have higher magazine capacities, are much faster to reload (and speedloaders for revolvers are a bit awkward to carry), have better rapid-fire capabilities, and can be suppressed since they have a gas system that most suppressors require. He had heard some revolvers had been designed before the war to also allow for suppressors, but he hadn’t seen any. On the other side, revolvers don’t harness the energy of the caliber like semi-autos do, which is one less thing to go wrong when using them. And, from a gunsmith’s perspective, revolvers have fewer moving parts, meaning they are easier to make and maintain. It also means they’re more reliable; sand and dirt doesn’t affect their function as much as semi-autos. So in summary, his opinion was that if you were looking for home defense or had enough replacement parts, go with the semi-auto. But for a lifestyle of venturing the wastes, a revolver is just more practical. ‘Welp, time to inspect this bad boy.’ Hawkins cracked his fingers and got to work.* Despite the complexity of the gun, Hawkins had no doubts that he could fix it. While a lot of people might think otherwise, maintaining a weapon wasn’t the same as making a weapon. If Hawkins were around before the war, he’d say it was the difference between auto-repair and auto-engineering; the former was easier for the average Joe to learn than the latter. Plus, any gunsmith worth a damn would make their wares with ease of maintenance in mind. Sure, you could make the weapon so complicated that when it needed repairs the buyer would have to come back to your shop, and that’d mean more money in your pocket in the short term. But all it would take for that to end was another gunsmith coming along and offering stuff that was easier to maintain. People liked it if they could do it themselves. First things first, he had to unload the gun. No sense in having it go off while he was working on it, even if the safety was on, it could malfunction. Hawkins cracked the gun open -- it breaking open upwards thanks to a hinge on the bottom rather than having the cylinder swing out... and then had to stop himself from actually putting it down and walking away for a bit. It was obvious the previous owner, either the raider he looted it from or the person that raider looted it from, had no idea how bullet calibers worked. The gun was loaded with a variety of rounds, he’d say four of them were actually correct. Oddly enough, the bullets were all rimmed meaning the owner didn’t make the mistake of loading a rimless cartridge into a revolver. How in the hell did this guy know about rimmed ammo but not about calibers? If anything, this error would be easier to understand if it was the other way around. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed before pulling on the extractor in the middle of the cylinder, pouring the bullets onto the table. Setting them aside, he moved on. ** Next was to inspect the hammer and firing pin to see if that was functioning. Still holding the front-end skywards, he pulled back the hammer, and then the firing pin fell backwards out of the gun and onto the table. ‘Guess that answers that question.’ Inspecting the fallen piece in his free hand, he saw that the firing pin had broken in two. He’d have to salvage or forge a new one. On the plus side, the rest of the hammer mechanism seemed intact, as was the pin that would have held the hammer and firing pin together. For Hawkins, the next step was taking a screwdriver and start disassembling the gun. Once he had taken the frame exposed, he saw the next problem: there was sand in the slide. Too much for the slide to work properly. Again, easy to fix. After disassembling it fully, he grabbed his own repair kit and pulled out one of his two long rods with some steel wool on the end. Then it was a simple brushing job on each part to remove the sand. And since the metal wasn’t “soft” like aluminum or gold, the steel wool wouldn’t scratch it. Turning in his chair so that any sand cleared would drop onto the floor and not onto the table where it could jam more parts, he carefully held each part in his hand one at a time, and used delicate strokes. Eventually, all of the parts were clean of sand, and a satisfied smile appeared on his face. Just to check it, he held one end of the barrel up to the light and looked through the other. Yeah, he couldn’t see right through it. Something was blocking it. Something solid. He picked up the rod and steel wool again, then pushed it into the barrel. It took some effort, (given the quality of the gun nothing would break from the amount of force) but eventually the rod managed to start pushing the blockage out, the steel wool sweeping the entire barrel, even getting into the rifling, to make sure nothing was missed while not scratching up the barrel in the process. The blockage fell onto the table with a soft thud. It was a small tube of a light brown substance with a few small black chunks on it. Hawkins picked it put in his hands. Was... was this fucking cookie dough?! ... He didn’t even want to know. Looking over the rest of the parts, he noticed that the safety was rusted to the point that it would be jammed. Another relatively easy fix, just one that required waiting. He pulled out a box of baking soda from his kit, and sprinkled juuuust the right amount onto the disassembled safety. Then he’d just have to let it sit for an hour or so. In the meantime, there were a few more problems. He saw while handling the gun that the trigger was kind of wobbly. Now this was something that he could just fix by hand. He took the trigger, and gently bent the arms of the bow away from each other with his hands until he knew that it wouldn’t fit back inside the gun. Then he squeezed them back together with his hands until he knew the trigger would fit snuggly. There still might be some movement, but not a detrimental amount. He also noticed the belt clip was broken, but honestly that just was not much of a problem. Belt clips were used for concealed carry so you can stick the gun in your pants and not risk it falling down your pant leg at the most inopportune moment. Since the gun would be nearly impossible to hide given the sheer size of the thing, he wouldn’t NEED a belt clip. He could just use the holster. Now it was on to the wooden pistol grip. It was a bit loose at the top, and was chipped (but thankfully not cracked. To fix the first problem, Hawkins grabbed some epoxy from his kit, disassembled the handle, and applied the epoxy to the top parts of both sides of the grip. Testing the results, the grip was more solid now. As for the chips... well, to continue the analogies with pre-war occupations, fixing them would be a bit like filling a tooth. And honestly, it seemed neither he nor Ingrid had the right tools to fix those. Just his luck. Having done everything he could, he waited for the rest of the time it would take for the baking soda to work its magic. Once it was done he used his steel wool to gently scrape the white powder off and take the rust with it. When he was done, the safety looked... well not exactly brand new, but it didn’t look like it was hundreds of years old. He reassembled that part of the gun and worked the safety a few times. It was still a little stiff, but it wouldn’t jam anymore. Last but not least, it was onto actually replacing the firing pin. For that... it was tempting to just “repair” it with industrial glue, but that would only hold for so long. He’d have to take a good look around the shop for a replacement and ask Ingrid for it. Naturally he’d have to pay for the hammer, but maybe she’d be in a good enough mood to cut him a deal, maybe a favor for it. *FS specified all of the problems with this gun. To wit: “Ah the gun's degraded - the handles pretty shoddy (1), the overall gun is chipped (2), the hammer (3), barrel (4), recoil (5), belt clip's broken (6), safety triggers rusted and jammed (7) and the trigger is wobbly (8).” ** I am also requesting to know what caliber the pistol takes as FS (who awarded me this gun) said that it would be decided once it was repaired. Please also note that the caliber of this particular revolver will impact how many rounds it can carry. The Webley-Fosbery Automatic Revolver this is based on, for instance, came in two calibers: an 8-shot .38 ACP (not the same as a .38 Special) and a 6-shot .455. I am of course requesting that this gun fire rounds that are more common in America. Naturally, the size of the bullets this gun takes will be inversely proportional to how many it can fit, say 8 rounds if it’s .38 Special/.357 magnum (both are the same diameter and the .357 Magnum is just 1mm longer), and 6 rounds if it’s .44 magnum. But .32 LR is also fine Sources: -The Gun this Revolver Is Based Off of: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Webley%E2%80%93Fosbery_Automatic_Revolver -Using Baking Soda to Fix Rust: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ije9GmCNqzM -Wobbly Trigger: https://forums.1911forum.com/showthread.php?t=179310 -Epoxy on a Wobbly Grip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wu4rMUpCtf4 Edited by Skyhawk347, May 1 2018, 07:35 AM.
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Ryan Hawkins - Level 1 SPECIAL: 5, 8, 7, 3, 6, 9, 3 Equipment: "Talon" (customized rifle), handyman's auto revolver (PC), knife, throwing knives x5, duster coat (desert camo), tan wide-brimmed hat, biker goggles, blue bandana, blue jeans, gloves, gecko-skinned boots 21 years old, 6'1" and wiry; boyish face with shaggy blonde hair, grey eyes, and a mutilated left ear (upper part has been bitten off) Traits: Scatterbrained, Small Frame http://s3.zetaboards.com/The_wastes/topic/9048978/1/ Companion Blue Collins - Level 3 thefortunepsker: Youre like thefortunepsker: What we need thefortunepsker: In the cbox dynamic thefortunepsker: A straight man JewsphGordonLevitt: I need to get in my writing zone, so activate my thot powers thefortunepsker: skyhawks like the old man of the cbox | |
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| Skyhawk347 | May 1 2018, 07:18 AM Post #3 |
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Wastelander
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She was not in a good mood. “No fucking way.” She said, coughing at the end of her sentence. “Oh come on.” Hawkins complained, “Look I don’t even need the entire hammer. Just the firing pin.” “Not selling the parts *cough* kid. It’s the entire gun or nothing.” Well, shit! He didn’t have the kind of money to buy an entire new gun. “Well, isn’t there something I can do?” Ingrid put a hand to her chin in thought, before a smile appeared on her face. And it was not the friendly pleasant kind of smile. “You know what you could do? You could work for it.” “What?” “You *cough* heard me. You seem like you know what you’re doing. You could work for me for a while. Not for long, just about a week.” Hawkins considered it, but honestly he didn’t see a reason not to. Ingrid might have been a hard taskmaster, but he’d be earning the part he needed and might pick up some useful information about smithing in the process. Hawkins stuck his hand out, “Deal.” Ingrid shook his hand. “Deal.” ------- The next week or so was a bit of a miserable one. Like Hawkins suspected, Ingrid was a harsh taskmaster. ‘Blacklung? More like Blackheart.’ He thought more than once. But as hard as she was on him, it was nothing compared to what Isaac got. Hawkins only got scolded when he completely screwed up a piece. For Isaac, every little mistake he made got him reprimanded, the poor bastard. Hawkins wanted to stand up for the guy, but every time he opened his mouth to do just that, Isaac would tell him not to, whether by mouthing “No” repeatedly or simply stepping on his foot. The three of them were always busy. Miners came in frequently asking for new mining gear or for repairs to old ones. And he had to learn how to make them fast. There many failures on Hawkins part, as his specialty was more with guns, and for each one Ingrid would box his ears. But when a guard came in reporting problems with their rifle that was when Hawkins stepped up to the plate. On the last day, Hawkins collapsed into his bedroll. The lack of space in the forge meant that he had to shack up with Isaac, putting his bedroll on the floor opposite of Isaac’s cot. This had been a particularly rough day. A bunch of the miners – damn them to hell – had brought in twice the amount of equipment as usual, at the same time three guards brought in their guns for maintenance. And Ingrid had been harder on them both than she had all week. “How do you put up with it?” He asked Isaac when the other man entered the room. “Put up with what?” The apprentice asked. “All of this!” Hawkins shot up and yelled, not caring if Ingrid heard him. “The workload, and Ingrid’s... everything!” “Shh, she might hear you.” Isaac reprimanded with wide eyes. “Right, sorry. It’s just-” “You know why Ingrid is this way, yes?” Hawkins took a minute to consider before his eyes widened with realization. Sure he had put it together than maybe her condition had something to do with it, but until now, for whatever reason, he didn’t think it was fatal. “How... how much longer does she...?” “I don’t know. For years she had to work the forge with no chimney, so the ash and soot had nowhere to go.” Isaac confessed, head drooping. “There was a travelling doctor here a while back. He gave Ingrid less than two years to live. That was about twenty months ago.” “Shit. I’m sorry to hear that. But still... that’s no reason for her to take it out on you, is it?” “Don’t think she is, not really. I’ve hung out with her outside of work, and she’s nowhere near as harsh as she is here. Now, why you think that is?” Another moment to consider. “She’s pushing you to learn everything she knows.” Isaac nodded. “Damn. I didn’t realize.” The past week had made it perfectly clear to the hunter that the blacksmith was a vital part of this community. Nobody else could repair dulled pickaxes and make new ones, so the miners could provide the lifeblood of the community. “Yeah.” Isaac said sadly. “Well, best not to dwell on it. Let’s get some rest, yeah? You get your piece tomorrow, and then you’ll be able to leave.” With that, Isaac flopped down on his cot, and quickly dozed off. Hawkins couldn’t sleep for half the night. The next day, Ingrid came up to him with a piece of metal. It was so early in the morning that it took the tired Hawkins a minute to realize what it was. It was the firing pin he needed. “Here. You earned it.” Ingrid said short and simply. “Thanks.” Hawkins said with a smile. But then looking at the old blacksmith, the weigh of what he and Isaac discussed last night came down on him. “Ma’am, I want to say I’m sorry that I was such a pain in the ass. I heard from Isaac abou- .” “Shut it.” She snapped. Hawkins thought she might even slug him before she relaxed a little. “Nothing you can do. So don’t *cough* mention it. Just go.” Hawkins nodded sadly and Ingrid walked off to get to work. He wanted to be able to do something. Anything. But he couldn’t. God, he felt useless. Shaking his head, he sighed and collected his gun, which had been stored in the back room to keep it from prying eyes and from taking up room on one of the workbenches. The firing pin fit perfectly in the hammer, and the repaired gun was reassembled. On his way out of the forge, Hawkins shook Ingrid’s hand and said, “Thank you,” before exiting Big Brown and going back into the wastes. Edited by Skyhawk347, May 1 2018, 07:19 AM.
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Ryan Hawkins - Level 1 SPECIAL: 5, 8, 7, 3, 6, 9, 3 Equipment: "Talon" (customized rifle), handyman's auto revolver (PC), knife, throwing knives x5, duster coat (desert camo), tan wide-brimmed hat, biker goggles, blue bandana, blue jeans, gloves, gecko-skinned boots 21 years old, 6'1" and wiry; boyish face with shaggy blonde hair, grey eyes, and a mutilated left ear (upper part has been bitten off) Traits: Scatterbrained, Small Frame http://s3.zetaboards.com/The_wastes/topic/9048978/1/ Companion Blue Collins - Level 3 thefortunepsker: Youre like thefortunepsker: What we need thefortunepsker: In the cbox dynamic thefortunepsker: A straight man JewsphGordonLevitt: I need to get in my writing zone, so activate my thot powers thefortunepsker: skyhawks like the old man of the cbox | |
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| Cewebwalz | May 9 2018, 03:14 PM Post #4 |
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Henshin a go-go baby
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Yo Sky, I think I have graded you before but maybe not, I'm really excited to see what's up in your depiction of Big Brown.
Right away there's a typo here, you meant to say "wouldn't be" but you missed it. That's probably the lamest piece of critique I'll ever give you. You really just need to find your style more and figure out what that means for your writing, it's not visually appealing for Ryan to fly through a setting and NPC interactions. The gate Ryan enters through and the guard aren't even described, Hawkins has a strong moral compass but doesn't have much to say about the environment between the time he enters the settlement gate and reaches Ingrid? Once you get into more dialogue your style fits your writing much better, you get to read through what they're saying at the breakneck speed of an actual conversation. I thought you would end up exchanging goods for the right to use the workbench, rather it was just a proof of information that Ryan utilized to 'befriend' Ingrid. She seems like she's much more bark than bite and it would've been interesting to explore that. It would've been way cooler for like, Ingrid and Ryan to discuss revolvers vs semiautos than have Ryan think about it in his head. Did Ryan encounter gun hobbyist magazines or something for him to know about the culture war in the firearms community? Or is this just another Armory debate topic at the town forum? I really like the communication between Ryan and the firearm itself. The previous owner, manufacturer, and it's weird styles all give the gun a certain charm, and Ryan as the adoptive father was very fun to read. You made it a really entertaining fix, you basically had unlimited freedom with some of the problems the gun could have, and they all made me smile. It was whacky and realistic, like this would've made for a good short cartoon or comic book if we had to transition it to another medium. I would make effort to use funner language I guess, applied is less appealing to read than coated or saying he basting brushed it with expoxy. Using *cough* isn't very traditional as far as writing goes, you just need to get annoyingly creative or type cough noises out. Or use detail outside the sentences like 'through a rumble of coughs, she said "blah blah"'. This will bother some people immensely, and read very naturally to others. You are hard to critique on some level, which is a good thing. I can't find any obvious flaws or errors besides the ones I brought up, and most of my complaints deep down ended up being just a wish for more content. Isaac & Ingrid are really fun characters, I wish they could both hang around Big Brown for years to come. It would've been interesting to see what Ryan thought of culture clashes, like the food and lack of sunlight getting to him, but instead he just got a mini-apprenticeship/exchange student type deal out of it all. Onto rewards!
Edited by Cewebwalz, May 15 2018, 02:40 PM.
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Jesse Winters - Penitentiary Pugilist 8(+2).5.7.5.5.8.4, Level: 4 -HC- Grace Van Vliet - Indie Incinerator 5.7.7.5.5.4.7, Level: 3 -HC-
full-sized avatar "What is Adderal, anyhow?" - Funky Fan | |
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11:33 AM Jul 11
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It would've been interesting to see what Ryan thought of culture clashes, like the food and lack of sunlight getting to him, but instead he just got a mini-apprenticeship/exchange student type deal out of it all.
11:33 AM Jul 11