A dark warehouse was a stereotype for these kind of deals. Which was probably why a dusky skinned, blonde beauty holding a rifle found herself in a roach motel with a trio of men in camo fatigues instead.

Circe wasn't happy. Yes, she got the big box of .45 rounds. Yes, she succeeded at dealing and trading. Yes, she was finishing the string of bartering that had got her funds back up. It was a lot of work to fulfill her plans, to regain some of the respect she'd lost from moving. This didnt change the fact that, thanks to this redneck being an asshole, she was going to losing money on this trade!

She should be getting at least a thousand dollars or more for the damned giant rifle but the idiot in the camo clothes was shafting her. Hard. It didn't help that Leon and his buddies had already bounced, leaving just her and these, armed, rednecks. Shooting it out would destroy her reputation. Saving money wouldn't help if she couldn't buy the good stuff anymore.

Circe concluded: if this guy was gonna shaft her, she'd just have to return the favor.

Which was why she'd been handling the lever action rifle the whole time they'd been "negotiating," despite how much Circe wanted to slug the bastard in the face.

"Alright then, Mr Block," the redneck scowled: "Its Black ya foreign skank," she flipped him off in response. Her accent then shifted from warm Italian to harsh Jersey: "I ain't asshole its just a preference," which got a good laugh from his buddy sitting on the bed.

Circe walked over to guitar case, she can't believe these guys had one, to pack up the rifle. As she walked, the Fairest tried to flow Glamour into it. Tried being the key word, as Touch of the Workman’s Wrath went off without the fuel. If she had any doubt these good old boys were trying to fuck her over, the Catch working proved her wrong.

Circe brought her accent back to Italian, "I suppose I will have to take the deal. You are seriously under pricing this but I lack leverage to negotiate better right now. However," she snapped the carry case closed as she turned to the man, "I am NOT telling you anything about how to maintain the Spencer. That is all on you," she poked him in the chest as she said that.

She turned back before he could respond, picked up the guitar case, spun around and shoved it into his arms and grabbed the $100 bills.

"Shows what you know! My papee taught me good about guns! City gal like you ain't never known so much," he laughed. He'd checked the gun before so he should think it was okay. It should even look okay until he tried to use it. The mortal huntsman laughed: "I'm gonna get be a bear or cougar with this! And no waitin' on them liberals and their paperwork," the Fairest was surprised that the idiot's laugh wasn't something more stereotypical but actually normal.

Circe stormed out of the motel room, hoping the fat moron tried using the rifle on a bear before he checked it out. It'd improve the gene pool.