"No, no, no, cazzo no, I can't get ya those kinda rifles," Circe shakes her head at the tattooed woman. Given the piercings and scarification, it is debatable if these customers qualified as a gang or a cult.


The woman growls at her. Really? Growls? Circe waves her off, "Drug wars. Folks with way more money and way more connections are stripping the market clean of the big stuff. They're hard ta come by, ta say the least. So, ya can't get those because the supply is low."


"Now, semi-auto? Like the 30 clip Rugers? Those I can get ya. With a few mods ta the stock, ya can get bursts going fer a drive by or whatever. Personally, I'd vote fer precision but that is just me."


The woman raises an eyebrow, her "crew" that had been circling the gun runners start to move back to her. Weird but they'd not noted the folks upstairs.


"And yes, I've a got some stock. Could get ya, hmm, 5 of the stocks, maybe 8 of the rifles. Ammo is a different purchase," more growling. Circe returned it with a much more animalistic version, being inhuman had its advantages. The punk queen flinched away from the Summer Queen.


Circe's smile said I can be a growling bitch too.


"Okay, how much ya got?"


An offer was made. It wasn't a good leather tote, nor was the amount.


"Two rifles and stocks, and say 100 rounds?" She looks up into the shadows. Then nods. "100 rounds. 150 if ya want ta ditch the stocks, 175 if ya want only one set. Ya want more, ya pay more. Sellers market, in so many ways right here."


"Whore of Babylon," one woman who looked like she'd cut slash marks into her own face growled at Circe.


"Excuse ya bitch, I am a supplier of problem solvers. High velocity problem solvers fer a price, so merchant. Not a whore," she glares at the mouthy cultist/ganger. Then cuts that woman off when she opens her mouth, "Keep it up, and the ammunition numbers drop. I supply the bullets."


The boss of the cult/gang gave a signal. Circe could hear the Bren click to ready above her, just in case the idiots charged. Nope, another woman came forth with another leather tote with some more bills, a few gemstones, and scraps of gold bits.


Circe signaled to her own side. A guy checked the new offer and gave Circe an estimate.


Circe shrugs, "So more ammo then, another 90 rounds. Ya want better, bring better barter next time. Or cash."


After the weirdos left, Circe had to ask their Mr Inspector about the stuff. "So, what was wrong with the gold? What happened ta if the cash is there, we don't care?"


"Those are gold teeth! They ripped that out of someone's mouth! That is sick." He looked like a little green.


Circe had seen far worse done for far less. She'd smelt it, "More than one victim, a few look similar shapes so probably more than one person."


Green gone, it left Mr Inspector's mouth as a mess on the floor. Circe laughs as she affects a bad German accent, "Guess it wasn't safe."