#// gunshot avoided; time to see if laur has the reflexes to dodge sam's pyramid scheme

[fishermcn]

"Daft. Reckon anyone still mucking 'bout this town once th'night sets in proper and th'beast come crawling out has t'be some kinda daft, aye." What that must say about himself and the messy, downright depraved work he gets up to isn't really any concern of his or anyone else for that matter. Least of all this bloke, sincere fool that this Powder Kegger is seeming more and more likely to be. "Doubly so if ya out here on account o'anyone save yerself and ya own interests."

Maybe there's something likened to kinship in seeing another someone with an appreciation for fire and flame out here, in being stained head to toe in all manner of smoke and soot from your endeavors. Maybe it's hearing him likewise cough and sputter and feeling a so similar urge of his own to do the same. Maybe it's simply the damned fool's grin and sheepishness at being more or less held at gunpoint only to mutter out an introduction, to call himself a godsdamned smokey bugger of all the bloody things in this wretched town. Whatever the case may be, whether one or all of the fool reasons listed above, something convinces Soot to flick the riflespear back into that lugged spearhead from before.

Still regarding the fire-spitting hunter-- aye, right, Laurentius it were, weren't it? Still regarding Laurentius with something like wariness now interwoven with strands of curiosity, Soot tilts his head consideringly, the cowl hiding the frown pulling at his thin lips. "Soot. Reckon ya can call m'Soot." Though he doesn't move to close the distance between them, he does at least sling his trick weapon over the set of his slight shoulders in something almost casual. At least it would be, were it not for the sharp regard to those stormy eyes held for Laurentius. "As for them "perishables" like ya call'm, along with that there silver, well..." Soot gnaws the inside of his check for a long, quiet moment before seemingly coming to a decision. "Reckon I might have an offer for ya. Make it t'where they could be an area o'expertise for ya."

[ from x with @fishermcn ]

"Oh, aye, no quarrel with me," Laurentius huffs. "You think me daft? You've half a length or more on me with that shooting stick, and no mistake. All I've got's this axe I pilfered off some unlucky bloke who didn't check his corners, and my flame spitter here."

He coughs himself, and wipes his mouth; ash got somewhere it wasn't supposed to. It's a miracle he hasn't caught the plague himself, given his prolific inhalation of former members of the township post-flamesprayer treatment.

Or maybe he has. Who knows. He can still talk and there's no fur where there shouldn't be, but the night is yet young.

"You've the right of it, true enough," he continues, stepping back a bit himself. If the gun goes off, he'll be caught in the blast proper unless he can duck into the alley behind him, but that's an obvious bit of trickery he doesn't expect will work. "Plenty of workable silver still in the streets, I suppose. As for yer, ah, perishables, we'll call 'em - blood pellets and marrow and such - not my area of expertise, so I'll defer t'you, I think."

He tries a grin, to see if that further defuses the situation. Strange night indeed, to see a powder kegger defusing anything.

"Right - what's yer name, then?" the powder kegger in question ventures, hands raised in a gesture of peace. Or surrender, depending on how enterprising this person is. "I'm Laurentius, or so my mam called me. 'Smoky bugger' or 'damnable half-heretic' are also popular titles, dependin' on who you've spoken to."