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Writ was dressed in his usual outfit, a t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of cheap sunglasses. He held a bag of kettle corn the size of a small child across his arm. With his free arm, he pointed at the black box in front of him,

"Let me take a look at that."

He was underneath one of his favorite childhood attractions, the tent of cutlery and self-defense gear. Ornate swords hung on makeshift wire frames, knives of all shapes and sizes graced the professional-looking glass cases, bottles of pepper spray hung off to the side, collecting dust (Because seriously, who actually goes to these tents for the "Self-defense" aspect?). The sign over the tent christened this glorious mass of weapons "The Second Amendment"

The pug-faced guy behind the tables went "Sure" and pulled out the compound crossbow from it's box. It looked like a handgun that swallowed a bow. Writ barely hid his excitement. Ever since he was a kid, he wanted to buy something from this tent.

"Fifty pounds of force." The man said roughly, he pulled a neon orange arrow from the box and pulled back the string, "Load" He snapped the arrow into the crossbow's slot, "Point" The man aimed at a stack of discarded boxes next to him, "Shoot." He pulled the trigger, and the arrow found itself pierced all the way through a piece of stray styrofoam.

"Cooooool."

Writ came out with a compound crossbow, box snugly fit under his other arm, and a big black bag of arrows in his hand. Sure, the Great spirit's bow and arrow set was nice, but it was too big and conspicuous to have any practical use. Writ liked the idea of the crossbow, all the joys of working with a bow and arrow at a smaller, practical scale.

He walked out of the tent and suddenly found a familiar face.

"Hey!" Writ stuck up a hand and waved, "Vale!"

"Huh?" Writ looked at the crossbow he had been waving around, "Oh. Yeah." He pulled the box from his arms and put the weapon away. It wasn't the most inconspicuous thing he's done, but waving around a potentially dangerous weapon in a crowded market was pushing his luck a little bit.

"Shopping." He said innocently, bagging the box, "You know, can never feel too safe on the streets nowadays." Vale didn't need to know that he was indulging in his childhood dream of actually buying something from that tent, nor did he need to know he knew there was a certain person out there who didn't mind dissecting certain vital organs from other people's chests.

Even Though Writ never actually took any of Vale's "Threats" to heart, better safe than sorry.

Writ felt a little tug at his poncho, he looked down. He gave Syndi a smile, stuck out his tongue and made a funny face, "Hey there." He looked up to Vale, "Yours?"

"So you do have a sister." Writ looked down at Sydni again, "Cute kid."

He took out his crossbow and twirled it around his finger by the trigger guard, which would've looked aamazing if it weren't for the fact that crossbows weren't guns, and the strings and the bow part got in the way of his otherwise optimal twirling abilities. Still, he managed to make one half-hearted spin look good enough to still seem cool.

"Well kid" Writ said, in a down-home country accent that he put on after a couple of drinks, "I prefer the title of 'Indian' myself, but I'd say you're pretty much right."

There were such thing as Indian cowboys, right?

"I'd hate that, I mean, I am the 'doggie' around here.

"I should be the one to ask you that pardner." Writ stayed on the cowboy angle, accent and all. He pointed to Vale's eyepatch, "What happened to your eye?"

If life was different, Vale would have made a good pirate. Probably. You know, the whole maternal vibe and going out with people like Quinn would've probably hurt his pirating career, but the eyepatch would be enough to compensate. Probably.

"Yep." Writ said to Sydni, "I do cool stuff too, like go out in the desert with nothin' but my name and take on a bear or two." He made it sound like it was just an everyday routine.

"My parents wanted to put me on a leash, you know, play pretend, acted like one of those 'doggies' for a while, was all good until I realized I could bite their fingers if they got close to me with that thing." Writ smirked, "They stopped after that."

Writ raised an eyebrow at Vale's explanation of his injury. Well, looks like Quinn and Vale did break up, and Quinn didn't take rejection too well. At least, that's what it seemed like to Writ.

"Ouch, so you can't use that eye anymore or what?"

Over to Sydni he explained, "A bear is this huge monster with teeth that can snap a neck in half, and claws that can rip a man's arm clean off with one swipe." He looked up to Vale, "Honestly, you haven't even taught her what a bear is? What happens when she finds herself alone in the desert and a bear just comes out of nowhere?"

"I dunno, if a bear and a jaguar got into a fight, the bear would totally win." Writ said, having no idea what species Vale's kitty traits were. Not that he cared or anything- the whole canine mindset discouraged empathy for cats and cat-like things. And people, in Vale's case. In fact, the whole basis of their friendship was the fact that Writ enjoyed messing around with him in a manner that didn't show much sympathy for the catboy. Vale seemed to tolerate it most of the time. Despite the odd death threat or two.

"I just have that effect on people." Writ smiled, "So what brings you to market? If you want to get some neat toys" Writ held up the crossbow, "I'll point you the right way.

That wasn't the point. Writ looked at Vale with a raised eyebrow. Are you really taking this seriously? He knew he wasn't. If it were a coyote against a jaguar, Writ would make an argument, but if a jaguar could beat a bear, well, Writ knew who to bring next time he went out into the desert. Nonetheless, Vale was just being silly. There was a disappointed sigh as he shook his head with his head down, shameful of his friend's immaturity.

"You gotta admit, people have come a long way when it comes to finding ways of hurting each other, and I couldn't afford a gun." Writ dropped his crossbow into the bag, "Sides', I figure a guy that's selling crossbows needs to eat too."

Writ's ears pricked up at the mention of furniture. Time to see the fruits of his trickery, assuming that Faylen had gotten around to asking Vale about the birds and the bees.

"New furniture, huh? I'm guessing that there's a few stains in the ol' couch that you can't get out?"