"Yeah, I heard her all right," Desmond replied sardonically. "Well what's past is past, but the next time something like that happens, I'm going to have a serious talk with that girl's parents and you'd best tell her about it. I don't have much tolerance for such a wild child... and don't do that."

He rubbed at the railing with the wrist of his sleeve where Nuala touched it. "You'll leave smudges. Anyway, the stew's nearly done. If you want something to do... never mind, I'll clean the kitchen myself. You can wait here until dinner's ready."

Without further ado, Desmond went back to his work.

"AH! What are you, an infant?" Meredith yelped as she clocked Roland in the arm with the barrel of her revolver. "Oh great, now look what you made me do. This shooter's meant to go to someone really rich. I swear, if you got it dirty..."

She trailed off in a mumble as she gave the gun a rub with a square of silk cloth. "There, good as new again."

Taking off her belt and putting it away on a rack with the gun in its holster, she sauntered over to Roland's work station and commented airily, "So this is the rifle you've been working on. It looks terrible, I could have done a better job in half the time and rifles aren't even my speciality."

In the background, an assistant was complaining to Martin about hogging the oven. The man casually intensified the flames with magic as he turned around to take another rod of metal for heating. The assistant was now complaining about being singed, but no one seemed to be paying any attention, least of all Meredith.

"And what's with this gem here?" she said as she looked at the forestock of Roland's rifle. "Goodness, it's tacky. I feel sorry for whoever paid for this."

"Yes, a wild child. I can't argue there." Nuala admitted, and felt a little like a walking dust-bunny, watching Desmond wipe away her 'finger smudge'. Then he almost invited her to help clean, but of course, she isn't fit to do it the 'right' way. So she was told to wait for dinner instead.

So he DID hear Becky! She lamented in her thoughts.

At least the part about the apology. But then if he heard her say that, then, what else did he hear? Oh, the terror! Nuala can't possibly just ask what else he heard, it would be too suspicious. Then Desmond might ask why and then all would be for not. Nuala flushed red, sitting by the window. Her father would come for dinner, and talk with her and Desmond. Desmond could possibly mention Becky. What would Nuala say to Angus, if he asks why Becky had come all the way up to the Grimm's Manor?

Roland immediately seized his arm back as he felt a sharp pain shoot through it from the blunt force of the gun against his arm. “Holy hells Mere calm down. No need to get in a tizzy about a bit of a smudge on your damn gun. I was going for your face any who- should have just let me.” With that he wiped his tarnished fingers on his apron and called them clean.

As Meredith babied her tiny little pistol- Roland took a seat back at his station. He glanced over his handiwork with the same amount of incommunicable pride that anyone has after a project comes together after fruition. There were only a few things left he had to do before he shipped it off to its new owner. Of course one of those things was apparently getting judged with an obstinate eye by none other than Meredith Colt herself who knew almost nothing of rifles and yet still acted as if she was an expert.

“What do you know about rifles Mere?” Roland glanced up with narrowed eyes. Their silly palaver might not seem to affect him so much as that was as common as sharing the same air, but to insult his work- well he was immediately rubbed the wrong way. “This is a damn work of art- both inside and out. It can outshoot any other shoddy rifle that roams around these parts, and by the Old Ways it’ll kill a man without so much as a warning.” When she pointed out the small gem his frown only became sterner. “It is infused with magic- and that is its’ calling card for it. What you never seen a- you know what- I’m not going to grace your ears with it.” With that he brought his hand forward as to brush her off. “So shoo Mere- go back to your bench with your precious little ole Colts and wallow in ole Samantha Colt’s legacy as some of us around actually create something of worth.” Roland would have rambled on about her being a hack artist, but he was honestly treading on thin waters as it was. Truth be told he didn’t think any of that about her work, but he wasn’t about to let her know. Especially not with her treating his creations like she did.

It was as Roland had said, Meredith was no expert on rifles and she conceded on that particular point. However, what she could not, simply would not tolerate was a word against her family name. "You only wish that you were a tenth of what Samantha was," she replied icily.

"Don't you know that it's because of her that Camelot still stands? We would never have been able to fight back against all the vampires and demons back then if she never made the Caliburn Guns. I mean, I know I might not ever be able to match that kind of achievement, but I'm still a Colt and gunsmithing's in my blood. Can you say the same thing?"

And then before she could stop herself, "No, you're nothing, absolutely nothing."

For a while, Meredith simply sat back down at her table, looking at the order from her customer. Then, as though realizing what she had just said, she turned back to Roland and hastily muttered, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. You know how I can get sometimes, I just... I'm sorry."

“Aye Mere maybe-“ was all that Roland managed to get out before the woman saw red and began berating him. The first half of it was expected- a retelling of how the Colt named saved Camelot in the beginning, and that the Caliburn Guns were legendary pieces within themselves. This fact Roland couldn’t contest too, and didn’t much care to. Anyone that said that they could create a gun better than the Caliburn Guns was not a savant or prodigy- but a fool.
Yet unfortunately Meredith continued on, and her last statement caused Roland to seize up. He was very well aware that he was the first in his family to be able to use magic publically, or at least have enough control of it to have found themselves in the Merlin’s apprenticeship with it. Truth be told it was hard to say if the Reinhardt legacy had been anything but ranchers and their ilk, but it was present now in Roland and he tried to use it to the best of his ability- which considering his current place in the hierarchy was quite talented.

"No, you're nothing, absolutely nothing."
With that said Roland turned back to his bench and stared somewhat lifelessly at his rifle. Slowly he wrapped it up in a thick cloth, and placed it in a large wooden box that it was meant to be delivered in. Everything about the piece was extremely detailed even down to the small engravings on the metal latch.
When he finished that those digits were shaking in fury, and he was trying his best not react in a volatile manner- it wouldn’t bode well for the flammable items about his form.

Roland was drawn out of his thoughts by Meredith’s return- in which he didn’t even manage to look her in the eye.
“Look Samantha Colt was a revolutionary genius, and you Meredith are a talented gunsmith yourself. But dammit if I want to hear how everyone has their damn names on these guns, and all this legacy, and all this pride and prestige. Yes you are right- I am a nothing,” with that he jerked his apron off and threw it into his workstation. Those deep blue eyes then pressed into the woman as he leered over her. “But I am a goddamn talented nothing- and I will show you that. I will show all of you that.” He raised his voice over the last sentence before jerking the rifle case up and making a production on leaving the gunsmithy.
Roland even managed to use a bit of magic to slam the door after him- causing the air to rush around his body as he stood right outside.

“What in the nine hells am I doing?” He questioned himself silently, and then found himself standing next to their gunslinger guard Angus. "You don't have to answer that- it is apparent that I am standing outside."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uDuXmil8AQg

Most of the Gunsmiths ignored all the drama. The one with the singed eyebrows continued to complain about his singed eyebrows, and Martin was still keeping anyone from using the oven. Everything went on as normal, but Meredith had fallen into complete silence, looking down blankly at her order sheet and regretting what she had said. Damnit, I said I was sorry, she thought, without feeling any better for it. After a while, she simply went back to her work and tried to take her mind off seeing Roland upset... but she couldn't. Try as she did, she simply couldn't.

~~~

Angus looked sideways at Roland with eyebrows raised. "Yep, it is apparent," the Gunslinger said and then looked towards the horizon, above the multitude of streets and rooftops in the city. "Nice bit of fresh air out here, but the day's starting to turn cool."

He leaned back against the wall of the workshop with his arms crossed and took a deep breath, enjoying the sight of the setting sun. Its saturated glow seemed to set the horizon ablaze with bright fire. Angus knew that it wasn't going to remain that way for long, but it was always a brilliant sight while it lasted.

"Though I suppose it's what everyone needs from time to time. A bit of cool air to keep a cool mind. Does ya a world of good, I reckon."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KDRx1ezNyII

The day was turning dark and Desmond was cleaning the chopping board when he saw Angus through the window, his hat in one hand and the other raised in greeting. "Honey, I'm home!" the Gunslinger hollered as he approached.

Shaking his head at such undignified behaviour for a Caliburn Knight, Desmond dried his hands on a towel and went to open the door. Angus stepped inside with a nod of thanks as he hung his hat up on a hook and removed his duster, handing it to Desmond.

"Hey there, pumpkin," Angus said cheerfully when he saw Nuala. "I hope I didn't keep you two waiting for long. Has my dinner gotten cold yet?"

"It's just ready to serve now," Desmond said as he folded the duster and hung it on a coat stand. "I'll go get the table ready. It'll be beef stew tonight."

"Ah, my favourite," Angus said with satisfaction and took a deep sniff of the air. "Mm, smells good. I can't wait!"

Seeing her father walk in, Nuala felt two things very strongly. One was happiness. Oh her father was home! It felt good seeing him. Like it was for the first time, every time. You never knew who would come along and challenge you, if you were a Gunslinger. Never knew if you'd live through a duel. When that door opens, and you see their face. A light springs up in your heart. They're safe. They're home. Nuala forgot her worry in that moment and hugged her Pa again, just like before.

"Oh, Pa!" Nuala said, right after he gave his coat to Desmond and commented about dinner. "Oh, I'm so glad you're home."

Letting go, she suddenly let the other thing hit her. Desmond could still mention Becky. The idea that Angus would ask why she was there and then have Nuala tell him why...Would she lie to Angus about Becky's visit? She could just say Becky went to apologize to Desmond. That's not 'really' a lie-lie. Becky did say sorry...but it wasn't 'why' she came there.

Ugh...maybe I should just let it go. Whatever I can do, I'll do.

"Cain't wait to eat either Pa." Nuala smiled, hiding her worry.

"Yeah, it's been a busy day for the both us, hasn't it?" Angus replied. "C'mon, let's have a sit down over there while we wait for Desmond."

He walked to the living room and then flopped down onto the couch, heaving an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, I'm pooped. So what was it that you wanted to talk about when I was at the Merlin's workshop? It was something about those three Gunslingers, wasn't it?"

Thinking back on the day, he tried to recall what Nuala had said. He didn't exactly remember everything, but he did remember the colour in his daughter's cheeks when she mentioned Mitchell. What would the boy think if his former mentor told him about that? It would be amusing, to be sure, although perhaps a bit cruel. Mitchell had always tended towards shyness on matters of the heart.

Looking at Nuala and thinking about Mitchell, Angus gave a mental shake of his head and thought just as he did before, You should know better darling. Gunslingers are nothing but trouble, just take a look at your old man. He smiled a smile of self-deprecation, although it looked no different from any other.

Glad that, so far, Desmond hadn't said a word about Becky, Nuala let herself relax. Sitting on the couch by her father, she fiddle with folding a handkerchief while answering her father's question, about what she had wanted to say before. Briefly reminding him about what she said, Nuala elaborated on her thoughts.

"Just why would a guy like that come back? John doesn't look the dim type, Pa, or..." Nuala huffed, she wasn't getting her thoughts straight. "I mean, I wouldn't do that. Go back to a place where no one wanted me. Risking your life, other peoples lives. Would you?"

"There's also that stranger." Nuala spoke. "He looked weathered, Pa, like an old wagon. Seemed kind of nice though. He didn't say much, but he seemed nice. And, guess I should say John was polite, for tippin' his hat."

"He might be a Gunslinger, but the job doesn't make the man, huh Pa?" She smiled. Rose didn't like Nuala judging anyone. "Cain't hate the person. At least before knowin' em."

"I wonder why Mitchell took them to the Merlin..." Naula's words trailed off in her own wonderment.

Angus remained silent as he listened intently, frowning in thought about John and smiling at the stranger being described as an old wagon. You sure do have a way with words darling, Angus thought and considered saying it as well, but did not want to interrupt.

When Nuala seemed to have finished talking, Angus gave his input: "You spoke well and truly, pumpkin. Don't know em, don't judge em, that's the way."

Angus smiled to show his pride and gave Nuala a paternal rub on the shoulder, but leaned her in close as he continued, "At least not personally. You see, as you grow older it becomes more important to judge, but only so far as to what matters, what you should be alert to and all, understand?"

He drew back and looked his daughter in the eyes as he said, "It's a dangerous world, darlin', and don't you forget it."

Then leaning back and dropping his tone of seriousness, Angus went back to the matter of the Gunslingers: "But anyways, I don't know about John and the strange fella. I do however know about Mitchell and I reckon that if he's keepin' company with the likes of John, it's probably for a good reason. Boy used to be one of my squires, did you know that?"

Roland suffocated the gun case against his body as his eyes fell over the peachy red of the slowly setting sun. It was gorgeous, and no matter how obtuse he could be to the outside world- sometimes he still saw the glory in things. He flicked those deep blue eyes over to Angus and studied the older gunslinger for a moment. Though the gunsmiths crafted guns of both precision and excellence for these men for their livelihood- he never put much thought into the stories these creations would weave. Once it left the smithy and entered the hand of the gunslinger it was no longer Roland’s story to partake in. Yet he found himself glancing at Angus’s holster, and then sighing somewhat deeply.
Everyone had revolvers. Stories would be woven with Colts and not Reinhardts, and that was that. There were no grand heroics with a ranged weapon, no squinty-eyed duels, no facing off behind tight quarters with only your flesh protecting you from impending death. So why did Roland fashion them? It was a long story- for another time.

“I figure you are right about that,” Roland admitted softly. "You ever wonder what the world would be like had you chosen a different path?" He paused and sighed. "Ah bothersome question that- don't worry about answering it. Just because I'm filled with doubt doesn't mean I need to harassh the gunslinger at the door. I'm sure you have other more important details to take care of." It was then he followed the trail of sight back towards the sunset. "For instance watching nighttime come- it loooks extremely riveting." Sarcasm- yes- but not too rude.

It felt good to be praised, but there was something different about it this time. Maybe it was how Angus phrased things, or that he frowned when he said that the world was dangerous. For the briefest of moments Nuala caught something else hidden in her fathers eyes. Some knowledge of his that would validate his words, more than just because he said them or because he was already so intelligent. It was there for so short a time, that Nuala brushed it off. Nuala was curious about Mitchell having been a Squire to her father.

"I didn't know that Pa." Her smile seemed less than happy, but she didn't want him to think it was because she thought Angus wasn't a good, no, great mentor. So she added to her words with truth. "He must be better than most, to be taught by you."

The slight disappointment had nothing to do with Angus being a mentor, no. It was that Mitchell was more than acquainted with Angus. For Nuala, anyone and everyone should know her amazing father...Except for the guys she wanted to be on speaking terms with. The only friends she had that were guys, were the Gibbs. Jay and Gale knew her from childhood. Taj, Alicia's brother, was...well, Alicia's brother. So that's how she knew Taj.

Thing is, if you asked Nuala who her first boyfriend was, she'd shrug her shoulders and say 'Never had a beau' . The girl had never even been kissed. It wasn't because she was as awful as Hilda Hoover liked to think. It was because every time a guy did find out that Nuala was the daughter of Angus McNair, they seemed to just throw up their hands and walk off.

Once, she had actually been pulled out of her shell, in public, when a guy named Taylor came up to her wool wagon. Nuala even laughed and she could see he wanted to go out for some lunch or something. Then Hilda Hoover walked over and said, 'Nuala McNair, your feet are as callous as your face is plain. Why don't you wear make up?' At that moment, at that very second, Taylor flushed red and apologized for bothering Nuala. Then left. It was three times that this had happened so far, and now Nuala guessed the reason. No one wanted to date the McNair girl. Ryan and James didn't seem to have that problem. Just Nuala.

For whatever reason it was, she was sure her father wouldn't tell. No point in asking him what the deal was. Nuala just took it as a sign that she was either never going to get married in Camelot, or nowhere at all. But, she still had a little hope for love. All girls did.

So if Mitchell ever finds out that she's Angus's daughter, he'll probably do the same. Nuala was beginning to think she would become and old spinster woman, with cats for company.

"I don't feel so good right now Pa." Nuala admitted. Trying to say it was th hot day, or maybe she got a cold. "Think I should go up to bed. I will eat dinner, if it's important to ya though."

The change in Nuala was subtle but sudden, and Angus's first reaction was concern. When his daughter started saying that she didn't feel so well, it was a little more than concerning. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but then he considered that maybe Nuala was just feeling a bit peckish. She had been walking around all day after all, selling wool and then going about the city, looking for her father. Angus determined that a bit of high spirits was in order.

"Now, now, nothing's more important than your own health. One ought to look after oneself, huh?" Angus said. "If you're so tired, I'll let ya retire early. It'll just mean more stew for me, ha!"

He took a deep sniff and made an exaggerated noise of satisfaction. "Mm mmm! Oh, that's a delicious smell! I tell ya, the weariness of a whole day just vanishes whenever I have me some stew. It's like magic!"

Almost as if on cue, Desmond appeared in the doorway of the dining room to announce, "Dinner is ready."

"Speak of the devil, here it is. Well, pumpkin, I suppose I'll just have to divide your share between me and Des. It might prove to be a bit too much for the both of us, but oh well, it'd be worth it!"

"Night Pa." Nuala hugged him and walked up stairs.

When she got to her room, she sighed and plopped down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. Very unlady-like. Hilda came to her mind. 'How sad. You don't have much grace do ya dear? Tsc tsc.' Nuala narrowed her eyes. Hilda hadn't actually said that before, but she sure would have!

If Angus's reputation as a Caliburn Knight had been shying away any suitors, Nuala was sure Hilda could be another reason why. That old crone.

Feeling sleep taking over, but feeling a grumbling stomach, Nuala ignored her hunger and forced herself to get changed. If she was going to be in her room for the rest of the evening, might as well get ready for bed now. Finding a long linen gown, loose and wrapped around the bust with a pretty black ribbon, Nuala slipped that on and curled up on the bed. Pulling out a book from a shelf near by, she fell asleep while reading. Didn't even remember to pull the covers over herself.

"Huh, she must have been really tired," Angus muttered as he watched Nuala disappear into her room. His sense of concern returned and he had to wonder if there was indeed something wrong, but if Nuala didn't want to talk about it then she had a right to her privacy... but what if she did want to talk about it and one simply had to ask?

Women, Angus concluded with a mental shrug. Perhaps when there was time for it, he'd go back to the farm and see what Rose would think. Gods willing, it wasn't one of those dreaded phases of adolescence. Angus had no idea how such matters should be handled, and the thought of having to was honestly somewhat unnerving.

Sitting down at the dinner table, Angus thanked Desmond for the stew and eagerly dug into his bowl, relishing each spoonful. "Mm, as tasty as always," he said as he reached for seconds. "Some day, you're going to have to tell me how you make it this good."

"With practice and the right ingredients," Desmond blandly replied.

"Er... good advice I suppose," Angus muttered, and then a thought crossed his mind. "Say, did anything happen while I was gone? Nuala don't seem her usual self."

"Her friend Becky came over for a chat."

"What did they talk about?"

Desmond looked up at Angus and said nothing for a moment. Angus didn't know what to make of it until Desmond finally said, "No idea."

"Hmm... well all right." Angus finished his second bowl of soup and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Guess I'll go to sleep now, unless you want help washing up."

"I'll be fine," Desmond replied, already taking his and Angus's bowl for cleaning.

"Well good night then."

Angus walked up the stairs and entered his room. After cleaning everything up, Desmond eventually went to his own room, which was at the lower level of the house, and soon went to sleep.

"Ain't it just?" Angus replied, then after a moment's pause, "It's not a bad question, y'know. I've thought of it many times myself."

Were he the type for it, Angus would have lit a cigarette at that exact moment and taken a drag. It certainly would have been the typical thing for a Gunslinger to do, but being an old Caliburn Knight, he had long ago neglected such shows of pretentiousness. He merely looked towards the sunset as he thought of what to say next. This one of the Merlin's own was clearly going through some things that Angus felt he could identify with.

"Yep, sure were a lot of places where life could've turned out way different," he continued. "If I stayed on the path I used to walk, well, let's just say that the war in Avalon might not be the only thing to worry about these days... or maybe it would've never happened in the first place, who can say?"

Angus chewed on that thought a while before he glanced at the box held in Roland's arms and said, "That's a rifle in there, ain't it? Mind if I have a look?"

Nuala woke with the sun and refused to yield to it's light. The girl wrapped a pillow around her head and sighed. Dreams were an escape from silly troubles that were no trouble at all to anyone besides Nuala. But they pass. Nuala didn't even think the dream was that fun anyway. What was it about again? Shrugging, she sat up. It was dark under the shield of the pillow, but the sun was warming up the room now. Not so great if you want to sleep in. And it was Sunday too! The only day she ever gets out of wool work, and farm work. The only day she's technically allowed to sleep longer and here comes the sun to ruin it.

“Hm..” She grumbled, as did her stomach.

Feeling a bit childish to get so upset to have left dinner uneaten, Nuala wondered what Desmond was making for Breakfast. So she threw on a dress and stomped down stairs. Mentally kicking herself, she forgot that Desmond didn't like that. It was too late, though. Nuala had already tromped down all the way to the end.

If he hadn't mentioned Becky already, he might feel inclined to do so now. Because it was that loud.

“I think about what it would be like to have been the rancher my father wanted me to be,” Roland remarked quicker than he could retract it. “In case you weren’t aware that I came from nothing- because you know it is a riveting facet of conversation in the smithy.” Those blue eyes fell to the case in his hands and then down further to his feet. Angus was not the sort of person that he cared to have this conversation with, but with the sky stained an honest peachy-red and his emotions erupting within him it was hard to stop the dam once it opened.

“Or,” Roland went to add. “Pigs could fly, and magic would be owned by fairies and door mice. They teach us that the smallest of decisions can affect the largest of realities. But to be honest Angus- I would rather have you as the doorman than any other gunslinger. You’re intimidating- and you’re eyebrows are just downright enviable.”

It was then his attentions turned towards the case, and he found himself somewhat bamboozled that Angus- a Caliburn gunslinger- would want to see his rifle. Yet with almost a numb hand he placed it on a barrel besides the door and popped the latch. “I- really- don’t know what to say.” Roland said slowly. “Ta-da?”

Angus raised a quizzical eyebrow at Roland and then at the rifle as he noticed the gem in the forestock. He was aware of enchanted guns and wondered what effects this particular one was meant to bestow, but ever the pragmatist, he merely asked, "Have you test fired it yet?"

He looked up at Roland as though to find the answer in his noticeably blue eyes, and of course found it as only a Gunslinger could. There were other things written into the Gunsmith's face and, taking his absent-minded palavering into account, Angus decided to address them. There was perhaps a world of difference between them, given their professions being the polar opposites of each other - one a creator and the other a trained killer - but both of their lives were centred on the gun and bullet. There could be that level of understanding between them at least.

"As you know," Angus began as he inspected the rifle again. "You can only tell the true quality of a gun by firing it. Sure you could decorate it, mark it, name it, give it a story and such, but in the end, none of all that matters as long as it does what's it's supposed to do, and does it damn well."

Looking up at Roland with a light smirk, Angus said, "Pardon my language. Incidentally, I also came from nothing. A farmstead to be precise, and now, well..."

The Gunslinger's eyes returned to the sunset with an almost dreamlike gaze, as though seeing the past in the light suffused horizon. "Here I am."

At that moment, the three Gunslingers who were talking to the Merlin came out of the workshop. As they left, Angus and Mitchell exchanged a silent nod of acknowledgement, and then one of the Gunsmith apprentices also stepped out to say, "Hey, uh, Roland. The Merlin's, um, making an announcement. Should, ah, probably get inside. Er, hi, Angus."

The Gunslinger gave a desultory wave and then said to Roland, "Sounds like something important."

Landarin chose to present a third kind of payment to the Merlin in the form of a magical artefact from Avalon, a horn able to summon fog. Intrigued, the Merlin accepted and then turned to address John Reduns regarding his business here.

Taking the initiative, Mitchell explained John's situation for him, including the duel with Steven in which the hate-addled Gunslinger had died. Unimpressed with the situation, the Merlin requested John to replace Steven who was meant to guard the refugees for the night, same as Mitchell. The Merlin reasoned that this would help John by serving as an example to other Gunslingers, that those who challenged another to a duel must be prepared to take over the loser's responsibilities.

John accepted, albeit reluctantly as he was unaccustomed with bowing to authority. The Merlin also requested Landarin to join this night's watch, if only for something to do in the time it took the Merlin to find land to give away. Landarin accepted and so it came to pass that he, John and Mitchell were soon on their way to the gates of the city, to patrol the area beyond the walls where the refugees milled about, ready to make camp.

In the meantime, the Merlin returned to the workshop to make an announcement to his apprentices, regarding his palaver with the witch queen of Avalon.

The first thing Mitchell wanted to do after leaving the workshop was to ask Landarin about the horn and any other artefacts he might have been carrying, but that would surely have been impertinent beyond proper conduct. Instead, he turned to John and asked, "So, that worked out pretty well, didn't it? As long as you're on duty, others are going to be less likely to mess with ya. Duels when you're out and about is one thing, but when you're in the middle of a job, well, that's just plain rude."

“Of course,” Roland remarked as he glanced at the sleek design of his rifle. It was quite different than a lot that were placed out on the market, but then again so few firearms were rarely ever customized as this one had been. Many would ask ‘why’ considering that rifles were a ranged weapon, and no one would much ever admire the detail before it would return to its’ holster. Roland just countered that with: ‘why not’.
“I tested it before I added all the detailing- didn’t want to go through all that intricate work if it wasn’t going to shoot straight and true. Because if I had to alter any of it- well then- I would have ruined all of this.” Those calloused fingers ran over the stock with a somewhat paternal grace.

He blinked as he stared at the gunslinger in an attempt to focus on Angus. There was something about the other man that forced his attention to attempt to be drug elsewhere. It wasn’t like looking in those younger gunslingers that he had met at the door earlier, but more so glimpsing at a deeply intricate tale. Roland offered a slight laugh, “well we do all have to start from somewhere. I once tried to-“ but Roland was cut off shortly after that moment. As those aforementioned fresh-faced gunslingers left Merlin’s shop- Roland couldn’t help but to find himself a bit aghast at what was said afterwards.
“An announcement?” Those brows narrowed. “Very well- this is going to be embarrassing.” Roland remarked as he covered his rifle back up and latched the case closed. It was probably a good thing that Angus had held him up- otherwise he wouldn’t have caught this. Whatever this meeting was about had to be somewhat important if the Merlin was gathering everyone in the same area.

“Have a nice evening Angus, and have a good time with your family.” Not that Angus would wait for him, or fail to have a proper evening with his loved ones without the gunsmith’s go-ahead. While the blonde was blunt, honest, and sometimes gratingly so- he wasn’t without a bit of heart here and there. Patriarchal figures that did good for their family happened to be one.
Another one was- well- he needed to apologize to her once he got a chance, and hopefully apply a heavy salve to the wounds he lashed into Meredith before he left.

Slowly he slid back into the smithy and may his way back to his workspace.

John shrugged after the kid finished speaking, He was most likely speaking the truth but nowadays any crazy nut with a guy would like to be able to add John to there list of win duels. "Im just glad to be back were I know myself." It was true he was glad but he felt a mixture of emotions for returning.. But these would not effect him
On his.. Quest.

"Ha, I can- well, no, I don't think I can relate to that, but I think I understand," Mitchell replied thoughtfully. "I think... so, uh, hey, just out of curiosity-"

Where did you go for 4 years? he wanted to ask, but knew how nosy a question it would be, so Mitchell opted for small talk: "It usually rains a lot around this time of the year. You reckon there'll be any storms soon if the weather ain't acting up now? Heck, maybe it's got something to do with the war."

Mitchell looked towards the horizon as though to check. Of course, he couldn't see any sign of the war raging in Avalon (not counting the refugees), but he could see that the sun was really coming down now. He judged that by the time he, John and Landarin got to the gates of the city, the sky would be dark.

As it turned out, Mitchell judged correctly. The three Gunsligners were now standing by the gates of the city where the refugees continued to stream through, and several lanterns had been lit.

Mitchell was nervous as he approached the gate, worried that the two Gunslingers who had accosted Landarin earlier would still be there, but they were not. There was a new pair of Gunslingers guarding the gate and they did not so much as glance at Landarin, but they did glower at John.

They probably saw the duel, Mitchell thought joylessly. His own temperament towards John had lightened somewhat after the talk with the Merlin. Perhaps he wasn't as bad as his reputation had made him out to be, but how many others were going to think that? Not many most likely.

"Well here's our post," Mitchell said as he stepped outside of the gate.

Beyond the city walls, the line of refugees was straight enough as they made their journey across the land, but they were positively crowded by the entrance. The Avalonians seemed a patient and peaceful folk, but they were still eager to be inside as soon as possible. Can't blame em, Mitchell thought as he looked towards the horizon, unable to see an end to the trail of refugees.

"All right, I'll make my patrol on this side," Mitchell said as he pointed to the right. "You two can pick whichever side you like, but remember to keep within eyesight of the walls, that's the rule. Landarin, I realize you ain't from around here, but there's no need to worry. All we gotta do is help out wherever we can and look out for trouble, simple as that. If there's anything serious, you just gotta shoot once in the air and help will come running. Now I think that's everything, so let's get to it."

Without further ado, Mitchell went off to make his rounds. Sure is a lovely evening tonight, he thought cheerfully as he looked up at the moon and stars in the night sky... then shivered in the wind, despite his duster. A bit cold though.

Landarin didn't much enjoy this task that was given to him but he didn't complain as he walked away and began his rounds. The cool air blew his jacket back and forth as he trailed the wall around the city. His thoughts strayed as his job became a mindless task. Slowly but surely his hands slipped towards his pocket as he patted his trousers and his belt pocket mking sure he had all of his belongings. To anybody but himself he may seem paranoid but he just wanted to make sure. After verifying that they were there he went back to his job minding his own business.

As night had fallen, and the river of refugees from Avalon continued on there way towards Camelot, there was one figure that was following them all. Yet it was more at a distance and within the falling darkness that was growing all around. The figure easily darted across the ground, her body lowered slightly towards the ground while her arms were behind her. Her hair, a brown shade, was piled up high on her head. Some strands of it, though, did fall down. The locks blown back from the speedy pace she was going at. Teal green orbs would stare straight head. Her expression a blank one, as the round face of the female continued on the path she was going. Sparrow The Swift, her name she was given by the tribe, glanced over towards the line of people first, then back towards the gate up ahead she noticed. With a slight twist of her ankle, she changed the direction of where she was going towards the right a bit. Sparrow barely made a sound, as she was quickly making her way towards the building.

Although her coloring and pale skin matched like those other Avalonians, the major difference between her and them were her clothing. It was a mismatch of cloths upon her form. Yet her slender and womanly figure could easily be recognized due to the top she wore was a simple one that wasn't really all that modest by others standards. The one other thing about her clothes; they were clearly a Native's outfit.

Sparrow's teal eyes would stare over at the gate and wall of the building for the longest time. As she made her way over a slight out cropping of boulders that were nearby, she decided to run up over them. Her bare feet padding softly with not a single sound, as she hopped from one point to the next. Just as she reached the top, she was soaring right over it.

...and right towards a blonde haired male in a leather duster that seemed to be walking outside in the night. Sparrow's eyes widen, and she only sucked in a breath as she quickly angled her body back. Unfortunately, the way she was going to land, was smack dab onto the male. With his face right at chest level by the time she reached him.

"Only when my shift is over," Angus said after the Gunsmith as he went back inside, and then shortly afterwards, Angus saw his replacement approaching. "Well speak of the devil."

~~~

Meredith heard Roland coming back into the workshop, but didn't turn around to look. She only kept her eyes fixed on the Merlin as he stood by the door to the wizard's tower, calling for everyone's attention. Meredith was still feeling somewhat guilty about making Roland upset and hadn't yet thought of a way to make it up to him. The best she could hope for was the both of them forgetting about it after the Merlin's talk, and then maybe things could go back to normal between them.

When the Merlin saw Roland entering the workshop, he thought briefly of asking where the Gunsmith had been, but that wasn't important right now. What did matter was getting everyone in the workshop up to speed on the war in Avalon and what that meant to the Gunsmiths of Camelot. If ever there was a time when their duties mattered above all else, this was it.

"All right, first thing's first," the Merlin began. "All the civilians from Avalon have been evacuated. The last of them are on their way to Camelot and so far there hasn't been any trouble with them, which is good, but supporting them as well as our own people is going to be a challenge. You all let me worry about that though, I'll be dealing with it myself. As for the situation in Avalon, here's where you really got to pay attention. Write it down if you have to. We..."

He paused to find the right words as he looked at his apprentices. They had no idea how truly dire the situation was. No one did, not even the witch queen herself until it was too late.

"I'll be frank, it looks like we've underestimated our enemy. Our guns in Avalon are already starting to run dry and I've heard mention of Gunslingers making last stands with nothing but swords and knives. Now I've already sent as much as we can spare from here, but it's not enough. Our guys are in serious need of rearmament and we're the ones who'll have to make it happen. That means no more special orders."

He paused a moment to let his words sink in. Meredith in particular felt a devastating loss, thinking about all her half-finished projects and the customer orders she had yet to fulfil, but even this quickly gave way to a rising sense of... panic? alertness? anticipation? She didn't exactly know what she was feeling, but it seemed as though the immediate future had suddenly acquired a terribly daunting aspect.

"No engravings, no enchantments, nothing fancy, just simple guns and ammunition, that's all we focus on from now on," the Merlin continued. "You name it, we make it. Bullets, cannons, cannon shells, Gatling guns, grenades, the works. Whatever you're most proficient at, find others to work with and split yourselves up into teams. I want you all to spread the word to every Gunsmith and former Gunsmith in Camelot and then get your asses into gear. Do not waste a single second, you hear me?"

"Aye, Merlin!" the Gunsmiths all shouted in unison.

"And don't bother with revolvers, every Gunslinger's got one of the bloody things, but they'll definitely need rounds to shoot the enemies with, so let's get to it!"

As all the Gunsmiths scrambled to leave the workshop, Meredith went over to Roland and whispered, "Oh shit, this is serious."

Before either of them could leave as well, the Merlin said, "Meredith and Roland, hold on a sec and come over here. I got a different job for you two."

As Mitchell made his patrol, he tried to stay close enough to the refugees to exchange the odd word with them here and there. "Welcome to Camelot. Not too far now, eh?" he'd say, or, "How was Avalon when you left?" To which some would reply, "I didn't see any fighting, but I sure heard it," and others simply said, "Violent." These Avalonians had no taste for war, but they were stoic enough about it. Even the children seemed quite laconic.

As Mitchell wandered further along the wall, away from the refugees, he heard and then saw someone descending towards him from the sky. A figure wreathed in the darkness of night, so it seemed.

"Whoa!" Mitchell yelped as his hand flew towards the butt of his revolver, but the figure had already crashed into him. He had time to draw his gun and fire once into the air, but by then he was pinned to the ground, his face buried under the weight of whoever it was that came flying out of nowhere. What in the big, blue blazes of Tartarus is going on? he thought in bewilderment as he struggled to free himself.