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[what_the_flux]

[In the City today - such as it is - Doc's usual base of operations has been replaced by a respectable little blacksmith shop. It's authentically Western, and so is Emmett; though his hobbies still lean towards science, engineering, and invention, he's no time traveler today. The DeLorean is nowhere to be found, a stagecoach in its place.]



[Doc is available for any range of services - from anything as basic as shoeing your horse to the more advanced tasks of customizing and upgrading your firearms. If you know enough to ask him for such a service, of course.

You may find him at his shop during business hours, or bump into him as he goes out for a walk around town.]

Comments

[withloadedguns]

[All he needs is the buckle on a saddlebag mended: the tongue has been bent, but don't ask how it happened. It's not work for a jeweler.

Besides--anyone and anything could end up pointing him in the right direction today.

So he (and the horse) head to the blacksmith's shop...]

[what_the_flux]

[Said blacksmith is just inside the open doors of the smithy, tinkering around with a few items - lengths of metal tube that range slightly in diameter, and a small variety of lenses, on a workbench also littered with a selection of sights. On the wall above it is a rack with several firearms, some of which have been modified and some of which haven't.

The forge, an enclosed brick structure that contrasts with the wooden building, a few anvils, and the slack tub are behind him, on the opposite side of the shop. A shaggy mutt rests on the stairs at the back that lead to his personal living space; it's the dog that notices the approaching stranger first, lifting his head and letting one decisive bark out to announce him.

It's not until the bark that Emmett lifts himself up from the work he's hunched over, turning to greet the cowboy with a smile as he wipes his hands on his heavy apron.]

Good afternoon, stranger!

[Some around these parts use that word with hostility, but Emmett is certainly not among them. While he may be more cautious than his uncursed self, he still finds he ends up liking more strangers than not.]

[withloadedguns]

[He doesn't look at the blacksmith immediately. He'd rather take in all the other peculiarities of the shop first (modified rifles, metal tubing, one wonders...).

But he's not unfriendly, so a tug on the brim of his hat.]

Hello.

[He likes being a stranger. This isn't bad at all.]

[what_the_flux]

[Emmett's nothing if not friendly - and, of course, eager to share his passion for his work - so he hardly minds the cowboy taking a gander around. That smile still in place as he follows the man's gaze. His own hat hanging on the wall near the door, he simply nods in response to the gesture.]

Anything I can help you with today?

[withloadedguns]

[Hey, so, we're all looking around--nothing wrong with that.]

Just a buckle that's come loose.

[what_the_flux]

[His grin settles into a still-friendly and, honestly, no less wide smile, as he tilts his head slightly in acquiescence.]

Sure sounds like something I can have fixed right up for you! Where's the problem?

[withloadedguns]

[He hoists his saddlebags from his shoulder. He would've taken it to the saddlery if it were the leather. But it's the mental of the buckle. Better for a smith.]

Just this.

[...that buckle may have caught a bullet, actually. I mean, just judging by the bend in the metal.]

[what_the_flux]

[And he looks at it, examining that bend of it. It certainly looks like it's taken a shot...] Bit of a mishap, eh? Well, no matter, I can have this straightened out in no time!

[withloadedguns]

Thought you could.

[what_the_flux]

[And he'll reach to take that bag from you if you don't mind, cowboy, making conversation as he does.]

So I take it you're new in town?

[withloadedguns]

[He'll hand it over--nothing valuable or monetary in there. That's all hidden inside his vest.]

You might say that.

[Looking at those rather impressive rifles again...]

[what_the_flux]

[And of course Emmett will take it, examining the buckle critically. He certainly doesn't mind the cowboy looking at the rifles, for what little he notices it. Even as he speaks, he's focused on measuring up the task at hand.]

You passing through or aiming to stay?

[withloadedguns]

Depends on whether it might be...worthwhile to stay.

[Yeah, a smile.]

[candothat]

[Speaking of those more advanced services...

Pavel Chekov, fresh from a twenty-hour ride, given a day off, and burdened with the handsome pay that comes along with risky occupations, has been waiting for an opportunity to talk to the local blacksmith--the best he knows, and he knows a good many blacksmiths--about a few firearm modifications. Grimy and as awake as ever a person who hasn't slept in nearly a day can be, he, his rifle, and his pistol enter Emmett Brown's place of business. Both firearms have been modified by either Emmett or Chekov more than once, but there's always room for improvement.]

Doc?

[Not waiting for a response, the wiry kid sets his weapons down and starts pulling out tattered papers depicting very technical potential modifications.]

The rifle's scope, I think, is far outdated. I have an idea for new sights--new eye relief, something long, telescopic, maybe. And the pistol's barrel... it is not performing as well as hoped.

[what_the_flux]

[When Chekov arrives, Doc is in the loft space above the actual shop area - a space that he's quite content to call his home. Being open to the space below, he hears the entrance of one of his regular customers - though, of course, this is a special breed of customer. Pavel is a collaborator, someone with whom he's accomplished brilliant work, and when they work together on a project, they achieve advancements that would have been years of work away otherwise.

The dog makes its way downstairs first, barking happily at the arrival of a familiar presence, followed by Emmett, who grins as he takes the stairs two at a time to step decisively onto the grungy floor of the shop.]

Pavel!

[He claps the young man on the shoulder, his eyes already on the papers he's brought. This is exciting stuff, okay?]

That sounds quite a bit like something I've considered myself, actually! I'm certain there's something in your plans we can fine-tune into precisely what you need. And the pistol... well, I do have something I've been working with, we may just be able to modify it for the job.

[His eyes are already scanning the area around the workbench dedicated to his firearm modifications, scanning for the weapon in question.]

[candothis]

[Given the option, Chekov would like nothing better than to apprentice himself to Emmett Brown if he survives the perils and excitement of his current line of work long enough to make it to retirement--a not-too-distant point marked by either turning nineteen or exceeding the maximum weight limit of one hundred twenty-five pounds (the former is far more likely than the latter). Doc is brilliant. There are remarkably few brilliant minds within several hundred miles, and even fewer with access to materials to create that which they can imagine.

To say that Doc is much admired would be a gross understatement.

Pavel shushes the dog and pets the shaggy creature before turning all of his attention to Doc and the work to be done.]

You have? [Great minds. Chekov shuffles through his papers to find the ones relevant to sights. In spite of some water damage and what is quite probably a stray bullet hole, the schematics have remained surprisingly intact.] I would like to see, if I may. A greater visual range would be useful, and the pistol...

[He smiles with an air of self-deprecation, watching Doc scramble around his work area.]

The changes that we made to the barrel to increase projectile velocity are good, but I think that this has compromised accuracy. My accuracy is compromised enough without that.

[what_the_flux]

[When that day comes, Emmett would be more than happy to take him on. If the two of them could work consistently together, he'd imagines that they would be capable of an untold number of advancements.

He grins, glancing up from the scattered pieces of tubing, lenses, sights of varying designs and sizes.]

I have a number of early designs and prototypes we can go through! I doubt any of them are quite ready for practical applications yet, but I suspect if we were to combine what we each have, we just might hit on something remarkable.

[Whatever he was looking for, he doesn't actually find it before turning his attention back to Pavel and his charts, eager to see what he's found on sights. Of course, even as he looks to them, he's shifting back to the matter of the pistol barrel. He can be a bit much to keep up with at times.]

Nonsense! I'm sure your accuracy is fine, and even so, the entire point of my modifications are to help keep things on the level. Good folks don't deserve a belly full of lead simply because an outlaw has better aim than they do. We'll work something out for it, no doubt!

[And he glances back to the work surface, looking for -- barrel diagrams? No, sights! He had already been looking for his work on sights and scopes, he'd better get those first...]

[candothis]

[Advancements or oddball technology that this particular time period isn't ready for? It's hard to say. Hopefully they would concentrate long enough to put their knowledge to good use.

Chekov joins Doc in looking through what might optimistically be called 'the sight section' (although, of course, there's no real place where one subject ends and another begins), mindful not to touch.]

It should not be difficult, taking what you have and creating something new that will be usable. I am sure that most of what is here is remarkable already.

[He stays focused on the sights, content to let Doc muddle through papers and hop from one subject to the next. The boy is himself easy to distract, but he has managed to discipline himself enough to maintain focus.

For the most part.]

Thank you. It would be a shame, dying only because someone else has better aim.

If it is shortened slightly, I think--the barrel... the problem is not the uniformity of the interior rifling geometry, I know, but decreasing the barrel's length may reduce the metal's elasticity? A small difference, maybe.

But the sight... [Okay, maybe it is hard to stay on one topic.] The iron sight is fine--not perfect, but fine--and I think it can be made to coexist with a telescopic sight. If not, it can be removed, but I like how adjustable the iron sight has been.

[what_the_flux]

[In any universe, in any time, those are one and the same for Doc.]

Ah, not at all! [Sifting through the cluttered materials on the surface...] I'm afraid much of what I have here is still somewhat crude. [He may certainly think that, but most would regard his crude prototypes as finished products.]

And a small difference - well, it's a small difference between hitting a target or not, isn't it? Even the slightest percentage increase in accuracy can be the deciding factor between life and death and, frankly, I'd much prefer you to be on the right side of that decision.

[candothis]

You give yourself too little credit. Compared to most craftsmen, your work is a fresh meal next to a skinned steer.

[He's serious; credit where credit is due, and Chekov isn't ashamed to admit that Doc is far better at what he does than Chekov would be. Chekov has ideas and can put things together, but the finer details--the ones that make the most significant differences--are beyond him.

And a grim smile. Sometimes Chekov thinks that Doc spends so much time with his thoughts and creations that he forgets that, many times, death won't be deterred by even the most advanced of weapons.]

I prefer that also, thank you.