u_can_have_it_4_a_song | For Services Rendered [Jesse]

What we got, in this case, is a matched pair of custom Colt .45 revolvers, ivory handles chased in silver and delicate-looking runes etched in a flowing design along the length of the barrels. Where the light catches the ivory, there's a faint rainbow sheen.

"Peacemakers," Schön supplies. "Enchanted to strike harder, and more accurately, attuned as a bane to evil things not of the mortal world, and blessed as well to strike harder against all of evil intent." In D&D terms (since the thin man shamelessly took the finely-crafted guns to such a world for their enchantments), the guns are each a +5 Holy Bane (evil outsiders) Revolver of Collision.

"Custom .45s, they'll naturally take any rounds the proper size, but I imagine they'll do especially well with some, ah, special ammunition." He nudges another box forward.

Jesse gasps when he sees the guns, almost afraid to touch them at first. "They're gorgeous," he breathes, eventually taking one up and checking the chamber, then the sight. He runs a hand along the barrel, tracing a fingernail against those runes. "Even without the enchantin' stuff, these are-are-...are incredible!"

The second box is opened eagerly, Jesse already getting an inkling as to what will be contained and excited to see it.

The back of the cylinder is etched with a diagram that invokes blessings upon each bullet loaded within, because when fighting the very essence of evil, there is no kill like overkill. "Worth the wait?" Schön asks with amusement, already confident of the answer.

Is Jesse expecting bullets? Because the next box has bullets--sixty rounds, the bottoms of their casings stamped with "PAX 777" while their tips shine brighter than lead and are also etched with symbols, although each has a little blob of wax at its tip. "Depleted uranium slugs, hollow-point with a silver jacket made from blessed symbols of beneficent gods, and filled with holy water."

"Worth most any wait, I'd reckon!" He's like a kid at Christmas with the sheer delight plain on his green features. And he does indeed expect bullets. Though he's good and blown away by the sort he sees. One is picked up carefully between thumb and forefinger, rolling it between them, taking in the make and symbols etched into it.

"Shit. No wonder it took awhile makin' these. I can't even-...This is incredible, Schön. Exactly what the doctor ordered, y'hear?"

If Jesse is a kid at Christmas, then that leaves Schön the part of right jolly old elf. He's grinning ear to ear, savoring Jesse's reaction. "I do, indeed. With these in hand, you shall be a mighty champion against the fiends. Might I recommend this box next?" He indicates a wide, flat box, one of several that's only an inch or so high.

He's gun savvy enough to not go loading the gun right here and now and testing it out, because that's dangerous. And why waste these holy rounds on target practice? If nothing else, he'll test them out with normal rounds when he gets home. Also, show them off to all his Rotten buddies at how incredibly cool they are. Some of them are still afraid of the Nexus but now he can show them the amazing things that can come from it!

"Awright, lesse what else we got here." The gun is put carefully back in its case again, same for the ammo, before this latest box is opened up as well.

In the box gleam a ten-pointed star, etched and enameled with the word "Sheriff," and ten companion-stars, of five points each, which declare "Deputy."

"You expressed some concern over the safety of your people. The deputy badges confer some protection against evil, and resistance to fire. Whoever wears the sheriff badge is aware of the identity, condition, direction, and distance, of the wearers of each of the deputy badges." Worth noting is that he hasn't mentioned any fire-protection from the sheriff badge, but perhaps there's a reason for that.

This one gets his smile to fall, but not in anything like dismay. It's surprise, it's amazement. It's a shocked kind of gratitude. He looks between the gifts and the man giving them, unable to even articulate anything.

"These-...You-..."

He scrubs a hand over his lips, carefully plucking up one of the deputy badges to turn over, watching it glint in the light.

"This is above and beyond what I ever expected, Schön. This-...My people mean so much to me, Schön. They've been dealt nothin' but raw hand after raw hand and I-...Anything to make it easier for 'em, to keep 'em safe..."

He shakes his head.

"I dunno what to say."

"Your gratitude has an eloquence all its own, I assure you," Schön answers in warm tones. "Use them in good health, and I shall consider myself well-thanked."

There are more boxes to open--would Jesse like to pick the next without guidance?

"I can't even get over-..." He looks to the remaining boxes. "The guns alone would have done it. But this is all-..." He laughs, still unable to properly articulate his thankfulness! He plucks up the next nearest box that has gone without inspecting the contents yet and takes a look inside. But not before he takes out that sheriff badge and pins it to his (new) duster.

"Indeed. The guns were for the amulet, but I promised my aid would be in keeping with your own. You have been most helpful, and I shall be no less."

Perhaps the largest box (what is it about big boxes that makes them so appealing?) has folded within it a duster of some kind of russet leather, patterned with large scales like alligator hide. The scales are more pronounced at the collar and shoulders, and the buttons seem to be carved of tooth or bone, inlaid with gold.

"A coat made from the hide of a dragon. You need have no fear of fire, in this." The leather is also, for all its suppleness, quite sturdy. It might well offer some measure of protection.

"Oh, would you paint the town and the front porch!" With that rustic exclamation, Jesse pulls the garment out to get a better look at it, mouth agape in amazement. "This has gotta be the fanciest damn thing I've ever put on my body in my entire life or unlife! And it keeps off fire? Holy hell, Schön. Dragon?! Yer pullin' my leg."

He's already shrugging out of the admittedly shabby coat he showed up in to try on this new duster and, what do you know, it fits like a dream! He tugs at the lapels and grins. "How do I look?"

"Like a champion whom demons would be wise not to cross," Schön answers with a smile. "It suits you well. You like the fit?"

He flicks his hat with a smirk. "Damn straight." Even gives Schön another wink and finger-gun for good measure. "Looks amazin', feels even better. Yer a miracle worker, pardner." He looks over the boxes, unable to even believe there could be anymore?

"I'm startin' to feel downright spoiled. If y'all don't mind my askin', what was so valuable about that golden bug I done got for ya? Given that y'can't touch it or nothin', seem's kinda like a hassle to have around."

There are more. A hatbox and a box small enough to fit in the palm of a hand.

"It is the repository of a tyrant's soul; as long as it exists, undamaged, he cannot truly be slain. His deathless rule has lasted centuries, and those who struggle against him would be quite grateful for the chance of a final victory at last."

"Guessin' it won't be so easy as just takin' a hammer to the thing, huh? I woulda done that for free too."

The hatbox looks promising so he reaches for that one next, looking to Schön first to make sure it's cool he opens it while they talk.

"I prefer not to discard what still has some use," he replies. "Be assured, it will meet its end."

The hatbox holds, naturally, a hat. A proper cowboy hat, the band adorned by small pointed teeth, etched with runes. "It sharpens the senses," Schön explains, "helps you see through the illusions of fiends."

"Yer thinkin' of things what ain't even occurred to me. Illusions! Damn." The hat is switched out with his own to test the fit as well. Turns out it fits perfectly! Which is great, cuz it'd be a shame to have to take it in to be resized.

"What kinda teeth are these?"

"Demons are notoriously tricky." Kettle, you have a telegram from Mr. Pot.

"Those come from the cygbideron," he answers. "A desert predator in a place where the prey animals mask their presence with magic."

Good thing Jesse doesn't know a fae from his left elbow or he'd have commented on that. As is, he pulls the hat off again to examine the teeth anew.

"A cygib-...Cybid-...Damn, fergit it. Here's hopin' I get a chance to test it out soon. I gotta see how this works."

The new hat is carefully put back into its box and Jesse's usual one is replaced back on his head. (He won't admit it out loud, but his patchy hair loss makes him a little insecure.) The final box is taken up and opened. He still can't believe there even is another one left. Everything else already feels like it's plenty.

Good thing. "Perhaps Sergeant Suou would appreciate some help chastising the demons who waited behind the leading force," he suggests.

The last box holds a cushion of velvet, on which rests a ring. It might not be instantly recognizable as a ring, however, as it looks as though someone took a snake's skull and lower jaw and dipped them in silver, poised open in mid-strike. "The sidewinder ring. It lends the speed and precision of its namesake. Although I notice you are a very quick draw, already."

"Ain't nothin' that can't be improved, pardner." The ring is taken out delicately and slipped over his left trigger finger, flexing it a few times to test for how it feels.

Jesse looks over again at all the goods he's gotten in exchange for his adventure and turns to the tall man, smiling gently.

"I'd give ya a hug if it weren't untoward. This is incredible, Schön. This is-...I'm gonna be a proper demonhunter with this kit, ain't I? I never would have imagined."

"You shall, indeed," Schön confirms, grinning. "Just as promised. It has been a pleasure working with you, sir, and I invite you to give them every form of hell."

"And then some." He offers his hand in a shake, since he recalls it being okay as of last time. "An' if y'all ever got another job that needs an undead touch, you know who to call. Whole thing was kinda fun, all told. And I'll prolly be needin' reloads on them holy bullets one of these days."

The hand is shaken firmly, and with enthusiasm. Whatever fatigue had been gripping the thin man at the beginning of all this seems quite gone now. "One can only hope. I shall be happy to keep you in mind, Jesse, and do think of me, should something arise that you need."

He pauses, then when the handshake is done, adds, "alas, in the enthusiasm, I neglected one small caveat. As these are works of magic, they need magic in order to work. If used in places with little or no magic, the enchantments may be forced to draw upon themselves, diminishing until they are no more. Thankfully, anyplace with demons will have magic in abundance."

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