Linkletter General Store, Woodsboro, Texas

(Totally not a cheap copypaste with slight edits from my practice rp)

(I said I would post something, and I did! Finally! Finals are a bitch to me! >.<)

A slight breeze entered from the window he had cracked open just to his right, as he gazed up at the ceiling, shelves with multitudes of items infront of him beyond the counter, as well as multiple ammunition types and knives in the counter, accessible from the back. His shotgun lay underneath said counter, loaded and ready, his brass plated pistol in its holster. He yawned, leaning back in his chair.

(Reference, Imagine more canned food, auto supplies, etc, as well as a tad less run-down looking.)

(RANDOM ENCOUNTER)

A man in a cheap green suit stomped into the store after kicking open the door, knocking some cans off the shelf for no apparent reason. "Hey, fucking redneck motherfucker!" he screamed at the person behind the counter. "My daddy's rich, gimme that tank!" He kicked over a barrel of a generic good and/or service and laughed the laugh of the haughtiest of asses. He clearly wasn't planning to stop the destruction until the tank was safely in his possession.

Enfield merely growled, eyeing the asshole with a very displeased glare. "Get the hell outta my store before I have your ass jailed for vandalism, kid." He stands, gripping the shotgun underneath the counter incase the rather rude delle tried any funny business, the barrel, while hidden, was directed at the other occupant of the building, ready for use in the event of the other drawing the weapon. "Ya know, I can refuse service to the people I chose. And you being a rather rude customer, I do suggest you leave. You will not receive what ya want from me. Real shame you had to come all the way out here. Just get your dad to buy ya one of them newfangled fancy tanks, boy." Behind him, if so needed, he could quickly descend the trapdoor ladder to the basement, after which he could calmly deal with a good deal of crap from there.

Picking up the phone with his free hand and quickly fiddling the police station, setting the phone between his shoulder and his head, then returning his hand to the shotgun, He spoke to the lady at the sheriff's department. "Mornin ma'am. Sorry to bother ya but I've got a trespasser in my store vandilizin' the place, and I'd like em escorted out." (He used the hand on the front of the shotgun, his finger of his other hand never left the trigger. Resting the butt against his leg)

On the other end, the operator informed the sheriff, who grabbed a deputy and proceeded to jog the thirty or so feet across the street within a couple seconds, batons, cuffs, and pistols on their place, bulletproof vests underneath their tan uniforms, the deputy holding a shotgun as is usual. "What in the hell are you doin' boy?" The country tone was even more obvious in this man's choice than in Enfield's, and he was clearly a no-nonsense kinda man. He was just inside the door to the right, the deputy to the left of the door, Enfield further left with his shotgun under the counter.

Since the other was already committing vandalism, and refused service, they are now trespassing as well, at least if I am correct. Oh, the joys of living in a small town.

(Since like, four days have passed, I think I can do this?)

Enfield sighed, gazing at the mess that had been made of the store as the rude man was dragged away by the law enforcement officers. Since the boy was a city boy, the Sheriff had called in law enforcement officers from Houston, who came in a van and promptly dragged him away, though the man within the cheap suit did not go quietly, still swearing as they left. Rolling up his sleeves and flipping the sign to "Closed", then locking the door and sliding shut the steel shutters over the door and windows, he set to work, intent on getting this cleaned as soon as possible, as not to hinder his business.

(If I'm not able to do this because it's a random encounter, tell me.)

Having, after long, annoying days, finally finished cleaning the store and getting everything back just as it had been, Enfield once again, walked over to his shop's door and flipped the sign to Closed, shutting the 1" steel shutters that effectively sealed off the front of the shop, and locking the door. (Not that he really needed to.) Afterwords, he walked downstairs, checking his bid on an AMX 13 F3, being sold due to a collection split, as well as 100 rounds of HE, 20 rounds of HEAT, and 15 rounds of Flechette. (<3 Infantry) A smile crossed his face as he found he had won the bid, and his vehicle would be delivered in two weeks exactly. With that, he popped open some DayZ and began cooking beans.

Enfield, I envy you.

Two days. Only two more days he had to wait. Enfield was getting anxious. The quicker the tank came into his possession, the better, and the less he had to worry. Wouldn't want another one of those incidents. That already caused enough damage for a couple months. Yawning, he once again closed up shop at the end of a long night, having finally retaken inventory and fixed everything perfectly. More perfect than it was before.

The Texan groaned, sitting in his chair at the front desk. There was a delay, the delivery taking longer than excepted. Alerting him was a rushing of air outside, the sound of breaks on a large truck exhausting after coming to a stop. Hopping up, he stepped outside into the night, grinning at the man walking towards him with a covered trailer in the background. After signing all the required paperwork, the covered item was unloaded, the truck driver then heading off into the distance in his nice, air conditioned semi. Grinning wider now as he folded up the covering, depositing it in the back of the vehicle next to the gun, he slipped into the driver's seat, having already tirelessly studied the manuals and guides in anticipation, he started the vehicle effortlessly, glancing out of his viewports and manuvering it behind his shop, halting it, keeping the engine running, and opening the great, reinforced door leading to the underground garage. Driving the vehicle inside and shutting it off quickly after transversing, facing the door, he sighed with satisfaction. Stocked in the vehicle was the other ammunition, the equipment already installed and linked to the driver's compartment. Shutting and locking the garage door, he turned on the vents real quick, removing what little exhaust was in the room. Shutting them off, he walked back to his room, at the rear of the garage, settling in his bed, having already locked up the rest of the shop. He'd brought his shotgun down, it laying just under his bed.

Having woken up early the next morning, he stared up at the ceiling. Nobody was knocking at the door for an early deal, nobody bugging him for help.

Pretty quiet morning.

Yawning, he checked his watch. Only five thirty. The sun wasn't quite up yet, even. Sighing, he slowly sat up in bed, lazily grabbed his clothes, slipped them on, and walked over to his sorta-a-kitchen, where he proceeded to make a cup of coffee. God knows he really needed that. Probably would just fall back asleep if he didn't have any. After he finished waking up, in about a half hour, he'd go open up his store, but for now he was going to enjoy his coffee.

Now sitting in his chair behind the counter, a fan blew air slowly across the Texan's face, an hour had passed, he had gotten coffee, and he yawned. Standing, he grabbed his keys, heading out of the store and locking it up behind him, proceeding across the street to the Diner, taking a seat at a booth, after several moments, a black haired woman in a white sort of uniform walked over.

"Good morning, Enfield." She drew a black notepad and pen, preparing to write. "Great to see you out and about again, the usual, hon?"

"Mornin' Ma'am. And yes, I would quite prefer my usual, if it is no bother to you."  He pushed up his glasses, relaxing in his seat, a long sigh escaping his throat, removing the troublesome frames from his nose and folding them, slipping them into his vest.

(OOC: If anyone happens to want some amazing food and a nice chat, feel free to hop in.)

Finishing his food, Enfied yawned, paying his bill at the counter and proceeding back across the street to his store. Taking his seat behind the counter, he leaned back in his chair, taking in the wonderful October air.

Roll, dice, roll!

The member 'Seymour Harris' has done the following action : Dices roll

'Twenty' : 18

That was a crazy adventure, especially the ninja scorpions and the alien Godzillas. But, all adventures had to come to an end, just like this one. At least he had a new eye for his troubles, and this nice bat bat. Pushing in through that ugly door, he walked through this dirty store, stomping his foot every third step for no real reason other than it made him feel pretty.

That tank he'd heard about coming around these parts was his now. He just had to find the keys. And wherever it was. Moving around the shelves, he pushed cans trying to find them. A particularly interesting can of beans caught his attention, tossing it in his hand to test the heft of it. Smelling it, he looked it up and down, then rubbing it on the side of his face. Felt like home. "Saloon owner!" he yelled. "I do declare I need the keys for that there fabled mechanized horse and buggy. And this can of beans. How do I drive this, as well?" He slammed the can on the counter, his enhanced strength causing it to explode out the top and all over the dirty man at the register. "You tried to sell me defective beans! My lawyer will hear about this!"