The long greasy blond hair of the emaciated man half covered his face and looking at him, Deckard wondered how the man could see the delicate work he was performing. He was "Trigger". He was a relatively young human, a little younger than Deckard maybe, but the wear and tear on his face added easily an extra 10 year. He was a man of a few words, but also Deckard's go to person for any gear related problems. Procurement wasn't his forte, probably a lack of proper connections, but if totally illegal items were not really to be considered, he had, in the past, got his hand on a few restricted item for Deckard and he was good with Ammo, all sort. What the Mage appreciated in the Armorer, however, was his skill at fixing and maintaining things. Most importantly, the man had always handle with care and respect the maintenance of Deckard's father's Ruger Superhawk.
The place they were was Trigger's workshop - a hidden room in the back of an isolated Stuffer Shack that could use some organizing and cleaning and certainly some fresh air. Crates, electronics part, damaged drones, empty food containers all litter the place, floor and shells.
So? asked Deckard
"So you should stop looking over my shoulder like a grumpy tutor. That ain't gonna make me work faster. "
Sorry. Deckard stepped back and roamed the small room, worried he probably break something if he touched anything.
"Well I'm done, anyway." Trigger offered back the heavy revolver that once belonged to Deckard's father. "Your gun is in perfect condition, you worry too much. It has been harden, believe me it can take a beating before it start malfunctioning. Beside, the flashlight under it is the only thing with a bit of electronics. You don't even have to worry about hackers and all."
Deckard approached and gently took the weapon, inspecting it a few seconds before holstering it back in his coat.
"You look stressed. "Trigger said, very randomly.
Me stressed? Nah, things are actually pretty quiet lately.
"What's with the shake, then?" He pointed at the Mage's hand.
Deckard lifted and looked at his own hand. His fingers were twitching with tremors. Again. Drek.
...Just ah... a little impatient I guess. He put his hand in his pocket. And changed subject, I send you list of some gear I'd like to get my hands on (terrible at changing subject on top of that!). Any luck?
"Yeah, your protections are pretty basic and even legal. The mask, it'll take me a few more days to install the required electronics. "
Perfect, I'll transfer you the sum as agreed. Ping me when you're done.
"You got it Pal. "