Stomping footsteps were heard and Collier walked out into the space behind the counter, clad in a metal-plated apron covered in burn marks, wearing what looked like a visor ripped off a suit of plate armor with dark-blue gemstones in the eyeholes. She somewhat clumsily strode onto the shop floor and towards one of the display cabinets that now held those simple boomsticks, right up next to Zelsys - and it wasn’t until then that she finally whipped her head around in a double-take, flipped uper her visor, and looked up at Zelsys.

Her old eyes snapped to her stump, then to Zef - who was busy admiring some of the revolvers right behind Zel - then back to Zel’s face, and she instantly began spewing admonishments in that strangely familiar exasperated grandmother tone.

“Dear me, what by the Dead Ones happened to your arm? Oh that’s too bad, at least you’re alive… Don’t you dare tell me you lost the gaunt-cannon,” she said.

“It’s nice to see you too, Collier,” smugged Zel. “The gun’s fine, as is my arm. They both just happen to be in Fog Storage until I have it reattached.”

“Oh, well that’s reassuring,” beamed the old lady sarcastically. “Y’know, a lil’ birdie told me you two went off with a drunkard and an Inquisitor… To wipe out a Sage-forsaken nest of bugmen in a half-sunken dungeon! What were you thinking?! Oh, you weren’t thinking, were you. You thought oh, it’ll be fine, oh, I can just get another arm-cannon if I lose it, that’s no issue, but it is! The gun, the harness, the barrel, the wood, it’s all special! It’s all got history, it’s got a soul! That damned thing would’ve been harder to fix than Pentacle! Harder than it’d be to build you a new arm!”

“Because Pentacle is new?” Zef chimed in, and Collier leaned over with a nod and a much less perfunctory response.

“Yes dear, it’s a newborn - or at least it was when I sold it to you. Do you have it with you? I assume Pentacle is why you’re here,” Collier continued.

Zef nodded, pulling out Pentacle as Collier kept talking, now having transitioned to an outwardly resigned, exasperated state, her hand held out for the gun while her eyes had returned to Zelsys. It was all somewhat surreal, with the infernal noise of her workshop still howling through the store.

“I take it the dungeon did some weird shit to your weapons,” said the old woman with a strange familiarity to her voice. “That handle and guard on your cleaver’s new, what’s it do? Does it stab spikes through your arm to hold it together? Maybe it’s just like one of those control handles that makes it FEEL like there are spikes being stabbed into your arm.”

Before Zel could answer, the gun was in Collier’s hand and she weighed it in her hand and spun it around by the triggerguard without so much as looking at it, almost like she was hesitant to do it, like she didn’t want to see it. Her eyes stared into Zel’s, and for a brief moment the beast-slayer felt like the old woman digging into her - like she was staring past her eyes, not into them. Like she was staring down the barrel of a gun.

“And Pentacle… The weight feels the same, so the dungeon probably fucked up the glyphwor-” the gunsmith began, finally looking at the gun, only to cut herself off. She looked it over with a furrowed brow taking a close look at every little detail, half-cocking the hammer, even pulling all the way through only to stop the hammer from setting off a chamber with her gloved pinkie finger. She brazenly stared down into the barrel, once more weighed the gun and spun the gun around, and yet more confused than she already was, looked to Zefaris.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” she said disbelievingly. “Why are you here?”

Zefaris took a deep breath, and with a grin that Zelsys had seen in the mirror before she explained: “The dungeon dared me to draw against the reaper. I took that bet, and were the dungeon not what it is, my right hand would still bear the scars to show for it. When you sold it to me, even with its glyphs, Pentacle still kicked like a mule. As you can see, it’s now loaded even hotter than a full rifle cartridge… But it barely recoils as hard as a regular sparklock pistol. The gun spits lances of fire and lead that rip through anything short of a doorman bug’s arm shields, it kills with shots that would usually just cripple.”

The markswoman continued on, and not a speck of regret could be heard in her voice - only a grim sort of pride in the reaping tool that was her weapon. She continued on, adding, “But now, I have a new problem, a problem that I am happy to have. I need a gun that won’t over-penetrate, one I can use in the city without fearing that it will go through my target, a wall, and three other people… But one with sufficient stopping power to deal with hard targets.”

Collier stared for a moment, contemplating. She returned Pentacle to its rightful owner with a curious haste, wiping down her hands on her apron before she said, “One moment.”

With that, she walked behind the counter and disappeared into the back of the store. The grinding wheel’s empty-mawed screeching came to a halt, there was a momentary pause, and she returned, closing the door behind herself this time. She’d shed the weird visor and the heavy gloves that had covered her hands.

“Now… I’d give ya two options. Either one of my volcanics, or one of my new shotguns. Pretending that money isn’t an object for the sake of objective choice, answer me this: Pistol, or long arm?”

On one hand, a shotgun might have issues penetrating armor. On the other hand, there was no doubt in Zel’s mind that such an issue would be easily solved with the appropriate ammunition. Still though, a mundane shotgun felt like it would fall short when it was needed.