Interlude II - Peace Maker
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The very next day, without bothering to take a rest, Clive Winslett visited the obscure mining town of Little Rock, fulfilling his last obligation.
Annette ducked under her workbench for a few moments to pull up a handful of ARM maintenance tools that had been lurking around in some drawers underneath the counter, slightly dirty from overuse. Getting back up and placing them carefully onto one side of the bench, allowing herself some room to work in just in case a customer decided to turn up, the girl pulled on a pair of thin gloves that smelt a little of ARM cleansing fluids, intent on cleaning her dirty utensils. They were coated in grime and dried oil from past use, which simply wouldn't do at the moment. Annette liked to keep her tools clean. Flicking her long light-brown braid over her shoulder and adjusting her glasses, she got to work.
Clive was standing outside of the ARM repair shop with his hands in his coat pockets, staring at the small rectangular entrance door. He had gone inside for repairs a few times in his life, but this was the first time that it made him feel all jittery and apprehensive on the inside. He didn't even know yet what he was going to say to her. Closing his eyes for a second, silently conjuring up inner strength, Clive put his hand on the door and pushed it open, the small squeaking sound of rusty hinges meeting his ears. The building itself was chiseled straight out of the cliff-side, probably out of an unused part of the mine. Inside, however, it looked just like an ARM shop should, small bits of machinery everywhere with the token scent of grease in the air. The place was small, but somehow cozy and warm.
When the door was opened a little silver bell suspended from the ceiling rung as a chain reaction, alerting Annette to a new customer. The girl glanced up from her work and smiled, her light azure eyes affable and friendly. Clive noticed, now that he knew all about what had happened, that they looked a lot like the late Kaitlyn's eyes as well. "Mr. Winslett!" Annette exclaimed brightly, putting down what she was doing. "Welcome to my little alcove. Can I help you with anything?" Setting her eyes upon his beat-up ARM that was slung over his right shoulder, she took note of all the dents and nicks along the weapon. It looked very difficult to fix.
Silently, Clive walked up to her workbench and looked down at her half-cleaned equipment, her gloved hands grubby from the labor. He had always reckoned that Annette must have been a little genius to own her own store at her young age, but now he could guess perhaps where that genius had been inherited from. The green-haired man smiled kindly, nodding. "There is something very important that I need to talk to you about, Annette. A delicate subject. About your father." He reached into an inner pocket of his red coat and pulled out a small pistol ARM, made of dark black metal with a silver outlining. It was a very beautiful weapon. "This is for you." Clive said, setting the weapon down on the bench and pushing it towards her.
Annette raised an eyebrow in question. "Excuse me?" She asked. "I don't have a father, not a real father, anyway. I was adopted. I have no idea what you're talking about." A little confused, the girl removed her dirty gloves and picked up the ARM and opened up the revolving chambers, pulling out only one bullet from an almost empty clip. The weapon seemed compliant to her spirit as well, as if it had been forged for her usage. "This is a Peacemaker Frontier Mod 73. It looks like it's been kept in near-perfect condition. I didn't think they made these things anymore. Where did you get this?"
Clive shook his head. "It does not belong to me. It belongs to you now. Part of your father's spirit is sealed in the weapon, can you not feel it?" Annette slowly snapped the chamber back into place, narrowing her eyes a little. Whatever Clive was talking about, it was utter nonsense. The green-haired man dropped his smile. "I am so very sorry for barging into your life like this, Annette, but I feel it is my duty to tell you these things that your father is unable to do so himself. He was my brother, and so I suppose that makes me your uncle. I know you were adopted and probably felt abandoned by him, but please understand that your father loved you very much, even if he never got a chance to see you himself. He died last night in order to save the lives of myself and my family. His death may not have been painless, but it may comfort you to know that he passed away without any regret."
The young ARMsmith had an urge to openly scoff at this, unable to believe it. Even if she did have a father all this time, he must have been a sleazy underhanded bastard to leave her alone like this for all these years. He probably didn't even care. Annette had always been told that her mother had died shortly after her birth, and that her father was somebody she was better off not knowing about. Gently, she traced the tip of one finger down the silver lining on the weapon, then got a sharp jolt from the spirit inside the weapon, reacting to her negative thoughts. She knew all about the theory that part of a person's soul was always imprinted upon an object of great value to them, and for the first time, Annette was believing it. It felt funny, almost frightening, but the spirit imprint seemed almost familiar to her. "Daddy…" The girl bit her lip, gripping the weapon a little harder than usual. "…Who was he?" She asked, sitting down on her work stool, her previous work forgotten.
Clive, likewise, also sat down on a nearby chair, removing Gungnir from it's leather strap and leaning it up against the wall. Looking up at the ceiling, he searched his heart for his next few words, trying to speak honestly and earnestly. Nostalgia overtook him and he smiled wistfully, recalling the past, but also feeling saddened by it. Clive took off his glasses and rubbed the lenses with the fabric of his coat, and then closed his eyes.
"He was many things. Some of them were good, and some of them were bad. But most of all, he was… human."