Sales Pitch

This is another Naomi Quinn story in the Fallen Earth setting.

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All things as they are, today was promising to be a busy, nerve wracking day. Public spectacles, while something she originally studied for and specialized in, were rather different now-days than back then. It was almost like stepping through a hole in space and time and emerging in the Wild West. Dirt roads, dusters everywhere, the probability of a gun-fight breaking out at some point during the event, even the method of delivery. There was no sound equipment, no stage techs running this way and that making sure the lights were set just right and that the sound was perfect. All there was was her, Naomi Quinn, a few items, and a cart. Actually, it reminded her of one of her projects back in school.

The streets of Oilville were rife with activity, the barely contained chaos of so many people going in so many directions all at once almost overwhelming whoever would simply stop to watch. A small area had been sectioned off, a cart pulled from the recesses between buildings to act as a stage. They were right on the edge of the town, the sounds of the mechanics at the old gas station resonating across the street. A small number of people were milling about the cart, making sure it was steady and that no one tried to pilfer what was placed in the back.

With a deep breath to steady her fluttering heart, Naomi climbed up onto the cart and stood still for a moment as she loomed over the river of man. Slowly, people started to notice the snappily dressed woman garbed in gray cargo pants, a clean, white blouse with a black cowboy hat, duster, and boots to finish it off. Her long, curly blonde hair had been pulled back into a ponytail to both keep it out of her face and give a more professional look to her. As people noticed her they slowed down and gathered around the cart.

With the brutal, relentless daystar burning in the clear blue sky, Naomi adjusted her hat to keep her eyes shaded and looked over the slowly growing crowd. Her helpers were finishing the touch-ups to the cart by stapling posters to the sides. The words 'Saints Incorporated' were large and dark upon the posters, making them easy to catch at a glance. “If I asked you to name the least abundant resource in the Grand Canyon Province, what would you say?” Naomi's voice lashed out at the roar of the town like a whip, sharp, sudden, and strong. She smiled at the people and shrugged, “Well? It's not a rhetorical question here. You, sir. What's the least abundant resource in the Province?”

The man she'd chosen, a rugged sort likely in his fifties, raised a brow as Naomi asked him directly. “Trust, I'd say. You can find anything else just layin' around.”

With a big, pretty smile Naomi would snap and point to the man. She was lucky, someone gave her answer on the first go. “Exactly right! Trust. You can find anything else out there in the wastes, just laying around and waiting for you to put it to good use. However, trust is just so hard to come by these days. I'd be willing to bet none of you trust me nearly as far as you could throw me! And, from the looks of some of you, that'd be a pretty long ways,” she snickered at her joke, indicating that it was meant to be laughed at. A few chuckles sprung from the audience to join hers.

“But that's what we at Saints Incorporated work with, trust. We provide reliable weapons and armor to keep you safe, we provide wholesome and good food to keep you fed. Our manufacturers produce everything from bullets to band-aids, Kevlar to ketchup, and it's all high quality. What's the trick, you ask? I know at least one of you is asking yourself that, at least! The trick is we're not trying to profit off of each item we sell. We're trying to earn your trust.” She'd pause, tapping her chin for a brief moment. “How about instead of preaching, I put my money where my mouth is?”

Naomi leaned over and snatched a Reconstructed M32 rifle from the cart, holding it up in both hands for everyone to see. “Shall we put on a demonstration?” As multiple people in the crowd encouraged it, she'd scan the audience before thrusting a finger out at someone in the back. “You, miss! How about you bring that rifle of yours up here and we have a little contest?”

“Bring it on, respawn,” the woman snapped with a snarky tone of voice. The people around the woman scooted away instinctively and she was given a narrow berth as she approached the cart. The air of the crowd took on a nervous tone as if they expected a fight to break out. After all, most people didn't insult a clone with a loaded weapon in hand. As the woman hopped up onto the cart, Naomi's runners jogged out to the wall that gated off Oilville and struck two cereal box sized targets atop it about 50 meters away. The woman unslung the Magnum Rimfire rifle from her back and chambered a round before brushing her hazel locks from her face.

Naomi only smiled at the woman, the insult turning the smile into a smirk. “Glad to see you have a competitive spirit. Now! We'll each take three shots at the targets with our own guns. Then, we'll swap, put up new targets, and take three more. The person with the best eye wins. And, just to up the stakes a little bit,” she announced, adjusting her hat, “If you win, miss, you get this gun of mine.” The crowd seemed to like the idea of adding a reward to the competition, as if the other woman wasn't going to do her best to not be shown up by a clone.

The competitor sniffed and raised her rifle, taking aim on the target. The crowd fell to a hushed quiet as it began, a few whispers and bets exchanging hands. The public loved a good spectacle, especially when one of their own had the chance to stick it to the showman or peddler. The woman's first shot was a little wide, nicking the edge of the target, while her second caught the top a little closer to the center. Her third shot blew out the lower right corner of the target, making it slump in an odd position. The crowd cheered for her, not a bad round.

Raising her M32 to her shoulder and taking aim, Naomi adjusted her hat to see better. She pinched off the first two rounds in quick succession, each slug tearing through the center left of the target partway in. Her third was a little off from the bundle, more towards the center of the target but elevated an inch beyond the 'bullseye'. She wasn't a great shot, but the crowd cheered for her as well. So far, it looked like she was winning. Naomi offered her rifle to the other woman with one hand, accepting the Magnum as it was passed forcefully over to her. Her competitor was in a foul mood and seemed outright determined to dominate this round.

The woman took a few moments to get used to the feel of the gun, sighting in and adjusting her positioning this way and that. Finally, she released three rounds into the new target that'd been put up during the rifle exchange, all three outlining the center in a near equilateral triangle. The crowd cheered louder than before, the tables had turned! “Nice shootin',” Naomi commented to the other woman as she raised the Magnum to her shoulder. The response she received was a stern middle finger pointing to the heavens.

Naomi took her time with the Magnum, the first shot clipping the upper left corner of her target. She raised her head to peer at where the bullet had struck before shaking her head and sighting in again. Her second shot tore a hole through the bottom center of the box, a puff of dirt and rock from the wall erupting behind the target as she skimmed the top of the wall. Her third shot took a little longer and a lot more concentration as she focused on being 'one with the gun'. Her finger ever so slowly depressed the trigger, squeezing instead of pulling, until the rifle discharged and slammed against her shoulder. Certain members of the audience expected her to claim a come-from-behind victory with a dead bullseye, teasing her opponent. Unfortunately, they were wrong. The final shot went high and to the right of the bullseye, a decent shot in its own right but ultimately losing the challenge for her.

The crowd cheered as the scores were brought in, Naomi's opponent flashing a large, arrogant grin as she was awarded the M8. “Excellent shooting,” Naomi said once the cheering started to die down. “I hope you enjoy your new rifle! But, tell us all, how was it?”

The woman's mocking grin faded just a tad as she brushed her hair from her face, clearly not pleased with having to say anything good about the clone. “It handled nicely, all 'n all, though I'd've expected a scope wit' all the braggin' you said earlier.” The crowd chuckled with the comment, the compliment not lost on them. “I'd prolly buy one if I hadn' jus' beaten your respawn ass.” With that, the woman hopped off the cart and walked away, both rifles slung over her shoulders. The crowd watched her leave for a moment before looking back to Naomi.

“Well, I guess that just goes to show that our merchandise is good! Feel free to place any orders you may have with my associates,” she gestured to her two assistants who stood in front of the cart now with clipboards and pens in hand. “And remember, you can always trust the Saints.” She'd wink to the crowd and tip her hat before hopping off the cart and walking into the building they were stationed outside, letting the public address their questions to her assistants.



9/8/2156

Today was my first big demonstration in Oilville. I think it went pretty well, all things considered. I lost the show rifle in the display competition but it really helped sell the fact that the Saints make quality items. I'm just hoping I don't have to focus on this aspect of the organization for too long. As nice as it is to get the business going, it feels wrong to just be peddling wares instead of working for my true goal. But perhaps that'll find its place in what's to come.

I just prefer the one on ones at the moment. It's so much easier to explain everything when you don't have to put on a show. I know I would've lost the audience if I'd gone into how the brand name is only the first step in our overall plan, how we're trying to bring cooperation between the factions or some semblance there of. People think I'm crazy when I say how humanity needs to unite to lift the world from its knees. Perhaps I am, or perhaps I'm just a child from an age long since burned away.