Wrong Place, Right Time [OPEN]

There is within O'ahu, a large and semi civil settlement called New Honolulu. The entire downtown area of the city has been refurbished by the Ohana and turned into a trading hub to attract wasters for a bit of home, and a place to spend money. One of these wasters happens to be a man named Hughes, and he has an NCR helmet on. As Rick walks the cracked asphalt, all manner of people look at him funny. How in the hell could someone be so cheery in Hawaii of all places?! Nevertheless, with his pouch of caps, Rick makes his way through downtown Honolulu to the bazar in search of some self protection.

The bazar is a busy, loud place not unlike the Hub or the Angel's Boneyard. Rick reaches around to the back of his neck to unlatch his helmet, holding the broken thing under his arm. The soldier boy quietly scans the market for the tells of a good deal. Junk traders, tweakers, the blind, and military surplus all make for cheap guns and ammo. The place was no gun runners warehouse, sure, but anything'll do in a pinch. Thankfully in a city run by a failing militant country, there's plenty of gun junk to buy up from jaded vets and shellshocked kids. Morbid? Sure, but mid-deployment arms acquisition is part of NCR army training.

Rick stops by a middle aged man sitting on an old rug, with a few choice pieces of scrap laid out before him. The man looks up with glossy eyes to address Hughes.
"What're ya buyin, tin soldier?" A raspy voice cracks through the air as the man speaks.
"In the market for a rifle, fifve-five-six NATO? Need something sturdy" Rick's accent makes certain words and terms difficult, it also makes blending in difficult. Anybody with an ounce of sense could make out the midwestern emphasis on the wrong places that comes with being a Zion kid.
"Pff, like anybody 'round here's gonna be sellin anythin military grade. Closest ya gonna get is .223 Remington. I thinks I got a Rangemaster round here." The salesman stands, and beings picking through the piles of junk about him. From under a couple transistors and old clothes he produces a Rangemaster Hunting Rifle, though in irreperable contition.
"Here we go, look good kid?"
"Sir... I dont think that gun will work, see?" Rick takes the rifle in hand, carefully turning it over and pointing at a few rusted holes in the action "Doubt anybody but gun runners could patch this up, nyeh?"
"Gun-whozits? Whatever, that's bout the best youre gonna get in this heap of brahmin shit market. Sorry kid." With that, the old soldier returns to his sitting position and shoos off Hughes.

"Well. That could have gone better." Only a little disheartened, Rick marches on through the market to search for anything of use. Its not long before a man wrapped in rags softly calls Hughes to the side.
"Looking for arms in Ohana territory, huh? Moron." The man is short, and very thin. Less of a man more of a boy really. "But you have a sort of soldier air about you, ever serve?"
"Yeah, most of my life for the-" The boy cuts Hughes off, shoving a piece of paper into his palm and walking away. Hughes uncrumples the paper to read. The faint ink on the sheet displays a pinup soldier-girl holding a laser rifle, and the words 'BoS, enlist today!'

"Brotherhood propaganda? Place is worse off than I thought." The soldier boy crumples up the flier, and tosses it over his shoulder before going back to his little shopping trip. Now what was this Ohana thing the kid was yapping about? Well there certainly were quite a few trooper types around the place, maybe he was talking about them. Either way, the sun was beginning to dip and the night market rush was starting to file in, so Rick had to find himself some protection quickly.

Apparently whatever force ran New Honolulu was in a kind of crappy spot, so there was cheap military gear for sale in half the stalls. Nice break for Hughes at least. After a bit more digging the tin soldier boy came across some junk ammo and old standard rifles being sold by what looks like ex-military.
"How much for the Rangemaster, friend?" The Zion native wore his big smile as always, leaning against the stall
"Hm. we'll call it at 800 caps. Deal?" The man behind the counter wore the dark grey uniform of the Ohana, and spoke in a slightly nasally voice, rubbing at the bridge of his nose every once in a while.
"Bit too much for my blood. How about I give you my nine-millimeter too? What's that come to?" The Ohana trooper takes Rick's pistol, opening the slide to check for damage.
"Hm. I take this and 400 caps, the rifle is yours."
"How about 300 caps and my repeat patronage, nyeh?"
(Attempt to haggle. +8 to diplomacy rolls. Say 75+ to succeed)

The member 'Rick Hughes' has done the following action : Dice Roll

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'1d100' : 2

"Just give me the caps, kid, I'll give you a few rounds for 450"

Rick hands over the caps, rifle get.

You pay the merchant 450 caps in addition to your 9mm pistol. In return, you receive a .223 Rangemaster Hunting Rifle in AVERAGE condition and a clip (6 rounds) of ammo.

"Thank you for your business, kid. Now scram."