Post by Lochlann Lyle Dylandy on Nov 25, 2010 0:01:15 GMT -5
lochlann lyle dylandy
26. Resident. Furniture maker/Gunsmith/Gun runner . Mark Wahlberg.[/font][/i]
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It's not in my nature to talk about myself. If it was, I wouldn't keep to myself so much in the shop. Admittedly, you could probably make a good buck off my autobiography. Not that you'd live to publish it of course.
Being a kid was fun. I was born just past the north border in the outskirts of the Canadian town of Cambridge, Ontario. Life was simple there, it was cold in the winter, warm in the summer, and people mostly kept to themselves. My parents were a happy young couple when they had me, better off then most. What I remember best about my childhood is my dad's wood shop behind the house. I'd follow my dad there and watch as he made all sorts of furniture and other wooden odds and ends that he give and sell to the people in town. His passion was clear in all the pieces he made, every bit finely-crafted and finished. Those were the good days.
However, It wasn't meant to be. A young man came by the house to collect for a charity. Seems he had something else in mind, since he shot my dad once he was invited inside and grabbed every valuable he could carry on his own. By the time I got home from school, my mom was already crying over him body and the culprit was long gone. He was never found, probably a drifter from what the police said. Both my parents died that day, the way I see it.
From that day forth, my mom became paranoid. My dad had very good insurance for just such an occasion, and my mom to sustain an at-home lifestyle. She also used it to arm herself like a small army. In a semi-hysterical state, she would spend her days cleaning her guns and checking the windows constantly. I graduated high school, but I didn't even consider going to college. Eventually, while I was out, my mom took her own life while in a depression-triggered psychotic break.
I couldn't stand staying anymore. Barely 18, I left the house to some relatives and left with everything I could pack in my parents' car. I almost left without the weapons my mom had obsessed over, but finally decided to take them. I headed south, wanting to get away as far and fast as possible. I even got over the border successfully without getting checked.
Once in the US, I drifted from town to town. With what little I had, the best I could do was sell the guns I had on the streets. I thought I would simply pawn them off and be done and off. However, it seems that watching my mom work them had taught me a thing or two about gun care and it showed. I had some pretty big criminal figures bring me in as a cheap, nameless armory master. I worked with many underground gunsmiths and gun runners at the time, from professionals and government agents to self-taught geniuses and gun nuts.
In those years, I learned a lot of things and made a lot of connections. I was tossed from organization to organization until I had enough money and rep to separate from the gangs and syndicates. With all the people I had come to know, I was able to build shipping channels from end to end of the country as well as to and from north and south of the borders. I assembled some trusted men to act as my representatives in the bigger groups, and soon I was making a killing. However, I felt the need to slow down and live a quieter life. I can't remember who recommended I go to Tennessee, but I found myself in a small nowhere village near Nashville a year or so ago.
And that's what brings me here. You wouldn't know looking at my small middle-class home but I'm still a wealthy man. Though most of my business runs itself, I still do a job or two when I get a personal request. However, I've been going back to my dad's old passion of woodworking and selling what I make to the people around. It keeps me busy on the quiet days, but there always seems to be something going on in this small town.
There I go, sounding like an old man. No wonder I don't fit in with the crazy people 'roung here.
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[/color]Bert. 19. [No other characters].[/font][/i][/center]