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[He sags in his seat a little, already tired of whatever the hell is going on.]
Alright, alright. Extort me.
[ Says an occasional drama queen. ]
I just want to keep mine after this is done. Alright?
[He runs his fingers through his beard, considering that. She's been a little reckless- has gotten into fights, has definitely gotten herself and likely others injured before. Things could escalate, with a firearm. Things will, he's sure of it.
But in her place, he would feel unsafe. In the face of what might be coming, he does feel unsafe.]
I'm of a mind to agree. But you know that your actions, in part, reflect on me. You shoot anyone, it's my head too. I am in your damn corner, but don't keep your finger on that trigger all day long.
I know. I’ll keep it clean, I’m not gonna whip it out just to cause trouble.
[ She has limited ammunition, anyway, and that might be a harder sell than the gun itself. ]
[He nods, still frowning.]
I want you to be safe, too. Be able to defend yourself. I armed madwomen before, but I didn't regret it then.
[He hopes he won't now. But he doesn't think he will.] I can come pick it up.
You won’t. Come get it.
[He nods and turns the camera off- and only then realizes his journal isn't there, either.
He comes back online, and asks:]
Did the Admiral give you my item, too?
[ How gracious of you, Tess. ]
Now I really am much obliged. [He sounds relieved, and quickly turns off his camera again. He's knocking on her door ten seconds later.]
Have it. I’ll get your guns.
[ She doesn’t mention that she’s already done some reading, anyway. Details. ]
[He doesn't get the flourish, but that she's doing it at all makes him want to smile- almost does it, even. He takes the journal and quickly puts it away again, even if it will no longer open any doors.]
Yeah. Thanks.
[ She goes to her dresser and drags open the bottom drawer — the top one is broken enough to not even sit in the tracks properly. His gun is slipped between a stack of clothes. She takes it out and gives it a look before bringing it back to him. ]
My partner likes to carry a revolver. I always made fun, they’re so damn slow to reload.
[He quickly slips it into his shoulder holster, keeping it close to his body. He points at the second drawer down, and asks:]
Three spare cartridges in there. This gun's only got 4 bullets left. Slow to reload or not, I could do with a couple more bullets.
[ She’d considered negotiating on that, too, but it might be a long week. She retrieves them all, and then considers something. ]
You don’t know how to use a pistol, do you? A modern one?
[ As if “modern” means anything. ]
[He holds his hand out and shakes his head.]
Seen one since comin' here, but never handled one.
I’m going to show you. If you end up wanting it off me, you should know how to handle it, just in case.
-wait, when are you gonna show me? [Does she already have a gun? Tesssss]
No time like the present. It showed up with the rest of the stuff the Admiral took off me.
So what do you need two old-fashioned pistols for? [Not that he's going to complain too much.]
I don’t. I’m telling you what I already have as a gesture of good faith, Arthur, but the deal is you let me keep one when this week is over.
[He could get into a fight with her over this, probably- lying to him about needing his gun, when she clearly didn't. Keeping information from him. But he knows just how that goes, when you're in a gang, when you're fighting for your life surrounded by liars and crooks and thieves.
He runs both hands over his face and groans, but eventually concedes.] I won't pretend to understand why. But a deal's a deal.
It's all too easy to just slip into business. ]
Good. Anything else of yours you want, you can have it, I don't hold onto shit I didn't pay for.
[He is banking on trust. On feeling like there's at least one person on this Barge with her best interest in mind- even if it's part of a transaction, he knows how important it is to have someone give a damn.]
The photographs all stayed in my cabin. That's all I'll need.
[ She shakes her head. Six weeks of sleeping late, eating decently and talking to nice well-meaning people makes her usual ways feel slimy. She moves away from him, to the desk, and she sets her pistol on the table. Blockier than a revolver, but sleeker, too. ]
Come here. This is a Browning Hi-Power. If we're ever covering each other and someone needs to switch off, you'll want to know all the quirks.
[He finally takes his hand off of his own gun, and steps forward to take hers. It feels light, almost fake.]
What's the biggest difference between shooting one of these?
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