Thank God. Uriel was on the verge of concluding the crew was going crazy. Thankfully, it was only Enzo- and he had been born in the loony bin from the sounds of it. And Smith; he was a profiteering individual with a penchant for disguising his dogged pursuit of wealth as a legitimate problem. The Elysian didn't buy it for a second: Smith worked for Origin- a reputable name to begin with- and was in the business of selling their military-grade hardware. Feeding any family on that paycheck would be easy, not to mention his recent boost in income as a member of Luca's mercenaries.

The salesman's pitch, however, did not address the real issue. "The only no-risk option here," he began, but was immediately distracted by Zeta who had found reason to shirk her towel and show them all her God-given gifts. Uriel grimaced, averted his eyes and started again. "The only no-risk option here is eliminating the Mishhu, and I won't watch you walk out the door cradling it in your arms- not while it's alive, anyways. It's a Mishhu, for God's sake, not a dog.

Zeta finally managed to get rid of the casing and now was checking for burn marks. Luckily there were only few red spots on he chest. She frowned and returned her attention to Smith. She smacked her forehead and moved towards the man. She stopped caring about her nakedness by now.

"Smithy you big doofus," She said and looked in his eyes, or rather shades. She ignored small Mishhu. "Once you sell it, it becomes problem. What if the guy you sell it to is not careful enough an it runs away? It will start killing people and it would be your mistake and your mistake only. You surely don't want to be responsible for dead people. Also if money is all this is about, why don't you just ask. We are one crew here and we help each other. How much do you need? Will 10 000 DA be enough? 20 000? I'll help you out, it is not like I need to money anyway. So what do you say mate?" She said and shrugged. In reality she would really be sorry to see so much money go, but unlike Smith she had no real use for them.

Smith kept his cool and spoke in carefully meted words, "It's precisely because it's a Mishhu that it's worth plenty when the right buyers are found. What's more, the criteria for 'right buyer' also includes being able to contain it properly," He explained. Since they did want to make it their business as to what happened after the deal was through, that was fine - he could further narrow the criteria. It'd take longer of course, and that also affected the chance of success considering everyone wanted to kill it, but it was doable.

"Zeta," he spoke out of nowhere.

Considering how he stepped back as she stepped forward, combined with the fact he refused to look at her through his currently clear glasses, it was rather apparent. In fact, if anyone were to guess, the way Smith clenched his teeth while trying to stay expressionless was another clue. Of course, more obvious signs were apparent, such as the faint reddening on his cheeks, or perhaps in the way he loosened his tie. "It's not that simple Zeta," Smith quietly replied. "And could you...please put your towel back on? It's indecent."

By now, anyone who was paying attention to the Baby Mishhu would notice it had practically went starry-eyed, placing a pair of tentacles across its small mandibles as though in awe of an epic sight. If anyone didn't realize Smith was answering Enzo earlier when he first said Zeta's name, they'd realize it now. And considering it's small size in relation to the woman, one could imagine what a sight it was for the little creature.

"I-It sounded like there was a new mission coming along Pavone?" Smith asked with a crooked, faltering smile as he tried to desperately steer away from the current, highly embarrassing situation. After all, did anyone want to be holding a perverted little space squid for this long?

He just wanted to be briefed before putting the thing into a proper container, out of sight and out of mind.

"Words do not solve this sort of problem," the Elysian made clear. His weapon was also still leveled at the alien. "Nor does changing the topic. I don't know how to be any clearer: Kill it. Or one of us will. Those are the only two options here." In spite of his spiritual leanings, Uriel found himself wanting to disregard Smith's well-being long enough to make the shot. He wouldn't be that man, but it had a very powerful allure at the time.

Zeta frowned at Smith, but then she noticed creature that was obviously watching her and her... assets. She grimaced and turned to Ernie. Well gifted bodyguard quickly reached to small robot and swiped the towel of its head, wrapping it around her breasts. She then looked back at Smith.

"Yes it is that simple. You need help, you ask for it." She said to him, but then stopped because Uriel stepped in again. She looked at him and said, "Didn't you hear captain? As long as it is Smiths responsibility, he is allowed to keep it and watch it. It is his choice if it dies or not. I don't like it one bit, but Luca is the one calling the shots."

"WA-RU-UI!"

It was a rather pathetically small voice, but it was a voice.

"WARUI!" the baby Mishhu squeaked in Yamataian again, angrily waving it's little tentacles about as Smith held it before himself with the metal tongs. It's many appendages could be seen flailing about angrily or trying to futilely break the metal grip or reaching out towards Zeta all at once. The Origin Rep didn't say a word quite yet, but merely looked off to the side, grimacing before turning his gaze to settle right on Uriel.

"To clarify," Smith started stiffly, "I tried changing the subject because holding on to this little thing is embarrassing. Completely, utterly, embarrassing," he explained with a bitter coldness. By now, Payday had settled down and ceased pouting. In fact, it looked rather depressed as it's little limbs dangled loosely by its sides. "I'd rather tuck this away, or anything else first, so we can talk like adults rather than point guns at each other like starving children in the slums."

And it was Zeta he looked at next, his voice guarded, cautious. "I appreciate the gesture, but I honestly don't feel comfortable with the idea. This is personal."

"Ah.... personal." Zeta said and nodded few times, before looking him in the eyes again. "So you are going to turn down help from a friend just because of your stupid pride even when your family could use the money. Fine." She said and walked to the door. "I am going to get dressed, keep that thing away from me."

"Ah, fuck it, Smithy." Enzo finally started in again, spending most of the conversation up until this point in a state somewhere between thinking and looking at Zeta's rear-end. Having finally come to a conclusion, he put his plan into action.

"Let's takes the poor little shit out into space." He instructed, approaching Smith with a clever look on his face. "We'll shoots it out the Lady's airlock too far froms anything what matters, an' blows it to smithereens."

Enzo put a sympathetic hand on Smith's shoulder. At the same time, his sympathetic hand gave the shoulder a squeeze that told Mathew to 'just play along'.

"Hmph. Calling the shots." His eyes scoured all those present. "Is everyone forgetting that this here is a damned Mishhu!? How does this not disturb you all? He wants to profit by selling a Mishhu. And no matter how you paint it, you can't guarantee anything on the buyer's end- certainly not the security of the creature." Uriel still had not lowered his firearm, but made sure his aim was true to center mass on Payday. "And don't try to downplay me. It isn't childish to want the greatest galactic parasites dead, and it certainly isn't childish of me to aim my gun at it. Not you, it. That you refuse to surrender it to an executioner strikes me as worrisome. They are, as I hope everyone has not forgotten, infamous for mind control."

"I said it once and I'll say it again - you can keep it, teach it to read 'My Little Derringer - The Fantastic Gunpowder Gardens' or something," Luca was referring to a Nepleslian kid's show aimed at girls, "Use it as target practice or a drug shop on chitinous legs, but you aren't going sell it or lend it to anyone - capace? Your Mishhu, your problem."

Luca sighed, lowering his gun, "And if it tries to kill you try and gurgle your last words over intercom so I can come and put it out of its misery." In Luca's eyes, 'Try' was a word he associated with Smith - between something in his tortured psyche he was yet to give up and everything else in between, Luca wouldn't have been incorrect to think that there was something deeply troubling about him or happening to him, "Echelon?"

"Yes, Captain Fleshhead?" Echelon's bandsaw-voice replied.
"If the Mishhu gets out, gimme a yell and contain it," After making that order, he blinked and scratched his chinfluff, "And while you're at it, can you find Naoko? She's being unusually catlike. Where has she gone anyway?"

Concern crossed his voice, because she had a stake in the Mishhu too, but she seemed to be completely out of the loop to this, but Luca hadn't ruled out the possibility of her hiding in the lounge room and being very, very quiet.

He decided not to think about that previous thought in too much detail. Ceiling Naoko is watching -everybody- masturbate, simultaneously, Luca bitterly considered, blinking as his face screwed up. John shot Luca a glance of incredulity, but Luca shrugged in reply.

John nodded and raised an eyebrow and nodded his head slowly. Luca crossed his index fingers and shook his head with a frown. John then nodded, apparently satisfied by the reply. Then he mulled it over and the colour drained from his face.

John worried: What if she was right under his nose at this very moment and dodging his movements as he finished off breakfast - or spiking his drinks with flavourless, odourless Mishhu pee when he wasn't looking?
Somehow, only Luca would be perfectly fine with that, even if he didn't consider the likelihood of it happening. He had experience in dealing with invisible men and women in the past.

"That aside, do I make myself clear? Mishhu stays here. We keep it, farm it -ourselves-, or kill it - it is not anybody else's problem.
"And if it causes you to crave necrophilia after a nick on the hand, that's not my bloody problem either!"