RP: Taking It Back [Phase I] Assembling the Team

Alex muttered in response to Ally's comment, "It's like this thing is made of broken. I need more time."

Lucas started to quip back, but the grenade exploded, throwing a fetid mess of flesh both charred and decomposing through the corridor. The fireball that filled the hall shook the elevator car and kicked up a small cloud of dust in the corridor. The zombies behind the grenade were thrown back to the rear wall, collapsing each into a pool of flesh and sticky black residue. The zombies in front were knocked onto their faces, many of them losing said faces in the process, and leaving trails of entrails in dark streaks on the floor behind them. A small potted plant rolled gently into the elevator, it's clay pot stained with blood, and stopped short at Alex's feet just as he began to flip the switches that would activate the electric motors in the shaft above.

The elevator doors slammed shut, and the car lurched into motion once again. Alex lit a cigarette and took a seat on the floor. He looked up at Lucas briefly, and then to everyone else, speaking in a bored manner, "Well, now that we've taken care of the zombies, all we have to do is meet the big-wigs. Everybody clean yourselves off and hike up your tits if you got 'em."

Archie recovered from hidding under his jacket with an annoyed twitching of his moustache, he turned towards Lucas. "No more laughing at dead people, wot." he said, flicking a tiny piece of zombie off his arm.

Chrys looked back in the hall after the explosion. It was pretty gruesome and messy. It was not first time, she saw exploded bodies. She lived through the NMX bombing after all.

She straightened herself up, still standing in fron of Alyx. "Hey Lassie, you ar'right?!" She asked and then looked back to Lucas. "Oi Captain Loud. Two unarmed zombies I could handle witha mah bare hand. You Bastardick didn't notice that Unca' Vetaran here," she pointed to Lang before continuing. "-Has a pistol with silencer. I don't minda fightin' but ah wanna be ready fot it if I can. We are lucky Unca' had that nade. Fock." She finished her monologue.

She then shifted her sight back to Alex. "Good work with the elevater Stalker guy." She said. "And keep your eyes off them tits, be so kind." She then said with a smirk on her lips.

Flick flick, flick.

Burn.

Ally tossed the empty pack off of the elevator, onto one of the corpses. Then, she took a really long drag. Now that she wasn't aiming or holding the revolver, her hand shook a little bit. She folded her arms, one hand held ready with the cigarette between the index and middle finger, the other snugged around her stomach, fingertips brushing the gun's rubberized grip. Yea, that made everything a lot better, she thought as she examined the room in front of her, breathing deeply. It was the smell more than anything that always got to Ally. Blood. Death. People shitting themselves at the very end.

Even though she smoked, she knew the smell was going to get on her hair. The gruesome scene she had just been a part of made her want to shower. Glancing up at Chrys, who had taken the brunt of the gorey explosion, she smiled a little bit.

Well, she thought, it's about time to get used to it. Just like she had gotten used to everything else.

"Left my makeup in the car," Ally commented through a small haze of silvery, calming nicotine, "Sorry. But, people have always told me that I don't really need it. Oh, but that sounds arrogant, doesn't it? Maybe I'll just stop talking now."

For Lang the lack of a 'quiet' entry left much to be desired, as much fun as loud entries could be he knew that they just as quickly backfired. The STAR that was cradled in his shoulder was an excellent weapon but the old mercenary was looking forward to replacing it with Paragon kit. Something which would do much to alleviate his anxiety for what he saw as an unorganized half-assed operation, one that he wasn't looking forward to being part of.

Ignoring the babbling young women Lang glanced toward Lucas and spoke, "So where have you been and when did you loose your sense for 'quiet' means of zombie disposal?".

Rennik put away his pistol back in his wasteband and looked at the ceiling of the elevator so that he wouldn't have to make eye contact.
"Sorry. I don't have a silencer" he mumbled

Ping!

The doors made their pinball-machine sound and ushered a slight breeze into the elevator car. Alex flicked his cigarette into the fading sunlight just beyond the threshold and stood, leading the way out into the air. They were on a small roof, high above the city. The buildings nearby paled in comparison to the one which they'd climbed so quickly in the elevator car. The only buildings of comparable size were off in the distance, to the northwest; that area which was known as Argent Towers was stuck hard against the setting sun. All of southern Funky City lay spread before any brave enough to peer over the side. Smoke still rose from the rooftops and roads below. Sections of freeway were piled on top on small slums and tenement buildings. The smell of blood was far away from them here, but the sight of the destruction was more than any scent could illustrate.

As they slipped out of the elevator, the group would notice a small table, which seated three men. Lyle Clemente sat sternly at the center, amidst a series of ashtrays overflowing with butts from cigars and cigarettes alike. He was smoking one of the cigars at that very moment. To his left sat Sammy Dalton, dressed up in his signature flannel-plad business suit. He's worn in for every public appearance, including funerals, since YE 04. It looked so obviously like an artifact of that time. Finally, to the right of Clemente sat Angelo Barton. He was smoking a cigarette and sampling a glass of whiskey. The half-emptied bottle sat on the table next to him, listening to him mumble about his troubles.

Looking at them here, it was hard to imagine these men as the powerful and influential people they supposedly were. Excepting perhaps Lyle, who sat in his tiny wooden chair as if it were a golden throne with the Southern Shores below him as his kingdom. He regarded them first, an idle wave of a ring-encrusted finger. As the group approached the table, they could see Sammy straightening his hair and his tie as he struggled to down a small bottle of pills.

"Cut the shit, Sammy. You ain't sellin' sedans to 'em, they're our employees." Lyle snapped, yanking Sammy's hand from the wrinkled tie. He turned his gaze to Alex. "Alright Foster, whataya got for me, eh? They don't look very impressive, if ya asks me."

Alex let a confident smirk slip from his lips and waggled a finger in the direction of the mob boss. "I've thoroughly researched my decision with these people. You'll find them all to be very impressive choices, if not entirely unexpected ones. You know Lucas, of course."

Lucas bit his lip at this, looking towards Lang. It was becoming apparent what he'd spent the last few years doing, rather he chose to explain it to the Colonel or not. The nervous ID-SOL quickly lit a cigar of his own as Alex continued, "... And the rest have talents which I will now make apparent to you."

Alex gestured magnificently to each as he described them alphabetically, in the manner of a circus sideshow presenter.

"Firstly, there's Rennik Cage, a rather typical Nepleslian and an efficient marksman. He's also a dedicated package mover, if you understand my meaning, Clemente. Need I also mention he's got ties with the police, our unwilling allies in this endeavor?" He went on.

"Secondly, there's the lovely and affable Chrysanthe Chronis. She's a fairly large woman, and not in the sloppy way. No, as a matter of fact, she's an efficient brawler and quite the survivor." And on.

"... And certainly you've noticed Archival De Florres. He's a skilled marksman as well, but his true talent lies in his ability to track prey for the hunt. In fact, he's nearly impossible to spot without a well-trained eye in certain situations." And on.

"Which brings us to Colonel Dean Lang, of Paragon. They're that up-and-coming contractor corps and weapons manufacturer. The more money we feed him, the more toys we get to play with on the streets. Need I also mention that he's an expert fighter, proffessional to the core much like myself, and he knows where it is."

Angelo interrupted here, "You mean that useless old bucket of rust sitting somewhere out--"

Alex trampled over him, "I'm speaking, boy. You would do best to listen until I've completed my overview."

Angelo was taken aback by this. "B-boy? You're hardly a few yea-"

Alex continued his overview as intended, ignoring the politician. "Ahem. That leaves me with Dimitri Rouges. He's our vehicle support, as well as a talented fighter as usual. I've left him in charge of the truck down in the alleyway."

Clemente took pause at Dimitri's name. He made a slight frown as he tried to figure out where he'd heard it before. As his gaze wondered from Alex, he finally took note of Alexis. Ignoring Dimitri's origins for the moment, he focused on her, asking candidly, "And who's the broad? You just bring her up here to entertain us or somethin'?"

"Not quite, Mister Clemente." Alex replied, nervously glancing towards Alexis. He had hoped she wouldn't be noticed. "She's... sort of like... an unaccounted-for variable, I suppose. She dispatched a few zombies at range with a handgun, and she's displayed an incredible proficiency for firearms construction and maintenance. I had, er, intended to use her services... as... Well, to be honest, she just kind of showed up and proved her worth so I'm keeping her."

Lyle nodded. "So you just want to fuck her?"

Alex frowned. "I didn't bring anybody up here because I wanted have intercourse with them."

"Do you want to fuck her or not, Foster?"

"Only slightly, but that has nothing to do with my decision, I assure you. I hardly think making someone join a resistance movement is an ideal scenario for sexual interaction. Besides, this line of questioning is hardly relevant to our purpose here."

"Agreed." The mobster turned the conversation over to the rest of them, "Do you bozos know what you're getting into here? Did this man somehow trick you into doing this? Do you have any questions? For me, or the other two guys, either is fine. Isn't it boys?" The other two nodded in begrudging cooperation. A sharp wind cut on the roof as Lyle Clemente smoked his cigar and waited for some answers.

Chrys smirked upon the show in front of her. She herself liked to call herself tall, not large. SHe was no hulkling after all. It also seem that Alex either didn't know she was Elysian or though it was not needed for others to know. It was only DNA anyway. In her mind and character she was as Nepleslian as everyone else on the roof.

When they asked if any of them had any question she was thinking for few seconds before saying. "First ah want to know if we're jut gonna' waggle or tongues around like a bunch of fags with lolly's or if we will bloody get a move on. And second, since you are our generous sponsors I would like to know how you expect us to take done Ripper or Shocktrooper should we encounter one. I am not afraid of few bloody nekoes or anything, but I know too well that our guns won't do bollocks to shielded Ripper."

Since there were more forward, more imposing individuals around her, Ally just let them do the talking. She stood by, in relatively the same way as she had stood by in the elevator - breathing slowly, nursing the Viirking Silver cigarette. Alexis felt awkward in a way that she did not often feel.

Behind the counter of an out-of-the-way arms depot, it was easy to flirt and toy with the customers. In the end, it was business, and some of it was even entertaining. Here on the top of this zombie-infested high rise, Alexis sensed that these three were part of the small, but affluant group of citizens who didn't even have to try to get girls. They just demanded, and some armed gook drugged or knocked out anything in the area with a pair of legs. Big gang guys. Thinking about what they'd do if they wanted made Ally fairly uneasy, and made her palms itch for the all-too-familiar grip of her target revolver. Self-preservation instincts demanded she be very out of the way, which she had been doing up until the point where, oblivious to the fact she didn't really want to be noticed, they had started discussing her.

She met their interest with an unassuming, but still fairly resolute stare. At the first 'fuck', she blinked. She bristled at the second, but Ally bit back the snide retort forming. It was disgusting, but she was probably going to have to suck up to these guys. It was also possible she could scare them, but the only way she had of doing that was with the weight of a name she was trying very desperately not to mention around the roughnecked bastards that comprised this little group.

Ally tossed her cigarette off the side of the building, and watched as it was caught in a side-wind and carried, spiraling, off into the smokey ruined distance. If she could just low profile until the meeting was over, then she would be fine.

~Why is everyone smoking?~ Rennik thought to himself grumpily as they reached the roof and he saw the three big wigs. It was bad enough that the hot chick, Alexi or something, was doing it (which in his view decreased her attractiveness) in close quarters on the elevator, but now there were at least 3 guys reeking of the smell.
~How does anyone expect to be able to run if they need to?~ he wondered as well, inwardly sighing.
He knew these guys, had probably even done a "delivery" or two for at least one of them. At least, that's what Rennik assumed; all his jobs came from Nick, and he never asked who the job was for.
Rennik only gave the the briefest smile and raise of his hand when his name was called. He felt a little put out by being called a "typical" Nepleslian, though in retrospect it wasn't far off, despite him being more wiry than meaty. When Lyle asked his question to the group, Rennik perked up.
"Yes" he spoke, in response to Lyle's question "may we please hit a target any time soon, S'il est bien?" he asked. He was well and truly bored of waiting around, even though standing in the presence of these Movers and Shakers was a bit interesting.

Lyle Clemente nodded as he took in the questions. His face softened as he listened to the concerns of the people before him. The typically harsh man at least knew how to look understanding and compassionate, perhaps from endless negotiations with other gangleaders, or perhaps just from being an employer of criminals. He turned in his chair, first to Angelo, then to Sammy.

"You all seem to want to know what your first move is. I'd figured Alex would have told you by now," the mob boss informed them, stamping out his cigar into an already-full ashtray. "You can't keep coming to this office building. Sammy and I are staying here, and we need it to not have any more unnecessary attention, capiche? Angelo's place is too high-profile as well."

"Most of my dealerships are overrun, and the rest are blown up. One of them survived, but it's being used as a hospital." Sammy added. The salesman had his hand on his chest, clutching his tie nervously. "But you guys can have all the cars you need... If we can get them."

Alex took this opportunity to get to the point. "It's like they said, everybody. We need a base of operations. A hideout, so to speak. Lucas and I have proposed an ideal set-up, if the Colonel is in cooperation." Alex turned a steely look of disinterest to Lang, the most serious he could muster after such a strong display of emotion introducing everybody.

Lucas backed him up. "Both me and Alex have been aboard this boat. It's a sub, and it belongs-- belonged to the Reds. I was there when I was a Red, and Alex used to sell weapons and drugs to us when he was with the Blacks. Clemente probably remembers it, too. Anyways, it was a few years back, and when the Reds skipped town, they just left it empty offshore. Alex can get it to surface because he knows the transponder codes or somethin'. But we gotta know where it is first. The only person that knows where it was left is the commanding officer at that time. That's Colonel Lang." Lucas sucked his lips into his mouth as he regarded his former commander, nervously awaiting the man's response.

Alex prodded for it, "We are hoping twenty-thousand DA is enough to get you to accompany us as well as reveal the location of the vessel. We can purchase more from Paragon in the way of infrastructure when we find more money. Currently, our budget is only sixty-thousand DA, and we need most of it for repairs of our vehicles and this submarine we wish to acquire."

Hearing this information for the first time, Lucas turned back to the table with a raised eyebrow. "You guys run the fucking city, and you only gave us sixty-thou?"

Lyle and Angelo both looked at him with blank, incredulous stares. Sammy yelped and leaned in with them, whispering sharply, "I told you we should have given them more, guys. They're doing something nice for us! Why don't we just get out our checkbooks an--"

"Shut up, Sammy." The other two said in unison, Lyle providing a firm slap to the back of the salesman's head as well. After his disciplinary action was complete, he turned back to the group and provided this simple, yet accurate explanation of why no more money could be spared for the group: "Deal with it."

Alexis shoved her hands in her pockets. Nobody was manning up, in front of these guys, and it was somewhat disappointing. The thought had crossed Ally's mind when she had decided to impose herself on this cadre that a bunch of roughnecks with a weapon depot's worth of small arms would have proven slightly more imposing. The scariest thing they were putting out at the moment seemed to be Chrys's beligerance, and Alexis hadn't decided whether it was an act or not. By comparison, the three sitting down seemed to be perfectly in charge of the situation. That wasn't a positive thing.

She tossed her head a bit, moving some of her hair out of her face. It wasn't completely wild. Alexis had just combed it to appear that way. She wasn't a leader, but this stupid silence was making her nervous.

"'Lo boys," she commented, trying her best to mimic what she thought of, subconsiously, as her snake-in-the-grass voice; smooth, quiet, possibly even sensual since she put a bit of breath into it, "That's not a very big number everything considered. And if I like, heard you right, we aren't even going to get all of it, it's going to go to repairs on your equipment. I l-o-v-e my planet, but I don't think any of us could like, work for charity. We provide our own weapons and ammunition, so we have an upkeep cost. You know? How soon are we going to see this money down?"

Chrys just smirked at threee stooges in front of her. "Heh you bugger don't care about this planet at all do ya? You are doing this just cause NMX invasion is bad for bussiness? Don't play patriots if you don'T really mean it you bloody bastards. Sixty thousands that is a joke, but hey I am a play. As long as you will get me NMX to kill I am just peachy," she said.

For Lang this was a simple matter of cost vs. benefit, his sense of patriotism was alive and well but simple economics kept him from devoting what he truly wished to bring to the fight. The three men in front of them where the lowest of the upper tier food chain, all wanting to hold onto what little power they had left in this sector. Their pitiful offer wouldn't even be enough to finance the fielding of a company sized force. With the intelligence Paragon had on NMX presence in the city it'd take several well equipped battalions months to sweep the area and their operations cost wasn't something you could simply write off.

Finally fed up with the three Lang spoke up, "Gentlemen clearly you've never financed a successful military operation before and clearly you've never won against the NMX before." With a pause the contractor carefully paced up to the three men, "This action will require both significant amounts of wealth over a long period of time. What your asking for isn't a simple walk in the park gentlemen the NMX are not a force you send a bunch of half hearted lightly armed street gangs against. If you want this to truly succeed you must be willing to pull out all the stops I guarantee the NMX will the moment we kick this off."

Lang paused eying each man, "If you however prefer to continue this bull I'm afraid I'll be forced to withdraw my assistance, this battlefield isn't the only one paying for a few good soldiers."

Clemente was furious. One after another, they were questioning him. Him! Did they know who they were talking too. Alex knew who he was talking to... but Alex was an asshole. Still, Lyle Clemente tried to prod them through Alex.

"Lexi, call off your dogs." He snarled, pointing a fat ring-covered finger.

"They make a compelling argument, Lyle." Came the plain-voiced reply. Alex was looking off into the distance, calculating costs. "After three days of consistent fighting in the area, each of them alone will have racked up at least four-thousand DA in expenses, not too mention the people you have joining in with us. It's as the Colonel stated, street gangs are incapable of defending their own positions alone. Need I also mention that we were planning on running the submarine around the continent? That requires fuel, for our currently planned operations that makes its starting cost twenty-five thousand DA by itself. This is without equipment and repairs. This is without Lang, or his troops, or anything else for that matter. We're going to need another sixty-thousand DA again anyway before we can get properly started throughout the city."

"Are you finished yet Foster?" Angelo started. "Do you realize that we don't exactly have confidence in your little endeavor? And, certainly, if we had enough money to hire Paragon to do it for us, we'd already be doing that. Mister Clemente and I have already agreed that the investment is worth sixty-thousand. Yes, tall woman, the NMX invasion is bad for business. But my family was slaughtered in the bombings as well. You'll understand that my lack of financial interest has nothing to do with a lack of compassion. It's just that I don't even know who you people are, and I'm finding it very hard to care."

"Barton's right, Alex." Clemente continued. "You want our patronage, you gotta earn it."

Sammy stood up at this and threw his chair from the side of the building in a fit. "Will you two just shut up?!"

There was a surprised pause in the air as the other two men looked over at the previously meek Samuel Dalton. The salesman straightened his tie and caught his composure before continuing, "I'm so fucking tired of sitting here while you guys are mean assholes. I'd give up anything in the whole world to get my Lucille back. Angelo, you lost your wife and kid, and Lyle, you lost lots of long-time friends! What the fuck is wrong with you people?!"

They both started their usual 'Shut up, Sammy!', but were stifled by Sammy turning over the table in front of them the moment they opened their mouths. "You people just keep your traps shut! You-You-you... PUSSIES! Fuck you! I'll be the man here now!"

Alex had been watching the whole incident with an eyebrow raised. Now, he stepped forward towards Sammy, ready to restrain him if he should be any more hostile. Sammy took this opportunity to hand Alex a small plastic moneycard. "Here." The once-meek car dealer pressed the card tightly into Alex's hand, "Take all my money. I'm sorry I don't have as much as these guys do, but I trust you Alex. And your friend Lucas. I'm sure your new friends can beat the tar out of those squid bastards. Take this money, and use it as much as you can. I don't care about my business anymore. There's no use in making money if you've got no one to feed it with. I've got enough cash to see me through this, and after that I'll rebuild."

Alex nodded along boredly with Sammy's exposition, thanking him with a plainly stated, "Sorry to hear about Lucille and all that."

Sammy stifled a sob and slowly made his way to a new seat, muttering, "She was the most beautiful woman in the entire universe."

Alex then turned back to the rest of the gang and started walking back towards the elevator. Lucas turned to follow him, stopping only for a moment to look back at Sammy crying in his new chair one last time before heading to the elevator. As Alex passed the gang he motioned to each of them in a single gesture to follow him, with a simple, "Let's go."

Chrys set her shotgun on the floor and walked to Sam, extending her fith hand for heartfull hadnshake. "You mistah, you have some serious balls." She commented what Sam just did. Unlike these two faggots, she wanted to add but she kept quite to not kill the moment. "I know it won't get you mistress back I swear I will kick as much tentacles and mutant-kittes as I can for yer! You have my bloody work on that!" She said. Her voice was strong and prideful while she said that.

Archival put a gentle hand on Alexis's shoulder as Alex turned towards the lift, his moustache twitching in thought. He'd kept silent during the meeting, only nodding in acknowledgment as his name was mentioned. "Do you hate me for dropping that note yet?" he asked quietly, before turning to follow Alex.

Ally shook her head in response without taking her eyes from the three gathered around the overturned table. Eventually she pried away, and came to stand somewhat gloomily in the elevator, all the sass drained out of her by the suddenness of Sammy's grief. It was really hard to pretend to be a badass in front of such a genuine expression of loss. Kicking back against the back wall of the elevator, she shoved her hands deeper into her pockets.

Ally could only empathize with the man's loss; over the course of this entire affair, she had lost nobody, and had instead gained a lot of private income. She had known that the profit was almost directly from other people's loss, but seeing it hit home so hard was very sobering.

"I bought a bike from him once," she sullenly injected into the silence, her lighthearted speech pattern temporarily arrested.

Chrys then got on the elevator and took out a small cigar from her breast-pocket, lighting it with match. "I felt felt bad not puffing like most of this lot," she said and laughed. "So Lass. I know you can pop a zombie, but could you kill real breathing person?" She asked Alexis, completely breaking any romantic atmosphere.

Alexis spent the better half of a minute in moody silence, as if waiting for the question to be answered by someone else, or perhaps for the speaker to apologetically withdraw the inquiry. It felt so inappropriate, so profane, after what had just happened in the meeting. Was Ally the only one affected like this? She examined Chrys somewhat critically, her eyes narrowed slightly, her dark eyeliner setting the pale irises off in hauntingly beautiful contrast.

"You shoot them," Ally stated somewhat defensively, "But we aren't going to like, be shooting real people, anyway, so it doesn't matter."

Rennik, a normally social guy, hadn't since much since asking his question on top. Sammy's outburst hit home more deeply than he wished, and he didn't try to hide that he was not happy seeing the man in such distress. Rennik, too, had been affected by the invasion and destruction of his world. He could still see her face; beautiful red locks cascading down flawless skin, the clearest blue eyes in all the city, and a small, cute mouth, saying "I have to help, you know that". Also in that memory, that vision, was the explosion, an NMX bomb blowing just few feet behind her, a torrent of flame engulfing that perfect face, and the faces of nearly two dozen others that were part of a medical evacuation, transporting wounded out of a hospital to safer areas.

Rennik shook his head and noticed they were on the elevator. The tall woman with the funny accent had started smoking a cigar, furthering Rennik's belief that there must be some kind of rule that someone had to be smoking at all times. He didn't say anything, though, not feeling up to getting into arguments over ultimately petty differences.

Chrys was staring back at Ally, slowly puffing on her ciggar and breathing smoke towards the ceiling to not btoher others. Ally looked pretty emotional, she was clearly earlier affected by the car-dealer and probably even now by Chrysanthe's question.

"Well lamb," Chrys said and paused for a second. "I hope we only get to shoot nekoes and Mishus, but seeing as every second existing human is probably an asshole we are bound to meet few cowards. Every time there is some new enemy, there are gutless little bitches ready to greet their new overlords hoping to be kept alive. Don't be surprised if we get to meet buggers like that. Oh and I heard that NMX are using their own ID-SOLs."

Chrys paused again and puffed her cigar. "All I wanna say, that me and others were handpicked by Mr. Stalker, probably cause we are all kind of wackos. But you fell into this by chance. Most time when you got into shit like these, it end buggered to hell. If we are doing resistance or something be prepared that it won't be easy lass'" Chrys ended her monologue. She really cared for the girl, but she also did not want anyone on the team who might panic in middle of the action.

"So, I guess this is where I need to draw the line."

Kicking off from the elevator's back wall, Alexis jerked her head to the side a bit, tossing a few short, errant threads of silver out of her eyes. It was a bluff. Alexis knew she wouldn't be able to beat any of these guys, if it came down to a brawl. But, she considered herself to be fairly smart, and this sort of play-acting was something she'd always seen other people use to great effect. If she could pull off a tough routine she might actually get some respect out of this. If your back was against the wall, sometimes it's best to pretend you're still on top. If you can do it well enough...

"Couple things."

She raised her hand, and pointed a finger to the sky.

"One. This whole like, 'lass' shit, isn't going to fly. I'm not your little sister, or some sort of beer-swilling starry-eyed lesbian. I know you're a girl. It's kind of really obvious. Well, so am I. You're really big and strong and awesome I get that, and I'm not. But don't get your cool-ness points with these guys off of babying me like I can't do shit. You don't know me, at all."

Second finger.

"Two. I'm not scared and I'm not some useless bimbo along for the ride. As if. I've been shooting firearms since I was seven, hunting since I was nine, and I'll bet you any amount of money I can shoot straighter than you and probably better than these guys. I just showed you how familiar I am with firearms, and that guy says I'm in, so I'm in, so you should, you know, probably stop bringing it up. I'm here, I'm staying here, so I'm going to like, er, like... Stay. And shit. You know. Alright?"

It dawned on her, last minute, that she really wasn't terribly good at this. At least she managed a straight face.