“Damn Peter and his pickled peppers. I'll pick this anyday!”
After double-checking the locks, Tuskaloosa carefully picked her way back, curious to see what could make the Hatter so excited.
He was practically bouncing, his arms wraped around himself in a vain attempt at containment.
When she got a good look in the floor compartment she understood why. First it's way too much money. Now it's way too many connections. “Lotsa luck, chummer,” she drawled. “I'll be lucky just to pick that up.”
It took a bit of work to get the Ares Archon out of the floor and onto its tripod, but it was worth it.
She found the slots in the floor near the side door, clearly for when there was an opportunity for door-gunning.
The mobility and battery power of the Rover, coupled with the flexibility to still move it from the vehicle to the best firing position available. All for a freeking laser. The brilliance of the setup made her giddy.
At the same time, it also made her blood run cold: Worst case: we could have been staring at the wrong end of this.
I guess sometimes it really is better not to know the odds... “You said you'd pick this. Do you even know how to use one?”
“Not I. But I spy with my little eye a Cheshire Cat, and a cat that likes a laser pointer loves a pointy laser.”
____
“I'm sorry. It's not you—It's me. It's not your fault...so I apologize.
I'm sure you believed yourself indestructable: you'd be going strong long after the rest of us answer the Worm-feeder job app. But maybe that was your problem: you're too strong. If you'd been a little weaker, a little more approachable, I wouldn't be saying adios.
...Actually, I take that back. It's not your problem—you are who you are. Like I said, it's me. If I weren't so paranoid—and gutless—it wouldn't have to come to this.
If it makes you feel any better, you aren't the only one who came up short tonight...and your parts will mean other cars and trucks will get to live another day. Or...who knows? Maybe you'll be taken apart, cleansed of trace-ables and shipped to someplace new for reasembly. You're all there, after all...it could happen...”
She pressed her knuckes to the window in a final fist bump. “Adios.”
Hatter had given her some distance. At a gesture from his boss an idle member of his crew passed her: likely to finish the unpacking of their loot. The symphony of dissasembly continued unabated in the other bay of the cavernous garage. It seemed unnecessary, but she made the request anyway: “When the time comes, don't torture—make it quick.”
He nodded sagely. “Trolls have big hearts, 'tis true...but an Extra, Extra Large beats within you.”
She simply shrugged. “Not like these Rovers got to choose who bought them. Now, if you'll point me in the direction of wherever you've stashed my group...”
She quietly steeled herself. Arc had not been happy at her for making the counter-offer during negotiations with Hatter and his munchkins, and she didn't blame the mechanic one bit. If Fortune—and the aid from the choppers themselves—hadn't favored her and Yelena's bold actions, she could have turned a frying-pan situation into a flambe'. I have some music to face.
In the end however, Arc had been too busy working on a way out of their current 'mess' with Marco and their prize—and staying upright—to say much. “Back safe? Good...see if you can get a sheet or something.” When Firefly came in with a bag of clothes and groceries she said simply “make a wall” and exiled Marco to the other side of it.
The troll accepted the orders quietly, intending to speak only when spoken to.