[He raises his brows a little while she fills in the blanks, but doesn't decide to press the perfectly-reasonable excuse. Time is something of a factor, if not in particularly dire-straits-amounts.]
Well, extra credit for this one. You clipped one of these desperados bad enough that his compadres will have bolted for a clinic or risk letting him bleed out. So lets cross our fingers for a little honor among thieves.
[If he sounds a little disdainful of the subject, it's because he is. Honor among anyone is a hard sell around here. Still, a dead man makes a lousy partner in crime, so it's a more likely lead than it sounds. Much obliged.]
Unfortunately for both of us, your bosses don't feel like working with me any more than they've got to. Give me a few more minutes of your time and I can get out of your hair.
[And get to heading off to get his hands dirty. Like most of the conversation, it's offhand and informal, leaning against the table while he talks. But the rest is some parts sharp and some parts pointed, though the larger irony of the topic is lost on him.]
And if you remember anything—[or, say, if there's something she wants to say that she doesn't want to say in Company territory. Or hell, if someone decides they'd rather come around and try get even on the way out of the medic while he's on the trail. He scratches out a number on the corner of the shipping manifesto he'd been handed upon walking in and leaves it on the table for her.]—I'll be interested in hearing it. Deal?
no subject
Well, extra credit for this one. You clipped one of these desperados bad enough that his compadres will have bolted for a clinic or risk letting him bleed out. So lets cross our fingers for a little honor among thieves.
[If he sounds a little disdainful of the subject, it's because he is. Honor among anyone is a hard sell around here. Still, a dead man makes a lousy partner in crime, so it's a more likely lead than it sounds. Much obliged.]
Unfortunately for both of us, your bosses don't feel like working with me any more than they've got to. Give me a few more minutes of your time and I can get out of your hair.
[And get to heading off to get his hands dirty. Like most of the conversation, it's offhand and informal, leaning against the table while he talks. But the rest is some parts sharp and some parts pointed, though the larger irony of the topic is lost on him.]
And if you remember anything—[or, say, if there's something she wants to say that she doesn't want to say in Company territory. Or hell, if someone decides they'd rather come around and try get even on the way out of the medic while he's on the trail. He scratches out a number on the corner of the shipping manifesto he'd been handed upon walking in and leaves it on the table for her.]—I'll be interested in hearing it. Deal?