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((Sorry for shortpost, have had availability problems))

The question caught him off guard, at least at first. He gave her a somewhat quizzical look as he stood, not really sure how to respond. It seemed out of character, coming from her, delicate little altruist that she was. But then, a week ago, would anyone have guessed R.J. himself would be a double murderer? He sure as hell wouldn't. She had a point, too; the gun was easier to handle if you knew how to use one. It was small and accurate, and the recoil was almost negligible. There were more powerful guns out there, but you don't need a Deagle if you can aim a GP6.

Most of all, she needed the protection it provided more than he did.

Sighing wistfully, he gave her a wry smile before drawing the weapon from its makeshift holster in the waistline of his pants. With one hand, he ejected the magazine, swiping it out of the air mid-drop with the other, mostly because it looked cool. He was fairly certain he hadn't chambered a new round, but wanted to be absolutely sure before handing the gun off, so he gripped the barrel of the gun in his teeth so he'd have both hands free to count off what he had in the magazine. Thirteen Parabellum rounds were present and accounted for, and he was 110% sure he'd fired four. Good. He'd reload it later, but for now, they couldn't afford to waste any bullets on practice. He used his shirt to wipe the saliva off the gun, perhaps a futile gesture, as it wasn't much cleaner than his mouth, before handing it off to Mary-Ann.
<Mimi>: You are much nicer than I thought you'd be!
<Stark>: Shut up, fatty.
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They're Made Out Of Meat · The Felled Forest: North