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Well, he got to the point. Aaron Hughes didn't feel like making brief chit-chat (at least he recognised it as such, that ginger girl seemed to take her statement at face value), so now the ball was left idle in her court. Welp, change that. Aston flicked a curt smile towards the grand muskateers, and withdrew her gun from her waistband.

"All I've got is this. Bersa, some number or other. Half the ammo's gone, I...wasted it."

Small silence. There was an uncomfortable murmuring going behind the nerd who captured all her attention, but it wasn't of Aston's concern right now.

"The name's Aston Bennett, and unless you plan on saying right now you are aligned with Quincy Jones or Tiffany Chanders, I don't plan on wasting you. Not much ammo left."

She shoved the gun back into her jeans, double checking the safety before stowing it away from sight. Okay, so...time to rationalise these people and their little group.

So...if this group assembled at the start of the game, then this was not the same people. She needed to know who they'd met over the course of this sick thing, but that was for later. Either way, Aston's experience with groups led her to believe that, unless you had the gods of fate on your side, you couldn't ride this thing out unscathed. She honestly wanted to just plain out ask how many people they'd lost. Screw tact. Screw it with a rusty knife.

"So, I'll cut to the chase. Do any of you know, or have seen, Quincy Jones or Tiffany Chanders? I have...unfinished business with him in particular, and I'll leave it at that."

She felt like this was enroaching on dangerous territory here. Unpredictable.
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I can't sing but I wrote you a song

Wrong notes but the melody's so clear

When I'm lost, I'm still close to gold

cause I found my treasure in you
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No Such Thing as a Perfect Plan · The Felled Forest: North