Honestly, Handy did not know what he felt. Angry? Confused? Indignant? Amused? The pony tried to steal a nuke, she apparently concocted a great ritual and went through tremendous effort only to pull him through instead. It’s hard to know what to feel about being mistaken for a nuke, Complimented? Insulted? He honestly did not know. What he did know was that he now had the pony ultimately responsible for everything, his arrival here, his exposure to pain, suffering, madness and vampirism. Every ache, every bruise, every burning moment of impotent fury at the universe, every sting of fear, every curse, every fault and failing since he got here, everything. And here she was, right at his hands, in an empty tavern, in a nameless street, all alone and not a damn thing she could do about it. He should probably just snap her neck on sheer principle alone, he was now certainly angry enough to do it.