Drek'thar grinned a toothy grin as he chuckled through clenched teeth, supressing a full-blown guffaw. The hose was her M.O.? The thought sent a shiver down his spine. As quickly as Lucille had recovered, it wasn't unfathomable to consider that she'd be able to keep up such a standard. "To next time," he rumbled, allowing his glass to clink with hers with a glimmer of hopefulness in his eyes, though he understood their time together may have been as brief as the one their glasses shared.<br/><br/>The dry tongue of the hot desert air lapped at Lucille's exposed flesh as she flew, the occassional traveller marveling at her craft or her lack of clothing. The fact that her hat remained in spite of wind and her speed took third place. Where she was headed didn't even have enough space to enter their minds. Once Lucille entered the zone which Drek'thar had described as the point of mechanical failure, her Gunner's Broom whined and coughed, the mechanicals giving out as the magic took over.