Rez looks away as the window comes down, gazing out the door through which one so recently exited in bad company, and another arrived accompanied by the distinct smell of apples and cinnamon. What the Chopper is doing, though, is turning a moderately irritable glare on something other than Amanuel. Presumably because said expression is not for him.<br/><br/>In fact, what comes out is likely as close to an apology as anyone is liable to hear, and that only to those entirely familiar with the ramifications of what had just happened, almost happened, and didn't happen, respectively.<br/><br/>"It's y'r ground, here, but I gotta promise I hadda keep, Screws. Needed'm alive, not y'r hood ornament." She absent-mindedly shoves the sawn-off into its holster, its purpose as negotiating and door-knocking tools now well-obviated. "So's ya know." She nods, as if finding agreement with what she's just said and how she's said it. "When y'r done'th breakfast, come find me. Might've some work f'r y'hands."<br/><br/>The top Vulture leaves it at that, stepping down off the sideboard of the M-ATV and swaggering over towards Marco as she peels off one of her heavy leather gauntlets. "Done," she spits dryly into her palm before taking his, "An' done." She nods thoughtfully. "If th'stuff's real, ya. Could be it is. Came up with a shiny new gun right quick, din't he?"<br/><br/>"'Bout that, tho. I gotta go sit on'is chest an' listen t'all his precious endearments. Gonna probly be a while. Better be a while."<br/><br/>She had, after all, given her word. And in the strange, disjointed, semi-familial mob that was the flock of<em>los Buitres</em>, the only thing that could be depended on with more certainty than their leader's imminent violence was her word to her own.<br/><br/>Some days that prioritization concerned her.