<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">OOC note</div><div class="spoiler_body">Actually, I'd say an armored truck in nearly-new condition, with armorglass, blast-proof and small-arms resistant windows is probably much rarer than an MG under these circumstances, but you's da world-boss! And since we aren't all settled in terms of highlighting and stuff yet, I'm not rolling anything. Besides, rolling to make a deal with another PC seems kinda...Eh.</div></div><br/>Rez swung back around towards Marco, in full-on spiel mode "Look, I ain' leanin' on ya, but this, ya<em>gotta</em>see this, and man, izza deal,<em>such</em>a deal, I mean..."<br/><br/>...And the shotgun is in Rez's hand, massive barrels whipping around to press at a steep angle against the side of the big vehicle, and it<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><em><strong>roars</strong></em></span>.<br/><br/>The blast shakes pigeon-droppings from the rusting corrugated-metal roof, and a few new points of light appear in Amanuel's workshop ceiling. It also shakes loose all of the Vultures in sight, who suddenly are paying a lot more attention to their leader...And it definitely shakes loose some of Marco's Dogs. There's a tension in the air as weapons are half-drawn.<br/><br/>A tension which Rez simply fucking ignores, leaning forward to jab at the side of the M-RAP, where its speckled digital-camoflauge paint has been disrupted by the near-contact blast...But the armor beneath is unbuckled and unfurrowed...Even the thick, brick-like windows only show faint trails of lead where buckshot ricocheted off the armor and flat across them, something Rez proves by poking at the trail, smudging it to show unscratched glass beneath.<strong><em><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">"LOOKATTIT!"</span></em></strong><br/><br/>"Marco, yanno, it's yer kinda thing, man! Iz like a li'l fuckin' fortress on four wheels, ya?" Her voice chases echoes of the shot around the concrete and steel walls. "So I thoughta ya. Special. An' I thought, hey, m'man, he sends us out t'get four trucks, barely runnin', an' I bring back seven, SEVEN, four runnin' good, an this beauty like old, old war-machine work, jus' bounces bullets like hail. Ya man jus' put a coupla Dogs wi'barkers up top an' ya got sometin' so they can't corner ya in yer hole, here, yeah?"<br/><br/>Rez leans against the armored truck's side, polishing the scarred paint with the palm of one gauntleted hand, feeling the heat in it from the buckshot's grazing impact. "I'm jus sayin', I figger is worth as much as t'other three combined, ya? As much as th'four ya sent us out after, maybe. An' what, ya want I should haveta chase clear across tha waste ta sell it ta some fuckwit like Meat? Naw, I'm thinkin' of ya. Ya see my people treated right. Tha's good."<br/><br/>Rez grins like death. This part is all business. She breaks open the scattergun, slapping a couple of new shells in and managing to holster it without it pointing anywhere so close to Marco that the Dogs do more than start to growl. "But I'm sayin', man. On yer word, on yer heart. I let that fuck walk, an' I hear he showed 'is nose around here. Yanno if I see him in this thing again I'm gonna haveta kill'm, right? So if I'm sellin' this to ya, I don' ever wanna see'm near it."<br/><br/>Rez lowers her voice and completely drops the pseudo-manic enthusiasm, fixing an entirely serious stare on the Hardholder. "<strong><em>...Not ever.</em></strong>"