[ A beat. He studies her for half a moment, then nods, pulls his feet off the extra chair, and sets his datapad to the side.

Right now, he has exactly one of those things — in threefold, but still, guns being in short supply, he's not eager to part with any of them for a can of Coke. He is, however, interested in developing a working relationship with someone intelligent and industrious enough to get frustrated with the confines of the environment so quickly. And he's not without a few MacGyver-esq skills. ]

Taser. Contact, not projectile. I can have it to you tomorrow. [ He could have it to her today, but he prefers to be underestimated. ] For the Coke and two cigarettes.

I get the feeling cutting the bullshit will take a little more time.