Vernon is regretting directing his boss to buy this hunk of junk ostensibly known as a vehicle. Not very much, but a little. Mostly because she then made him drive it, and this is a finicky and temperamental beast that keeps listing to the left, but in amounts that change a bit on every single bump. They are driving through what is colloquially called 'the wasteland,' which is a desert about half as hospitable and twice as rocky as it sounds. He is having to adjust often. It's annoying. Not very, and honestly, having a functioning vehicle that is not potentially going to explode is a bit of a novelty for him, but enough that he will think fondly of that other vehicle boss-lady had been eyeing before he steered her this way. That sure would have been nice to drive. It would have been painting a gigantic target on their backs, but still. He can dream.
"... Uh, hey," says someone, who has heard the yelling and poked his head out to solve it now that the shooting's stopped. "It does no one any good to stand here arguing while the Julai fuckers maybe start sneaking off, yeah? Does stripping them but letting them keep their canteens and birds and telling them to go tell everyone who the hell kicked their teeth in sound fair enough for everyone?"
"And then you can all work out whether or not you want to sell a man who helped you to be experimented on by mad scientists who have been stealing and murdering children on your own time."
"We'll be in the diner if you need us, you know where our car is if we try to skip town, yeah?"
And then he can escort Zash out of there while the townsfolk argue about money, pragmatism, and morality.
...yeah, fine. He supposes that works. The police officers are that-a-way. If the Jeneorans kill them, Zash will... well, be very sad. He's not about to threaten them.
For now, he'll just rest his head on the table and mope a bit.
Yvette sits next to him and pats his back, because, um. She's not okay, too, really.
"... So I'm still not entirely clear on... what all just happened..."
"Locals were pissed that Julai Police walked in like they owned the place and were going to kill them for threatening them in their own home, Zash didn't want anyone to die on his account, and the thing about his bounty got out, and they're all now arguing about what to do about it. Julai Police will probably get to live with a very embarrassing story, if they're not too stupid."
"Eh, just for emergencies, and I think she's twitchy about using it because it makes a fun boom. It didn't look like it got used."
"I'm fine," he mumbles from where he's still resting his head on the table.
"... Uh huh. Well, I need a hug, so. If it's all right with you, husband dearest."
That makes him crack a smile as he straightens up. "Whatever my brilliant wife wishes," he says, and will in fact hug her. The cybernetic arm doesn't actually feel bad to hug, either.
Honestly that's a much more reasonable reaction than the one he's having.
Observing this does not, alas, actually cause him to be able to have a different reaction. Sucks to be him (except actually).
"Eh. Only if you can use it," shrugs Vernon, who is having himself a glass of whisky. He's left payment for it on the counter, because he certainly does not want to fuck with Jeneora Rock, thank you very much.
"Eh. It might help your chances to have something small and concealable, but honestly you're probably doomed if anyone even wants to shoot you in the first place."
Not wrong.
...well, he's confident that with enough time he could turn her into a killing machine but actually he feels like this planet has too many of those already, he doesn't need to help create another one.
Anyway, back to moping.