|| /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿—;; “– Finally, somethin’ damn good to talk about.”

     The guns were brought out of their holsters with a flourish, twirled briefly between lithe digits to the pleasure of their wielder.

     “Easy – these babies right here. Custom Berettas – ninety-nine Sword Cutlasses. Ain’t nothin’ else in the world like ‘em, and no one else in the world to handle 'em like me." 

      The young woman conversed in regards to her weaponry as one might a lover, stowing it away with similar reluctance as she continued on, "Nukes’d be cool, too.”