Her eyes stay on him, direct and sharp, watching his little flourishes, his playfulness. It does nothing to change the look on her face - fixed, but little by little, she does try to take at first no more than an easier breath.

"Then I want my crew's weapons returned to them as well, as soon as it is able to do so." Swords, knives and blunt cutting tools all. Archaic to the UIC, but what they had. Allowed because of arrogance and nothing else. If she has any pride, it was in how they had made them pay for that mistake. But even so -

"How are they? Did they all - ?" Survive, the empty hovering word, the grit in her teeth on it. They knew they might all die in the attempt of doing something, anything at all.