It wasn't exactly confidence-inspiring to see Soloman having to take a seat so he could cough up his insides. Judging from the state of the man it was hard to believe that he was going to be anything other than fine.
Feth, he was even smiling and while that should have been a comfort, men like that didn't usually wear much beyond scowls and tight lips.
“Shet. You better not be lyin',” she replied, almost sounding threatening, which was overall not the tone that Sam was going for. It could be forgiven in the circumstance, really. She didn't want him to die, he had helped her and not in a way that suggested future drugging and enslavement.
The sight of the blood on his hand gave her a sense of urgency to open the damn safe, get what was in there and bail.
“Don't....even think of closing your eyes,” Sam said, rushing over to the safe and giving the handle a try (optimistic), which obviously didn't work,
“...if I look over there and you're tryin' to nap...well,” she continued before pausing, her ever-frustrated features studying what was a fingerprint sensor,
“...I'll hit you.”
Rushing back over, she grabbed Omerod's corpse by the hand and started dragging it over to the safe, her body beginning to protest as the
'stims' seemed to be wearing off. It was easy to forget that she had been battered by Soloman not so long ago.
“...in the...ugh...face...”
Probably not helpful, but Rodarch obviously wasn't a qualified doctor.
Eventually, she had managed to drag the carcass over and rather mercifully opening the safe was as easy as pressing a deceased finger onto a touchpad preferable to option number two, which was hitting it. A lot.
“Got it,” Sam declared,
“you better still be a-”
The contents of the safe brought a stop to her sentence. It wasn't the couple of grands worth of credits that did it, nor the bulk quantities of spice. It was the collateral, all the shet that her and the rest of those hopeless kids had given him for their loans. A lot of photos. They didn't have much to give and so what he took were memories, they didn't have those left when he got them.
“You bastard,” she spat, taking back her own collateral of a single beskar gauntlet before the emptying the safe of all credits. Eyes lingered on the bricks of spice and a small voice questioned if it was worth taking.
Could sell it in a bind. However, in the end, the door was slammed shut and the narcotics remained inside, hopefully, to rot.
“You still breathin'?” Sam queried, rushing back to Soloman to check on him,
“Better be, or you won't get paid.”
It was supposed to come off as a joke as if the thought of credits would revive the gunslinger but her surly demeanour again sounded vaguely threatening.
-
Soloman Priest