Ana was leaned up against the wall, the unconsciouss Quernoan sitting next to her. The remnants of her cigar jutted out from her lips, the bright red end dropping off, more ash piling up on th floor. She shot a look at the beastman when he asked about the ship. Gee, if only one of them had thought to ask before! It was likely every ship on this shithole of a planet was controlled by some crimeboss or another.

And would you look at that, she was right. Again. A scoff escaped her, a puff of smoke exhaling out into the room. She carefully heaved herself off the wall, brushed her suit off, and let out a yawn, the cigar barely managing to remain in her mouth.

Rectja Tyrr. Slimy bastard she'd been ignoring for years. He'd been pestering her, or more accurately, his thugs had been pestering her thugs, for some time about weapon deals. She'd refused on the grounds that it was far too risky without a decently large enough profit. A small chuckle escaped her, and she raked her gaze over them all. An idea formed in her head, though she doubted any of the others would agree to it. She'd simply inform Vash later, if he'd listen.

"Well, then we are in for quite the treat," she commented, finally taking the dead cigar from her lips. "Fat son of a bitch won't give any of you the time of day, and I don't particularly trust my well being around him. I've heard he has quite the... How should I put it? Nasty quirks, I suppose is the best way to say." A sigh escaped her. "So, then, any ideas as to how to get off of this rock with his permission?" she asked, not really to anyone in particular.