[h2][center] Oswald Connoly- Armory [/center][/h2]

A lot of new information presented itself to Oswald in rapid succession

Gren wanted to send some poor blade to its doom in testing this [i]monster[/i] they were creating. 

Emerald was fucking [i]flying[/i]. 

And Chatsworth wanted them to write a report. On what they were working on. K. Big huge sword-puncher and a magnum that would surely result in comments about compensating. Hmmm, would his cannon require a compensator? Was it even [i]feasible[/i] to create a compensator so huge? 

Well, tanks used them, so shouldn't this thing? With a weapon so big, especially meant for use with only one hand, any advantage he could get would help. Compensator it was. He had a feeling it had a more official-sounding name, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. 

It didn't really matter, did it? No, it didn't. Fuck matter. Energy was where it was at, and Oswald would need a big compensator to divert as much gas from this damned thing as possible to save himself from turning his wrist into jelly. 

He was gonna have super-arthritis by the time he was like 30, he could just tell. All the torture he put his body through on a daily basis could [i]not[/i] be doing him any good, Aura or no. 

Back to matters at hand: Emerald was flying, he had to write a report about this stuff, and Gren needed a volunteer blade. 

"I ain't got shit." Taking a second to look around, Oswald shrugged. "I'm...sure there's gotta be something we can use, though. Some piece of junk scrap for reference or some shit? I'd...go looking, but I'd rather not get up again, not just yet." Letting out a slow breath, Oswald clenched his fist a few times before sighing. Broken ribs suuuuucked.

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