Roald leaned in to the Squat.

"I'd know dat look anywhere big feller.  Yer t'inkin' bout dat Sauerabfel Pie I was tellin ye about afore this all kicked off, aintcha?"

Seeing the Squat check his weapons the Ratling mimed doing the same.  Pretending to look down the barrel of his las-pistol while, of course, ensuring he didn't actually.  No sense in lasering yourself.

"Us wee folk oughta stick together, is what I always say.  Somes a us is more wee-er than others but still.  We keep each other's alive and I'll help make sure'n you get dat Sauerabfel Pie ye wan so damn much.  I'll even remind 'em ta hook ye up with dat biiiig ol' slice a cheese."

Roald nodded to himself, assuming an offer so generous must surely be appreciated and agreed to, and visually scanned the room for a weapon he might use.  Perhaps a fallen troopers Las Rifle he could strap to himself and use like one a them big humies used a Gatling gun.  Maybe a shotgun if he didn't mind knocking himself out every time he fired it.  He did kinda mind that though.  Probably better to stick with the Las Rifle.