Seemingly unhurried but without hesitation, Astreya skips over to the railing to peer over while Myrilla is still talking. They’re allowed to murder here? Or is that just a command privilege?
Whatever becomes of the Kat, she’s still watching over the railing when Leoniya has to tap her for attention to hand off the supplies. Ammo, in Astreya’s case, is a belt of 12-gauge shells. Not a bandolier, a belt, in the sense of something belt-fed. She grins as she takes it.
“I’m gonna make a biiig mess,” she whispers, in Krysa.

After a short diversion to actually [i]get[/i] her gun - she hadn’t really thought it was droptime when she was called up - Astreya runs up to the deck again and leaps overboard without pause, something very large and tubey and brassy cradled in her arms. Pulling her cord without dropping the thing is a bit of a messy affair, but those quick panicky moments of turning a corner and almost bumping into death aren’t out of place for her brand.

Astreya lands lightly, and settles heavily. She looks around, the grin still on her face - indeed, healthier than before - and something questionable in her eyes as she goes about slotting belt into feed by muscle memory. Her ears lightly swivel to track the various catastrophic noises abound.
“North to be too late to save people, east to meet a problem…”
Her attention lingering to the east, she hefts the weapon. It clinks and hisses, pressure shifting in unseen chambers as the first round is pulled into firing position. In her application, Astreya used the word “shotgun,” but apart from the ammunition it’s really a tough thing to stick that word to - asymmetrical and apparently so far from ergonomic one must think the designer was avoiding it, with all visible signs pointing to it using a bizarre and surely unnecessary synthesis - or at least amalgamation - of steam and gunpowder propulsion together. Supposing this doesn’t just explode on firing, one must dread to imagine the kick…

Astreya’s shoulders are shaking, not with strain from the weight, but with laughter. She is imagining the kick.