[b]Kira's Private Box[/b]

She inspects the bag for a moment, irises spinning.
"Quartun, mixed, heavy on the sunstones," she mutters - perfectly counting and weighing the contents at a glance. Immediately almost bored.
"How'd the guns perform?" She asks, sitting up. Her gaze settles on one of your bodies, the one carrying the gun that jammed. Out of sight under a jacket. Her eyes seem to find it exactly but it could be your imagination.
It was a tiny thing; a casing hit the ejector at an odd angle. A four-second problem. You barely registered it, since the amount of lead these things spit would make it stranger not to get the occasional jam.