Belaying pin. Poison dart. Vibroblade. Comlink. The possibilities were endless with him.

So was the armor. There was a lot of it, and she probably needed help with - why would he be thinking that? This had to stop, stop right now, and so he mustered up every fiber of will he had, and managed to wrench himself from her lips just enough to utter the words: "Impatient, ain't ye?" Right, that had not worked at all like he had planned.

His hands were beginning to itch something terrible.