She wasn't a large blaster, more the type that could easily be hidden on someone's person. She wasn't a particularly good blaster, either, as far as sheer power was concerned. The only reason the 22T4 existed was for appearances. The model looked sleek and impressive to the untrained eye, but the actual threat was quite low unless the user was cornered, fired at point blank and got a hit in six shots. Most Security agents had enough cover that they never had to use their sidearms and word of the weapon's true nature never circulated through the general public.

Still, Seren tried. Kyrie had no doubt that the holdout blaster was trying her hardest to keep the two of them alive with the means she had. It wasn't Seren's fault that she wasn't born a weapon that could be dangerous in the hands of an idiot who couldn't shoot straight and down right brutal in the hands of someone who tried. Something like a T-21, the blaster equivalent to beating someone over the head with a blunt object. There was a certain element of elegance in the 22T4's design that made up for that, though.

It all made the process of disconnecting her power pack even more upsetting.

Kyrie wasn't a naturally gifted technician; had been good friends with one once, but he was a lifetime away at this point. She fumbled a bit with the wires connecting the blaster to the battery, carefully making sure that the blaster was completely drained of power before closing the weapon back up.

The people she had met at The Outback didn't seem quite sure what it was about energy weapons that caused the so-called dog creatures to attack, but it was better safe than sorry. Seren was a close friend, Kyrie's only friend at times, and the idea of her getting destroyed so casually made Kyire sick to her stomach. It wasn't the greatest idea to be roaming around a strange new place unarmed, although that was only a temporary problem. There had to be a place to pick up something more baseline to get by with. Or some lessons in fist-fighting as a refresher.

Kyrie slipped the depowered blaster inside of her orange jacket and flopped back on the bed. The Red Dragon Inn was about as far away from home as she could get, seeing that home had been a modified freighter and piecemeal bases for longer than she wanted to admit. Being in something akin to a standard building was different. It felt good to have a solid floor that wouldn't lurch out from beneath her feet anymore. That the floor was wood was even a little a charming.

Only one problem with the survival plan at hand; rent. The Inn wasn't free. The room's rent on tab at the moment, but that tab wouldn't last forever and even picking up that water gun that was recommended to her required spare cash. Cash that Kyrie didn't have. But, really, what work was there for a misplaced mission group communications and securities specialist'

Then again, what work wasn't there for smart woman with experience getting by in a stranger than expected universe?