TRISTAN "KAT" CAMPBELL - NOMAD
Head Armor: 7 | Body Armor: 11 | Shield: 0 | HP: 45
INT: 5 | REF: 8 | DEX: 8 | TECH: 5 | COOL: 7 | WILL: 7 | LUCK: 3/3 | MOVE: 7 | BODY: 7 | EMP: 3/5
Humanity: 26 | Wounds: | Critical Injuries: | Addictions:
Mustang Arms Mk III | Big Knucks | Brawling | Arasaka Kuma LRV
The temperature in the Kuma drops a few degrees, enough that Kat should notice but instead his eyes narrow - unconcerned with the intemperate chill coming coming off the cab and seeping out into the bay and instead focused on some inward thought as he goes through the reflexive motions of driving.
"'It ain't what they call you, it's what you answer to.'" he pulls the quote from some half remembered gen-ed download he'd chipped almost a decade back, addresses it to air. He shrugs once, the motion rolling like a wave and breaking across his elbow and terminating in the shallows of his wrist, vanishing before ever so much as jostling the wheel.
"Makes sense, handles - " Kat doesn't say names, his language pointed and precised even as it drips with the mid-CAS drawl " - are your brand. And your brand is your business. But - " he frowns, reaching up to his neck and tweaking it to one side, tension he didn't know he was carrying from the morning making him twitch. " - it speaks without you sayin'. 'Lady' might be part of your handle but it's also a title; puts you one up on whomever. On a pedestal if they like you, on a target if they don't."
The hand falls with a sigh. Frak it. Knots it was and was gonna be. Once this was done and dusted and he'd gotten paid hed spring for a hot shower at one of the worker hostels in the reconstruction zone.
"Sides; you broke the ice, went personal, then when you got treated like a person 'stead of a employer, threw it back in a power play. If its your handle, it's your handle; no stakes to me but you ain't answered you own question nor given me reason to bother to say duck when we're in the shit. I get we ain't nothin' but coworkers but Silverhand H. Blackhand, when someone asks what you want for a nickname I'd figure it's cuz they like you." That thought goes off like a firecracker in his head and he frowns, deeply, and then leans over and mutters to Rosalie sotto voce.
"That was it, right? Don't mean to derail you gettin' your flirt on but seemed like you were crashing and burning here."