Setzer walked into the engine room of the Falcon and was treated to the quite pleasant sight of the King of Figaro's ass sticking up in the air.
Setzer contemplated this appreciatively for a moment before calling out, "Oi!" and making his way over.
After all, one could never give a man who was ass-up in your airship's engine enough warning before sneaking up on him. Gods knew that Setzer didn't want him to drop a wrench in there.
Edgar straightened, turning, and nearly dropped his wrench anyway as his back cramped up. He put a hand to it, plunking himself down against the railing. "Owowow...ow.
" He blew up at a strand of hair that'd escaped his braid to float in his face and called out as Setzer picked his way across the engine room, "I hope you brought lunch."
"Even better," Setzer pronounced. He plunked down a tray with enough sandwiches on it to feed a small army and a bucket that was, to all outward appearances, full of ice.
He fished around for a minute under the ice and pulled out a bottle, offering it to Edgar. "Lunch and beer."
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