Drake had just been threatened with a blaster in a dark and grimy part of the city where it was apparently normal to sell questioinable objects and accost people suspected of being thieves or narcs or what-have-you. As such, he had his doubts that merchants down here adhered to any kind of legal ethic in regards to their wares and made a face that suggested as much. Still. He liked the familiar look of the weapon and pointed to it with a silent, questioning look. (He had learned by now that not everyone could understand him and that it was a bad idea to just grab at things - especially down here.)

Fortunately, the merchant just nodded and held a hand out, waving it over the entire display in an apparent invitation to browse.

The blaster (or was it a projectile? It was hard to tell from the outside.) felt heavy and solid in his hand as he weighed it. The grip was unfamiliar, and he didn't know if he'd need ammunition or a charging cable, but he liked it nonetheless.

"How much for this one?"