Drake didn't have an excellent poker face and when the merchant caught him off guard, he looked mortally offended. The merchant seemed to find this uproarously funny and slapped his big hand on the counter a couple of times before holding it out again, making grabby motions.

The extra 25 credits were smacked ill-temperedly into the merchant's hand while Drake maintained glowering eye contact, and then held his own hand out.

"All right, then, it's not that funny."

"It really is, small one."

"WHAT-"

"Learn to make less face, hm?"

"EXCUSE M-"

"Here is your weapon. Don't wave it around, now."

Drake looked like he was about to pop. He snatched the blaster (and the charge-pack) and crammed it into his thigh holster. It didn't fit very well, but it would do. Then he turned away with a disgusted huff.

"Let's go."