Topher remained planted behind Wheatley and nearly snapped out something vicious, because both of them were being complete idiots right now, but then suddenly reason and logic happened.
And, really, Topher, being the only one in the room that ought to be aware that Wheatley and making situations better was not something that happened all the time (if ever), just had to stop his hissing and spitting mid-hiss and spit, and just look down at his friend with surprise... and a little bit of confusion.
"You are actually way better at this than you think," he murmured. Then part of that speech caught up with him and all surprise vanished, replaced with PURE OFFENSE. "...Minus the punching me part."
Still he coughed up the gun, anyway, mentally sending big, hopeful nerd prayers up to Space Jesus that Wheatley didn't... hit any buttons on that thing. Although, he'd actually deactivated it a few seconds ago just in case someone decided to do just that and half the room ended up drooling onto the chrome- one still couldn't be too careful with the way this stupid ordeal kept escalating.
"See? Everyone wins. And- and it's not even the first time and you know it. Look at Sierra and Victor and November when they got drugged. I think you remember that right? It led to your big wish fulfillment exercise that didn't work. Good times all around." He dropped his hands to his sides. "C'mon, Saunders, don't be so... you about this. I've had that gun in my locker since my first jump. I just... Brought it out because it was the only way to fix you."
Lies. Lies. Lies. But damned if those puppy eyes weren't trying to be convincing and it's easy to look unbearably pathetic when you're hiding behind someone all of seven inches shorter than you. "You're fixed. If you wanna keep it around in case it happens again, knock yourself out. Otherwise... set it on fire, throw it out the airlock, smash it with a hammer."
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And, really, Topher, being the only one in the room that ought to be aware that Wheatley and making situations better was not something that happened all the time (if ever), just had to stop his hissing and spitting mid-hiss and spit, and just look down at his friend with surprise... and a little bit of confusion.
"You are actually way better at this than you think," he murmured. Then part of that speech caught up with him and all surprise vanished, replaced with PURE OFFENSE. "...Minus the punching me part."
Still he coughed up the gun, anyway, mentally sending big, hopeful nerd prayers up to Space Jesus that Wheatley didn't... hit any buttons on that thing. Although, he'd actually deactivated it a few seconds ago just in case someone decided to do just that and half the room ended up drooling onto the chrome- one still couldn't be too careful with the way this stupid ordeal kept escalating.
"See? Everyone wins. And- and it's not even the first time and you know it. Look at Sierra and Victor and November when they got drugged. I think you remember that right? It led to your big wish fulfillment exercise that didn't work. Good times all around." He dropped his hands to his sides. "C'mon, Saunders, don't be so... you about this. I've had that gun in my locker since my first jump. I just... Brought it out because it was the only way to fix you."
Lies. Lies. Lies. But damned if those puppy eyes weren't trying to be convincing and it's easy to look unbearably pathetic when you're hiding behind someone all of seven inches shorter than you. "You're fixed. If you wanna keep it around in case it happens again, knock yourself out. Otherwise... set it on fire, throw it out the airlock, smash it with a hammer."