"That's a pistol," Shepard replies, and then has to cock her head for a shrug, "Personal sidearm, more or less. It's decent at short and mid-range, but its stopping power tapers off quicker than you'd think against armored targets, assuming you can hit them that far off."

And assuming that they didn't have other forms of shielding, of course. But one thing at a time.

"Here's my more typical form of the same," She continues, palming up a puck of metal that unfolds in her hand with a rapid, almost startled response. The resulting weapon looks almost nothing like what Claude is holding; it's a heavy, glowing, blunt-nosed piece of equipment completely at odds with the almost elegantly curved, hand-machined brass, steel and wood, "It's a little more power than I think you're ready for."

She puts it away with an easy familiarity; unnecessarily careful, given the horizon's easy lack of limitations, but guided by long habit.

"Any more questions?"