Motoko was quite prompt, but as usual, not eager to approach a group overtly. For one thing, that would mean they would expect her to make small talk, and for another it made surprising idiots like Dustin so much easier.

He hand fell onto his shoulder with a heavy vice-grip— the one his prosthesis was mounted to, just to be certain of her advantage. Almost idly she pressed just a fraction of her weight into it, to emphasize exactly how nowhere he would be going. Words were not necessary; he was a smart boy, he knew when he was in trouble.