[Tuco lets out a small sound as the sudden harsh light of the torch spills upwards. It's not quite a gasp, but there's a definite, audible indrawn breath before he remembers to press his lips together again.
Right now, that box there? That's Schrödinger's box—only instead of a distinctly unlucky cat, it holds both bitter disappointment and all the world's riches at once.
...Or enough riches for one of them, at least. With a soft grunt, Tuco turns, holding up a palm to his three companions.]
Four men shuffle down a corridor all at once? [His mouth twitches into something like a frown.] It's not gonna end well, friends. One boot in the wrong place, and we all end up looking like him. [He gestures to the spider with the end of his pistol.] Eight legs in the air, and very, very dead.
[There's maybe two seconds worth of mock-deliberation and nostril flaring before Tuco nods to himself. That open palm closes, and he draws his hand back to his chest.]
I'll go.
[Whether that quick ladle of bullshit has done the job or not, he's going to take a pointed step backwards.]
no subject
Right now, that box there? That's Schrödinger's box—only instead of a distinctly unlucky cat, it holds both bitter disappointment and all the world's riches at once.
...Or enough riches for one of them, at least. With a soft grunt, Tuco turns, holding up a palm to his three companions.]
Four men shuffle down a corridor all at once? [His mouth twitches into something like a frown.] It's not gonna end well, friends. One boot in the wrong place, and we all end up looking like him. [He gestures to the spider with the end of his pistol.] Eight legs in the air, and very, very dead.
[There's maybe two seconds worth of mock-deliberation and nostril flaring before Tuco nods to himself. That open palm closes, and he draws his hand back to his chest.]
I'll go.
[Whether that quick ladle of bullshit has done the job or not, he's going to take a pointed step backwards.]