Slick was still finding his feet here. All this guff about magic didn't sit right, but he'd seen it, and he didn't even have a fresh concussion to blame it on anymore. Magic. Sure.

For now, he was in his armor, sans helmet and utility belt. He'd been captured without either of those, and he was missing them almost as much as his rifle. The shiny white armor might've been a sign of the Republic's ownership of him and all his brothers, but at least it kept you warm when it was all sealed up.

Ah well. He still had the rest of it, and he wasn't weird about non-clones seeing his face, like some of his brothers got. Though he was going to need to figure out where to get some dye, eventually--the red in his eyebrows was going to fade if he didn't. But he had no idea where you found that kind of stuff outside the army.

This guy with the purple hair might know, though. Tall bugger, this one. Had a bit of the officer air about him.

"'s not my specialty." If they were talking hand-to-hand or knife work? Sure. He could do that, and he'd fight dirty. Much beyond that? They didn't get trained for it, but he knew how to improvise.

"But if that's what we've got, might be worth it. If you've got a spare."