"Ummm," says Iman, staring at the pellet gun. "Are you sure you want to..."

She shakes her head, not bothering to finish the question. Greta doesn't need coddling, for fuck's sake, and she knows full well what she's looking at. Old, faintly aching memories of Gus Fring notwithstanding, this is a perfectly acceptable carnival activity.

As for Greta actually using a firearm, even a toy, well. Another unpleasant memory digs itself up at that - the woman who had Greta's face but the similarities stopped there. She was... an event, to be sure, all tough and harsh and deadly. It had been... weird. Hot. Weird.

The memory is completely unhelpful to her navigating this current situation, and instead of moving things forward she's forced to confront the possibility that she might have a thing for Greta holding a gun. It's not the gun, so much, it's Greta - Greta being capable, Greta being maybe a bit dangerous. Oh, no.

"I can do that," she says after a moment that lasts slightly too long. "I can help with that."