Tess rolls her eyes, a million kinds of exasperated and irritated and combative, but she takes the magazine. Bullets are precious, and even with them having only been out of her possession for a moment, she feels the need to take stock and re-count before putting the magazine back in the gun.

And to keep herself from doing anything stupidly rash, she holsters the gun in the back of her pants, off to one side.

"Well, this isn't petty crime in the city, this is real life," Tess replies. Her real life has always included military rule, the constant threat of attack and a near-inevitable death by violence. "And you know what? You want me to stop being a bitch to you, then stop assuming I'm a fucking idiot just because I don't have a certificate saying I know my shit. I know how to properly handle them."

Falling down a hill notwithstanding, anyway.