"To be fair, the car blowing up was an accident," Lee offers the men a half smile, kicking at a still-smoking wheelhouse, "mostly."
But the previous explosion isn't what has Hancock, MacCready, and Danse all staring at the woman as she considers the warped piece of metal her foot currently rests on.
One of them is rendered speechless because he can't decide whether it's the Jet or the dying fire that gives Lee the glow that seems to catch her short hair and turn the deep brown into a red mahogany, framing her against the blackened crater where the Fat Man had just taken its metallic victim; whatever it is, damn.
The next is completely lost in her half smile, same shade of maroon as the ghoul next to him, just fucking this much on the side of amused to make him think that she has a wild streak, even if it is buried under a mountain of angelic. He had suspected her of smart-assery before though, like when she said 'Nice rifle there, princess, but I betcha mines bigger," before leveling her scope at a feral some ways down their makeshift range.
The third is dumbfounded by her power, her lithe figure that no, he doesn't notice. He can't. But perhaps he can appreciate how, with her hip cocked out and a hand braced on the curve, a goddess of war would be an appropriate metaphor if such things still existed now. Maybe they do, with her standing there.
"Come on," Lee slings her rifle across her back and starts off across the drive-in, all focus and determination once more, "fan out. Thinkin' this might not be a bad place for a settlement."
One by one, the men shake themselves, shooting sideways glances at one another that are equal parts suspicion and a silent agreement to stay quiet. Besides, Lee is right: the Starlight Drive-in would make a nice home.