Larassa stopped mid-step, slowly turning her head to see a soldier sitting on a crate nearby. She let out a small sigh and then turned so she was directly facing him before puffing out some more smoke.
She looked the soldier up and and down, immediately recognizing that he wasn't just any normal US soldier. Spec Ops? No, he didn't have any US standard-issued uniform so it seemed.
Meeting the soldier's gaze, Larassa said evenly, "Surprisingly enough, smoking can't do a damn thing to me." Thanks to her enhanced regenerative abilities, Larassa's lungs and body actually continuously healed itself whenever she smoked so it couldn't harm her in the slightest.
Tarkov allowed the smallest grin. He'd figured the seemingly naive girl would reply with such a remark. "So, having a lit cigarette five feet from an ammo depot, ten feet from a fuel truck, and smoking while walking through fumes from a helicopter that took off two minutes ago won't kill you?"
Tarkov stood from his crate and made a couple of decisive steps towards her while maintaining the met gaze, keeping his thousand-yard stare on her. "Do everyone within 200 yards a favor, and put it out, cowgirl," Tarkov pointed at her cigarette and then to the gawking soldiers near the pair.