Four Words.
Pump. Action. Grenade. Launcher.
It was honestly amazing to see, if Motoko wasn't too busy feeling more than a bit sad for her choom. Hiromi just couldn't throw. The wind up was all wrong, the release was always off, even her posture conspired against her to ensure that wherever her throw wound up, it was nowhere near where she'd intended it to go, let alone where she was aiming. One throw had gone sailing off miles into the distance, the next had punched into the dirt by her feet. The sheer lack of skill on display could almost be called a skill of its own, and it was very clearly affecting Hiromi if her frustrated screeching was any indication. Malcolm and Ichi had the good sense to stop riffing on her after a short while, and eventually the group had called it quits after a few hours of practice throwing and Hiromi sitting off to the side, miserable and sulking.
The sheer look of misery on Hiromi's face was painful for Motoko to recall. She couldn't even focus on putting together her Tachikoma. She kept having flashbacks to some of the more comedic throws Hiromi had tried and had the simultaneous urge to giggle and wince.
After the ninth try she gave up trying to affix one of the Tachikoma's joints and fired up the CAD program in a determined frustration to make things right. She'd been the one to insist on grenade training, therefore the hurt Hiromi was going through was on her, so it was was on her to fix it the best way she knew how.
Malcolm and Ichi both shot a nervous look at Hiromi. After the last time they'd done grenade training and the completely and total destruction of her confidence they were sure she'd be a permanent no-show for future sessions. And yet, there she stood, glaring at some random point in the distance, scowling as though through sheer focus she could concentrate her hatred for this task enough that it would explode in place of the grenade she almost certainly couldn't land in its stead.
"Alright, time to test out that gift I gave you, Hiromi!" chirped Motoko happily.
Ichi just glanced between Motoko and Hiromi nervously as Hiromi went to her Kusanagi to retrieve a case. Between Motoko's very deliberate nonchalant nonchalance and Hiromi's Patented Grin of Evil™, he had the sneaking suspicion that he was missing something vitally important. He glanced over to Malcolm, who oblivious and quite happy to throw improvised explosives that could blow at any second. Suspecting a foul plot of foulness, he queued up a small shot of adrenaline through his biomonitor. Just in case he had to run.
In the meantime, Hiromi had retrieved the case from her Kusanagi. It was about the length of a wakizashi, and Ichi had assumed it had contained exactly that kind of japanese short sword.
He was wrong.
What came out of the case was what he initially thought was a modified Carnage shotgun. Not exactly the kind of thing that Hiromi could fire and expect to keep her arms attached to her shoulders, and definitely the kind of Fuck You he could respect in a weapon, but what it had to with grenades was...
He then noticed that the barrel was too wide. The spread would be awful. She'd be lucky to hit anything five feet in front of her with a muzzle that wide. Just what was-
"SAY HELLO TO MY LITTLE FRIENDS!" Hiromi roared as half a dozen grenades were fired into the innocent and ususpecting badlands.
"JESUS CHRIST!" Ichi swore as he backed away from a madly cackling Hiromi, who was still unloading grenade after grenade into the formerly pristine wildnerness from the apparently custom built grenade fucking launcher in Hiromi's hands.
"I... have got to get me one of those!" said Malcolm, staring at Hiromi's display in slack jawed awe.
Ichi glanced between a happily giggling Motoko, a maniacally cackling Hiromi, and an awed Malcolm and came to a cold realisation.
"I'm the only normal person here..." he muttered while pinching the bridge of his nose before resigning himself to the situation, "Yare yare daze..."