[Spike shrugs, nonchalant, the picture of uncaring. He doesn't even bother looking back at Therion, admiring instead the back of his can.]
Not my ship, not my problem. So, most likely, we'll cash in.
[Actually, even if he says that, he isn't sure if he believes it. In the back of his mind he paints a picture where Jet is out in the hold lecturing away their meal ticket.]
Or whatever else Jet decides to do with him.
[hiding, as always, behind the pretense of disinterest.]
no subject
Not my ship, not my problem. So, most likely, we'll cash in.
[Actually, even if he says that, he isn't sure if he believes it. In the back of his mind he paints a picture where Jet is out in the hold lecturing away their meal ticket.]
Or whatever else Jet decides to do with him.
[hiding, as always, behind the pretense of disinterest.]