The much larger mechwarrior looked up from systems checking (read: listening to Mussorgsky and enjoying some hot tea that was Irished (Russian'd?) up with some of Adette's vodka) at the new mech in town. That autocannon looked a little unbalanced, but it seemed to follow design principles he could at least understand. Of course, that was assuming it wasn't powered by love or something. He'd never favored autocannons but he at least knew how they worked, had fired and been fired upon by them.

He climbed down from the cockpit of his birdlike mech to greet the new guy.

"Those are a lot of autocannons. How do you keep from running dry on ammo?"

He didn't, of course.