"Ah," Sato's brows rose. "This lot is yours, then? Pity."
In the case of nearly any other merchandise, she would've apologized. Smiled and jokes, and made pretty gestures of charm and soothing. Certainly, Sato herself didn't appreciate wasting stock, much less so when the waste was another's fault; she'd readily make amends...but not with this.
Never with this.
"Do you know the penalties concerning illegal arm shipments into a heavily populated living areas?" she retorted, pleasantly. "Because I wager that number's got a bit more weight." The Baku made a curt, dismissive gesture with one gloved hand. "If you're with the angels or horns, have the Reaper bill me; if you're with the drugs, do it through the weed prince. If you're Greek--" and Sato's dry amusement made her doubt clear "--file a complaint with the usual authorities. If you're Nordic, I'm Brazilian. And if you, sir, are new by whatever retarded definition of the term then I suggest buying a law book next time you cross borders."
And with that friendly note still icing the air, Sato uncapped a bottle of accelerant into the nearest crate.