"Well that's a relief," the Seran rasped snarkily as he slid the tablet across the surface of the table and towards Ragnar. Damon was only wearing a blue tank top, some khaki cargo pants, and black boots, but even without his armor he kept his snub pistol on the bench within his reach. Just in case. Because a chainsaw through my chest would really make my day even shittier.
He knew that this suggestion would be a hard sell; he got up anyway and began pointing to the glowing lines of the schematic. Ragnar may have had more than a foot of height more than he did, but he was used to dealing with unreasonably huge people and so showed no apparent discomfort; his blue eyes met the lupine gaze of the Space Wolf with no hesitation. He exhaled however. "You ever get hot inside your armor? Ever get in danger of running out of fuel? Because I can make that happen less," Damon said quickly.
The wide, concrete-and-steel expanse of the workshop was then filled with Damon's long technical explanation of what he was proposing to do, however the jargon made it nearly impenetrable; the only words which almost any human beings could understand were the regular obscenities which peppered the sentences. Surely the phrase "motherfucking carbon nanotubes" wasn't one which Ragnar had heard before.
"Short version," Damon rasped in conclusion, "I can make your armor more efficient by improving its cooling. Your armor, so its your choice. But if you let me modify it, you'll be more comfy and won't need as much fuel to run it." His arms were folded beneath his pecs and he leaned back against the bench. "Your choice dude." Please don't be braindead. Say yes.