Gnomezilla

Somewhere in Malifaux airspace, shortly before this:

”...and remember not to fire until you see the yellows...”

”It’s ‘whites’ of their eyes, cap’n.”

”...no, I’m certain it was yellow. Good gremlin yellow. We are not the weak stomached sort to turn green in flight, no, we are Iron Skeeters and we are yellow through and through...”

”Captain, sir, that’s not the color you want—“

”...All hands to the spyglasses and tell me that’s not the color—hands off, that’s the captain’s spyglass!—do you see the yellows of their bottoms? Yes! What are you waiting for! Fire! For notoriety! For carnage! For a respectable kick-back from the proprietor of that shop!...”

”And then we loot it, cap’n?”

”No! You’re thinking small again. The human world below has learned to pay tribute to the Iron Skeeters! They pay, we get all the benefits of a raid without having to lift a finger...”

”Captain, it still cost us a piano. How much did you say we got paid?”

”...It’s the principle of the thing. You wouldn’t understand....”

Subtle. Almost too subtle, with Malifaux-era weaponry.

“That settles it,” Ramos muttered, “next time I adopt a pet, it’ll be something more adroit in its gait, and less willful...”