Angel Dust

[It looks like the bastard child of a six-shooter and a pistol, with no hammer for the obvious cylinder, blocky and dense.

And immediately Jesse feels a little bit mean about giving it to him, with the way he lights the fuck up.]

Prove to me that you can handle things without it if something comes up, and maybe we can talk about getting you your own.

[She reaches into her leather jacket and pulls out an ID card: it's obviously government, some federal-looking logo, but the picture on it is of Angel: a formal looking passport photo, with Department: The Lounge printed on it.]

I can find you with this, if you're screwing around. But if you start threatening people with it, I'm making sure your next warden knows you've lost your gun license. Fair?