[ Clubs, knives, and that sort makes perfect sense to Draco. Blasters, rifles, and grenades very much do not, but Cassian offering an example by holding up a blaster and a mine gives him an idea. It'll be enough to work from.

He cranes his head down to peer into the box curiously, already planning the sort the weapons he does recognize for the most part out into the melee box. The question about the oxygen has him looking up again and this time, it's with a frown, brow furrowed. ]

I... believe I am still fine?

[ Sounding terribly uncertain about that but his eyes do dart around as he turns his attention to his own suit. It had been awkward to get on, even if the suits did turn out to conform to whoever was trying to put them on. Having a layer of... whatever this stuff was... over his wings was uncomfortable, to say the least. He does eventually find the little meter keeping track of vitals, though, and the best he can do is say, ]

It's still green, so, yes, I imagine that must be a good sign. [ That's followed by a quiet sigh and an equally quiet grumble. ] I'm not sure why we even need these. We should just fix the air already.

[ How is that done? He doesn't know but there must be a way. ]