She takes the proffered array instantly, because when someone who you're about to fight offers to [i]disarm[/i] themselves and [i]arm[/i] you, you let them do it.

She pushes the barrel of one array up with a finger, towards the ceiling and [i]away[/i] from the partying masses.

"I'm choosing to believe that you are [i]drunk,[/i] Iskarot, which means you didn't [i]actually[/i] just promise to hurt people I care about to protect the secrecy of a project. Because A) If you try, I'm gonna reluctantly have to stop you, 2) if you start shit in here, the still is gonna get destroyed [i]anyway[/i], so why bother, and D) I'm pretty sure that murdering guests in your home is a good way to get the entire ship cursed even further."

Around them, the world parties. Servitors wind around the glassworks and each other. The satyrs demand kisses traded for wine, and get them gleefully. The wine doesn't slosh, because it's much too thick for it, but were it more of a liquid, then sloshing would definitely be occurring. 

It's a very noisy silence.

"So please, friend, put the weapons away. There will be time for rebuilding later, and you have my word I'll help you do so to your satisfaction."