[b]SIXGUN[/b]

In all of his years as an outlaw, and in his much shorter career as a superhero, there was one particular movement that Sixgun had trained himself to react to, one certain motion that he was able to reflexively meet with incredible speed and precision. That motion, of course, was the act of drawing a gun. If you drew on Sixgun, you were in trouble. If you were hurt and did it slow, there was no helping you.

Bender's sluggish draw seemed to occur in slow motion to Sixgun's trained reflexes. Even as he was trying to refill his lungs after the kick to the chest, Ben reacted almost without conscious thought. He hurled himself forwards, one hand moving in a flat blade and knocking aside the gun before it was fully pointed at him. The other hand balled into a fist, rocketing forwards into the soft unprotected flesh of the throat, the vulnerable trachea.

Even before he made contact he closed his eyes, not wanting to see it happen. [i]Self defense. He's not giving me a choice.[/i] He tried to reassure himself, but his mind kept screaming protests. 

Before the punch even landed, he heard himself yelling to Music, "Your man's going to need a doctor!"

----

[b]SONJA[/b]

Suddenly, listening to the teenager denounce the League, Sonja understood the full extent of what had just transpired with the new woman- Agnes?- coming in and making some fairly thoughtless pranks. The girl looked underfed, perpetually angry- possibly homeless, from the way she was dressed. When she started to storm out of the common room, Sonja sighed, set down her coffee, followed after her into the corridor.

"Hey, honey," she called after the teenager. Sonja hated to think of anyone leaving this safe, welcoming place in favor of spending yet another night on the streets. Might as well give her another shot. "Hey, I don't blame you being pissed and wanting to leave. I'd be doing the same thing in your shoes. Look, can I at least give you a ride somewhere?"