[b]SIXGUN[/b]

He nodded as he heard the intelligent analysis, peculiarly distorted and accented as it was, coming from Wire. The Briton was off-putting to him. Smart and nebulously powerful, a dangerous combination. Not to mention there was no way to tell what he was thinking behind that helmet. He'd have to watch himself around this one.

"Thinkin' man there," he said with a broad smile. "Still, Fletcher Ross' point still stands, Fontana. Ya can't go sendin' us out into the field with limited intelligence. That's how we go and lose people, and it's not like we can ah-ford to do that li'l thing." He shrugged at Fontana. "So I'll ask again. Exactly which gangs are we meetin' with? You can tell us on the way, I'm ready to go," he said, clearing his breakfast dishes. He instinctively pulled his M1917 revolver, gave it a few fancy twirls before reholstering it. He missed his Rugers, but so far they hadn't been needed. "Let's go, gents."

------------

[b]SONJA[/b]

Sonja was aghast. No one had mentioned anything at all about torture, either this time or the first time she had suggested asking questions. "Hot Rod, I just want to talk to one of these people. That's it. I have to say I'm more than a little hurt that you feel the need to admonish me against torturing people every time this situation comes up. Do you really think I'm some perpetual sadist who's constantly champing at the bit to pull out the thumbscrews? Is that what you think of me?"

She shook her head, fatigue and stress clouding her judgment and making her quicker to anger than she might be otherwise. She marched over to the cell where the necromancer Styx was being kept, the door approached by one of Pariah's people. "Spirit of St. Louis," she said, holding up her League badge for identification. "I'd like to speak with the prisoner, please." The last word was an afterthought, sour and impatient.

The man remained calm and polite. "Ma'am, I'm under orders to personally interrogate-"

"Screw your orders," Sonja snapped. "You know anything about magic? Or magical politics, for that matter? Believe me, jail time is the least of that woman's concerns. I've already spoken to her, we've got the start of a rapport. I have a feeling I'm more likely to get anything useful out of her than ten of you guys. So stand aside." 

Obediently, the man complied, and Sonja let herself in to the interrogation room, sitting down across the table from Styx. She smiled. "So let's pick up where we left off, lady." Sonja deliberately warbled the last word in the style of Dennis DeYoung. Really, it was Styx' own fault for taking the name she did.