"A sh--" The shots had left Ramona unfazed, she had seen plenty of friendly brawls turn into shootouts, but the sound of hundreds of kilos of Astartes wearing hundreds of additional kilos of armor being sent tumbling down a stairway was, unsurprisingly, quite the hellish cacophony. For a moment her blade flicked back into her hand, and she fell back into a defensive stance... for all the good that would do if this suddenly took a turn for the worse. A moment later, she straightened, hand empty again as she determined that it was more or less under control by Vigrid. Deep breath, Ramona. "... A shame. Without an alibi, the evidence is damning. A marine bolter fired the shot, paint matching their armor is practically caked on the bootprint that kicked open the door. It'd be easy enough for your fellow council members to pin the blame on them."

Her organic eye narrowed ever so slightly as she studied the blank mask of ZEN. The master of the electro-priests, so disciplined and supposedly unflappable, was afraid. Of what?

But it wouldn't do to come out and say that outright, not with how stubbornly committed to their cryptic nonsense cogs could be. One chance to let her save face.

"Imagine that'd cast quite the shadow over your esteemed dojo. Not t'mention the Astartes themselves reacting in kind, proud as they are. Even the smallest crumb might help avoid throwing a match into the promethium."