Mitchell leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes directed down at the table as if determined to find a crack in its surface. One might think that the redhead's body language was quite loud in saying that he didn't want to be there, like a juvenile delinquent in for a much-dreaded court hearing. But he was only absorbed in his thoughts. He tended to close off unconsciously, to retreat into a tough shell that had been his defense for most of his life. And yes, that shell looked angry even when he wasn't.
When Quigby spoke up, Mitch loosened up slightly and looked beside him to the man in the top hat. Those questions were exactly the sort that Mitch had been trying to answer for himself, ever since he found out about Balam and had confided in Dorian. He hadn't decided on when, or if, to tell the others. 'I don't need the pity, attention, judgment, or whatever.'
Before putting in his own two cents, he sat up straighter in the chair. "That's a good point. They can use all sorts of information against us. But, to see it in the other extreme... If we all agree to cut them off, give all of Niflheim the silent treatment, I can see them becomin' more aggressive."