Cath took a long drink of his whiskey to keep from sniping at the lady barrister. Good fuck, she liked the sound of her own voice didn't she? He didn't give a bloody damn if she agreed with him or not. He was right, he did that. Moving on.
"Let me deal with Ronnie for now," he said. "I've already a rapport with him. He's a good boy, he'll listen to reason." If only to shut her up so other people could say their piece.
He snorted at the chef's threat of pushing them in the oven. "At least they'll be useful then," he commented dryly, then felt immediately guilty. Gallows' humour probably wasn't a good idea with this lot. Although he had to admit he was liking the English chef more and more. Was sensible in that droll, stiff British way. He could respect it, even if they needed to stay in their own damned country.
Leto was a bit more sensible, but he'd come to expect that from her. "Aye," he agreed. "And all at once, not in bitty groups. That'll just encourage people to hole up in small groups and we'll lose more communications. We need to have everyone together on the same bloody page. Even if some of them don't like it."
Cath had no problems with people not liking it. It was survival, liking it wasn't even in the equation.