Cath snorted. That was exactly what he was doing. He had one of his Glocks on a leg holster and had the 9mm Ronnie had given him a fairly obvious place. <"That's my girl,"> he mused again, trying not to sound too proud.
<"It's a crisis, Mae,"> he pointed out. <"Not really time to ask those sort of questions. Once things settle down. 'Asides, you know I know enough about the military to convince him. He's not an expert in foreign militias and from what the girl who what does the computers says, I'm betting the employee files are gone."> And even if they weren't, he could just say he didn't write it down. If he'd actually served the British Army, he'd never admit it anyways. Maybe their cover would hold a bit longer.
<"So I was in the army and you grew up in a bad part of Belfast,"> he pointed out. That was even mostly true. <"And since we didn't live in the safest part of Belfast, what with all the terrorist activity and such, I insisted you be able to defend yourself properly, so you didn't end up a victim of random violence like my mother. I taught you to fight and use guns properly."> It was too easy and yet utterly believable.
Cathair gave her a pointed look. <"You're forgettin' who you're talking to, my love,"> he reminded her. His name meant 'battle man' in their native tongue, after all. <"And this is a war I don't mind fighting so much.">