There isn't much in the tent. It's small and claustrophobic, and aside from a single metal chair and the ruddy stain on the olive fabric, there isn't anything in the way of decorations. Rodeo gestures Persephone towards the chair with the barrel of his gun, not a drop of kindness or warmth in his eyes. He shouldn't be wasting his time with this, but it beats staring at Sarge and waiting for him to start looking like cherry Jello.
"Sit down," Rodeo commands, and he doesn't wait for her to obey before he starts asking questions. "You got a name? Where you from?"