Re: [En route: Janus, Steve, Atticus]
The demon thought, I. Me. The self had no gender, and also no language, not for Janus. The careful language of others was a modern thing, appreciated but not expected. These two in this metal tube were the only ones who had cause to even consider that the demon might actually have a preferred gender, and the coupled facts that (1) that gender was likely to change with whim and (2) only one of said two could even visually perceive the changes made it doubly complicated. Blithe and cheerful in the determination made for them-it-her-him... self, the demon didn't care what anyone used as a pronoun. In the style of someone much older than the sixty years since his birth (are we counting years in Hell?) the demon assumed everyone would use whatever was most comfortable to them. Only now was anyone so lucky as to see him several times behind different faces, and know to whom they spoke. Keen green eyes watched Steve for a good portion of the trip to be sure that the appearance chosen didn't distract him so much that he would be angry, disappointed or (perhaps worse?) secretly over-pleased to see her.
In the end, she decided Steve was okay, and that this person was enough of a trusted friend to be suited to this trip, as Janus had initially guessed. "What happened to her?" she asked curiously, tipping her head as if they spoke of a mutual acquaintance. Airplanes reminded her of '73, a time in the hazy past, big noisy government things with nurses instead of stewardesses. This one was a lot nicer, and she wanted to distract herself with whatever information came to hand. She read the screenshotted information, passed the phone back, and let her eyes fall closed in a pondering way most unlike Catalone.
Now, the woman worked on word search puzzles in a creased book while pondering problems that were not on the page. "These people took our guy. I don't really care about their trials or whatever their issue is. Phone says they stole a bunch of weapons. Doesn't sound like something a bunch of innocent people would do, sounds like militia stuff." She lifted one shoulder airily. "We can try to be nonlethal if we run into any of them. It might be good if I go in full flames and skeleton. They'll just think I'm one of these powered people, and it will confuse them when I don't die," she suggested.
Halfway there she put aside her word search puzzles and took what was available from Steve to work on some tracking spells. Really, she wasn't a database. Blood would have been best, pictures of fingerprints were useless. But she owed Matt a favor, and he'd accepted that debt. She knew how to find him. In the end she held an open compact with smears of black bone ash on expensive peach-scented face powder; essentially worked a compass with Matt as true north. By the time the plane bumped down in a private air strip suitable for a private jet, she'd shoved her puzzle book into a side seat and tied her hair back in a dexterous weave. To Atticus it looked like Janus was wiggling his fingers a lot on the crown of his head.
On the airfield, there was a black car. Janis stood next to Atticus, ready to be deployed. She had no opinion on Atticus' suitability for the field. Cap would know best.