His expression remained dubious. If he was trying to make an argument for improvement, Connor wasn't seeing it. "Did she forgot her demon years? Otherwise it's the still the mastermind of the operation." This had to be one of the oddest conversations he'd ever had first thing in the morning, hungover or sober. That included one or two where the night before could only be remembered in pieces. He picked up the mug and leaned back. "Or maybe she knows you could come up with way worse. I didn't get the impression that people around here would be all right with someone sending spleen ripping magical creatures after someone else."
Draining the last of the mug's contents, he set it on the table, contemplating how much he'd hate breaking into song and dance spontaneously, risk of bursting into flames aside. "Better it stays in your world then," he said, shaking his head. "Few years back there and you're still calling this place crazy? That doesn't bode well." Beyond being stuck in another dimension with no possible way home. "How'd you get into dealing with them? Family business?"
He rose from his seat, picking up the mug and heading towards the coffee machine. "Most places, yeah," he said as he picked up the carafe and filled the mug again. "He just picked the wrong neighborhood and the wrong bar owner to extort." In the end, it had been the least of their worries anyway. "Russian mafia. No one was too broken up about it."