Deb, in turn, has a little trouble not snorting at Sonny's comment about the door. The narration loves you, Sonny.
She waits patiently - well, patiently for Deb - while the guy decides to play a quick game of hide-and-seek with them; she's used to this shit, really. No one likes having the cops coming around asking questions, no matter where you live. The guy has some serious attitude, but she lets out a relieved breath when he actually has useful information.
The guy gets another smile from Deb, with a few less teeth this time, and she says, "Thanks!" before the door gets shut in their faces.
She grins at Sonny, much more genuinely than she was smiling seconds ago. "Bullet-less interrogation is always score fuckin' one for the home team," she agrees. "I'm guessing the cops might've missed a few things, seeing as they don't have Rift-detector-thingies."
Yes, that is going to be Deb's word for that. She is a motherfucking world of professional, Deb.
It feels weird, for a second, referring to the cops as something she's not a part of - as a group that as far as she's heard can't exactly be trusted. Especially because what they're doing, now, feels almost like police work.
Without the violent feelings toward her partner, that is.
She shakes off the thoughts and looks back at Sonny, then asks, "Door number two, you think?"
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She waits patiently - well, patiently for Deb - while the guy decides to play a quick game of hide-and-seek with them; she's used to this shit, really. No one likes having the cops coming around asking questions, no matter where you live. The guy has some serious attitude, but she lets out a relieved breath when he actually has useful information.
The guy gets another smile from Deb, with a few less teeth this time, and she says, "Thanks!" before the door gets shut in their faces.
She grins at Sonny, much more genuinely than she was smiling seconds ago. "Bullet-less interrogation is always score fuckin' one for the home team," she agrees. "I'm guessing the cops might've missed a few things, seeing as they don't have Rift-detector-thingies."
Yes, that is going to be Deb's word for that. She is a motherfucking world of professional, Deb.
It feels weird, for a second, referring to the cops as something she's not a part of - as a group that as far as she's heard can't exactly be trusted. Especially because what they're doing, now, feels almost like police work.
Without the violent feelings toward her partner, that is.
She shakes off the thoughts and looks back at Sonny, then asks, "Door number two, you think?"