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Barrows was a made man. Mafia's a given; he worked as a clean-up manager with unnaturally useful minions. A better grade of mook.

Roan's assessment hardly surprised Nines; it was a conclusion he'd expected her to come to. Casting the point aside as a given, he shifted in his seat. His weight leaned left, propping onto the elbow rested on the armrest. Holding his hand up, he rested his chin on his palm.

Ever seen any documentaries on the old sacrificial altars in the Tenochtitlan temples? THe big stone slab they laid people out on? Imagine waking up from a drugged haze on one of those with a knife tearing to your gut held by some creeper with a hood, robes, and harem of freaky women dressed like some kind of old Sumerian bullshit brigade. Didn't pay much attention to the rock I was on, if I'm honest. Things got incredibly bloody, incredibly quickly when they found out that wrist manacles don't work on a guy willing to break his hands to get loose.

Nines caught the moment of distraction. Recognizing it as the look of someone with personal experience, he filed the idea away for future use. Regardless, he had more prevalent topics to consider than which cult did her wrong.

Shifting back to a reclined position, he leaned back into the comfort of his chair, but kept his eyes focused on the matriarch.

Fair enough. If you dig up stuff I couldn't, power to you. My only real question is...why? And why on so many levels beyond just the background check, but we'll start there.

Alright, fair enough. That's something I can honestly put myself to. Next question's a bit harder, though, and I hope you'll understand my need to ask.

Pausing to clear his throat, Nines then shifted forward. Both elbows nestled onto his knees, and his chin came to rest upon the net his fingers made as they interlocked.

Everything I've been told basically says the bnb locked in the armory is something ludicrously dangerous and powerful. That's why it's here, because here it can be kept out of just anybody's hands. You've also alluded to my many flaws, including borderline mental instability that isn't getting any better any time soon. So that being the case, what in God's name is the freakshow thinking? Why would you shove that thing off onto somebody without the most intense of scrutiny and background checks? It's like giving a five year old a loaded revolver!

...At the expense of whoever is holding it. I see.

It was nothing he didn't already know, but hearing it from the horse's mouth made all the difference to Nines. With this verified, it all but cemented his opinions regarding the weapon. Without some incredibly good incentive...he had made up his mind.

And where do you stand in all this?

And now the hardest question of them all.

Nines' gaze remained unflinching. Stone still, he continued to rest his chin on the backs of his hands as he hunched forward to stare at Roan.

Why do you do it?

She was so many years his elder, so much more powerful both mentally, physically, and simply more potent of the blood that when their eyes locked, he was trapped within them. No about of wrestling would break the trance, if only because it was insidiously alluring. His body relaxed, and she laid him back. Words were whispered, which he understood, but as soon as the trance was broken his right hand darted immediately to his left-hand ribs. Even so, his arms were pinned; the grasping limb groped at only air so long as her grip remained, and even when he was released his left-hand ribs were all his grasp could find. Trying not to snap, despite the bulging vein on his neck, he paused and forced calm once again. It was a difficult prospect; she had just crossed a line, perhaps knowingly. Still, he let it go, forcing his hand back onto his lap and keeping his tongue between his teeth while there was still anger that may poison his words.

Please...kindly don't do that again.

The frustration never passed his lips, and his self control was sufficient that he managed to make the request come out as politely diplomatic, rather than insistent and angry.

Stup....

Nines quickly bit his lip, stopping himself before he could speak in anger. Again, she was capable of being just old enough, injecting just that little enough bit of condescension that it infuriated him and drove him to respond heatedly. He thus had to force himself to calm once again, leaning forward once again to rest his head upon his hands.

Forcing an even, level mannerism, Nines tried to speak calmly and explain himself nonaggressively.

I'm asking because I've been trying to think about it all from your perspective, and I can't. I'm neither old enough, nor am I enough of a predator to shift perspective. Hell, I don't even know much about you, which certainly makes things difficult when I can't even find some point to relate to. I know it's probably the most frustrating thing you can have on your plate right now, but if I'm going to ever see things your way, I'm going to have to ask you questions about how you see things, or else I'm going to have to wait a few decades or more before we get anywhere.

Scare me? You terrify me, and not because of the stuff I know you could do. You terrify me because of what you're wanting me to do, and because of what you are.

He let his hands sink between his knees, but kept his weight rested upon his elbows, which remained upon his knees. A heavy sigh came.

I understand if you don't answer me on the personal things. I've hardly made myself a good person to confide in.