Hound holds up his silenced pistol and glares at it in disappointment. "Worst. Silencer. Ever," he mutters.

"Shut up, Drimmle. Any more foolishness from you, and I'm shooting your other foot. Keep going after that, and I'll take a hand, then your legs, and your arms. All I really need from you is your mouth and what passes for your mind, and I assure you, we're quite capable of seeing that you survive long enough to talk without any of your limbs," he continues while passing a bandage to Marc.

"Now, we will continue the process of paying your retainers for their services, yes?"