As if subliminal at the show of those fangs, Deacon's teeth worry at his own lip where it had been cut, making the skin throb beneath them. He is going to need some serious antiseptic whenever they get out of here.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I owe you a whole pack of cigarettes at this point. Probably more than that. And some fancy lads," he attempts diplomatically. For what it's worth, it's been good fortune having Danse around to begin with.

"Uh huh. Sure. Pucker up, buttercup."