Trish does her best not to cringe as the bolt of lightning arcs over her shoulder, and at this point her frustration reaches the point that it takes everything she's got not to go off on the older woman, much less keep from glaring at her.<br/><br/>"Right, you've made it abundantly clear.  You have the edge on me, for now at least." The courier adjusts her gloves and lets the older woman lead the way. This day just keeps getting better and better... and better still when the reach the top of the stairs and meet the woman's wife. Between the cat-woman's vague insults and threats, and that<em>insufferable</em>smirk on the doctor's lips, Trish's patience for this whole damned situation is starting to wear thin.<br/><br/>Still, she manages to keep her mouth shut, and her middle fingers down, for the time being. But now, with the two of them in the room, her options seem pretty clear: sell out her contact, or have the information forcibly extracted from the smoking crater of her skull.<br/><br/>"His name is Taggart. Lughaid Taggart." She gives them the basic details about the man and his bar, but keeps it as simple as she thinks she can get away with. And every word just makes her sicker to her stomach.