Calm, controlled, stoic. That was at least fleetingly impressive; though the question did flicker through Atlas’ mind as to whether or not he had ever truly stared Old Man Death in the face, as she had, and been either brave or stupid enough to wake up and keep going. Perhaps it was merely a habitual stage in her sizing anyone up; but perhaps it was born of a slightly more specific curiosity than that. Something not-quite-describable told her that they were, at least within a rather woefully small frame of reference, mayhap more alike than she’d given him initial credit for.
The flippancy, though, tipped her off more than anything else, if she was to be plain about her beginning assessment. She of all people would know how the seemingly indifferent, sardonic, hard of heart were oftentimes if not always more complex than that; protecting something small, vital, and fragile that hadn’t seen the light in years—that most had forgotten even existed to begin with.
“You mentioned ‘cold and lonely,’ sweetheart—point A leads to point B,” she returned, one corner of her mouth lifting in a hollow, for all intents and purposes soulless parody of a smirk. Hardened criminal led to robot girl without much of a heart to speak of all too easily. True emotion? Liability. Interference. Best excised.
“Mm, and to all a good night. See…my client is a lot less, mm, forgiving than dear old Saint Nick.” There was no such client, not this time, but he didn’t need to know that. “And, well, if it’s a choice between my life and yours?” A pause, gun audibly cocked, reverberating against the surrounding concrete and steel. “Shall we see how prettily you bleed?”
The sound of the gun made Neal flinch just the slightest bit—but it was just that; his eyes narrowed just slightly, his shoulders tugging upwards as if in a shrug, which was actually a cringe well-hidden from sight. He was nothing if not a good poker-player, and this situation was no different from all the dangers he’d come across during his life of adventure.
His lips pressed together to form a small stripe in response to the woman’s attitude, before he forced them into the same sly grin he’d been presenting her with for most of their interaction. He had never favored people with an attitude, especially not the power-hungry, self-centered type. He had seen power corrupt his own father, he had seen the effects of evil take away the people he’d once loved, one by one, and he didn’t favor it one bit. The woman’s threats repulsed him much more than they actually frightened him; Neal wasn’t one for fear, never really had been.
"You gonna add murder to your list of crimes? Grand.”
His voice was monotonous, perhaps slightly sarcastic. Was he scared of her? Not really. Intimidated? Nah. If anything, he saw a challenge in people with a strong personality, but again—he didn’t favor the negative type of self-centric ego-booster. The snide remarks that curled her lips, the entire holier-than-thou attitude—he wasn’t going to tuck tail and run away now. When presented with a challenge, Neal had always gladly accepted, no matter the danger that came with said challenge. Even now, held at gunpoint by a woman who was attempting to intimidate him, he kept his chin up.
“Tell you what. How ‘bout we both go about our business and I don’t beep in the people who’ve been doing the behind-the-scenes monitoring on my part. I’m sure you’re on a tight schedule just as much as I am, bet my bottom dollar you didn’t calculate time to clean up an unplanned murder. If my timing’s not off by a lot, there’s bound to be another guard round scheduled in ten minutes. I’d say we do our jobs and get the hell outta dodge.”
