Porthos is a little surprised they're talking about this. "My last assignment," is all he says, because he doesn't want to get into detail when the bruises speak for themselves. "The target hadn't been very eager to give up their goods." He bends over to start unlacing his paratrooper boots, easing upright with a wince to pour tequila into a proper glass, because Isaac is cultured and refined, and not a slave to his lust.

Most of the time, at least.