Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon

"Everything's fine, the situation is under control," Magtok answers, waving a dismissive hand at the goblins, too busy scrolling through the holoboard to actually look up and confirm who just dropped by. I guess that means he recognizes one of the goblin voices, or maybe he has a surveillance camera to look through, or he can see from the perspective of one of the cleaning drones still scrubbing away the last smudges left behind by that infernal blood ritual.

"Non-lethal capture might work best. How exotic and dangerous are you willing to go after he's captured and still call it non-lethal, though? Tied up and naked in a ditch on the side of the road? Buried alive in a shallow grave, in a coffin full of centipedes? Superglue a webcam and wireless earbuds to his forehead and ears, tell him a bomb has been implanted in his chest, and have him run a gauntlet of humiliating and legally incriminating challenges in exchange for his safety and freedom?" our supposedly retired supervillain wonders aloud, his face largely neutral, his lips graced by only the faintest hint of what might become a smile someday. Mag, I uhh...I don't know if you should be saying all of this within earshot of the goblin mercenaries. They might be getting paid to be here, but they're not getting paid that much, and if any of them knows the cat personally...probably not, but a little discretion is in order, don't you think?