Porthos couldn't help the swell of protectiveness that slashed through him at the thought of Phryne here suffering from a gunshot wound. He reckoned she could handle herself, or she wouldn't do what she did (and he liked that in a woman, let's be honest), and she was clearly just fine, but he still felt the definite need to find whoever might have hurt her and make them suffer.

It was a useless thing to feel, given their circumstances, but there he went anyway.

"Sounds just like us," he stated with a half smile, pushing past that feeling. "Less motorcars, more sword fights. You can't have everything."