"So is it true that you all talk to fish and that's the only thing you Atlanteans can do?" muttered the man dressed as a meager cat.
Orm looked at him, disconnecting himself from the telepathic web. "Oh, my dear gaudy feline, is it true all you do is get your pathetic posterior beaten by the Batman and lick your own reproductive organs? Or did they snip you when you were captured?" Orm made cutting scissor motions with his fingers. "No matter, if we're done here throwing paroxysms of infantile insults like pueriles, I suggest we start formulating a plan of action for this supposed assassination. Do we have a field commander for this mission?"