Magica, clearly not liking being told she didn't know what she was talking about, huffed and snootily turned her beak up, continuing to pet her familiar. That left Poe to take the weapon, and judging from his surprised expression, Scrooge was right that the two were unfamiliar in the ways of firearms. Poe held it with one hand, noticing the weight, and ran his fingers over it with his other hand.

"Not the ugliest thing I've ever put my hands on," he couldn't help but quip.

The raven hopped onto Magica's shoulder so she could start going through the papers. "For future reference, I wouldn't rely on Countess Morgana's opinion on anything. Word through the magical realm is that she's gone lovesick over some idiot in a mask."

Poe tsked, setting the gun aside on a lopsided coffee table. "A shame, I used to think she had good taste."