For Services Rendered
Who: Rayne/Joker/Butcheress
When: Five minutes after Rayne and the Joker made the arrangement.
Where: Joker's room, then the Butcheress' own.
Rayne still had her sense of balance. Was drunk, but still apparently possessed it. The Butcheress had not only pushed her to the edge, but with the unknowing assistance of a young girl, had virtually pushed her over it. In Rayne's new private world of fucked up logic, having the creature assassinated by someone else, made perfect sense. Especially when that 'someone else' was apparently just as psychotic and with a reputation for easily going off the rails. He could be framed for it and she could forcefully retrieve the weapon, no harm, no foul.
Of course, with alcohol being the reason why she had actually gone through with something like that, the latter detail was getting more than a little hazey. No matter, though. She would stay outside the room and make sure to collect whatever was left. Probably... Fuck, it was a pair of scissors, so what? Everyone else was so amazingly keen to go and commit suicide with her little Germanic spiral of suicidal depression. What was one more element of death introduced into the equation?
And wait, what was she meant to do with the scissors, again? Take them back... No... Give them... Yeah... That was it.
Announcing her presence with a repeated banging of knuckles upon door, the redhead slumped against the frame, keys spinning casually around one finger and the blades in other.
When: Five minutes after Rayne and the Joker made the arrangement.
Where: Joker's room, then the Butcheress' own.
Rayne still had her sense of balance. Was drunk, but still apparently possessed it. The Butcheress had not only pushed her to the edge, but with the unknowing assistance of a young girl, had virtually pushed her over it. In Rayne's new private world of fucked up logic, having the creature assassinated by someone else, made perfect sense. Especially when that 'someone else' was apparently just as psychotic and with a reputation for easily going off the rails. He could be framed for it and she could forcefully retrieve the weapon, no harm, no foul.
Of course, with alcohol being the reason why she had actually gone through with something like that, the latter detail was getting more than a little hazey. No matter, though. She would stay outside the room and make sure to collect whatever was left. Probably... Fuck, it was a pair of scissors, so what? Everyone else was so amazingly keen to go and commit suicide with her little Germanic spiral of suicidal depression. What was one more element of death introduced into the equation?
And wait, what was she meant to do with the scissors, again? Take them back... No... Give them... Yeah... That was it.
Announcing her presence with a repeated banging of knuckles upon door, the redhead slumped against the frame, keys spinning casually around one finger and the blades in other.