"Oh, shit!"

Lafayette has seen a lot of fucked up shit in the last couple years. His dead boyfriend with his mouth sewed shut, for starters, and Tara with her head blown in for finishers. And yeah, maybe he's jaded as fuck because of it. But not jaded enough, apparently, to not scream like a little fucking girl when someone beheads a monster bitch right in front of him Somewhat, Lafayette figures, looking at the damage done. Beheading people ain't as easy as they make it look like in movies. It takes muscle and leverage behind the blade. One sweep with a machete either means blond guy is lucky as fuck ... or he ain't fully human.

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ," he reiterates himself, finally relaxing from where he'd plastered himself bodily to the rough brick behind him. He lifts a hand to wipe at a spatter on his cheek, not worrying too much whether it's his spit, or her gore.

"Serves you the fuck right." Pressing off of the safety of the wall, Lafayette gives the head a kick down the alley. It's not as satisfying as he'd hoped, but still ... satisfying enough to have been worth it. Provided he isn't out of the frying pan and into the fucking fire right now.

"Who the fuck are you and is you just here 'cause she owe you money?"