Lafayette gave a quirk of a brow at the way the pale-haired dude cleaned his machete off on the leg of his pants. If a guy cared more about the state of his weapon than the state of his clothes, Lafayette figured - even more than having just beheaded some monster bitch - he was not a dude to be fucked around with.

"Lafayette," he offers, a little stuttered, as he watches the guy go for a cig. He'd have figured he would be way the fuck too jaded to give a shit about any of this anymore. Apparently, not jaded quite enough. He folded his arms over his chest, bouncing slightly in the cold alleyway.

What the fuck kind of name is 'Spike,' though.

"So ... I a black transvestite. What the fuck is you?"