[Edward's seen many a man go in plenty of different ways, and he's never felt particularly guilty or disturbed by the sliding of a blade into a man's gut, or their meaty slap against ground when they fall from great heights.

But this is almost too cruel. For the rum, that is, after the lad - excuse him, lass - next to him uses it to drown the knave that attempted to sneak up on the two of them. He isn't even sure if he's Templar or just that fucking stupid, but he supposes it doesn't even matter at this point.

He's just kind of mourning the loss of his drink, pushing the dead man off the table.] I don't know if I should be pissed that you wasted a good drink, or impressed. I might be a little in the mood after that display.

[Is that weird? This is weird. Don't look at her, Edward, you'll make it weird.

Oops, he looks at her.]