[the critical, sharp look on her face sits a little oddly against the pink and frills of her outfit, and as much as she's being looked at, she's looking back. despite her words, there's something in her that practically screams that beer bottles make very good improvised shanks.]

Was a rabid piano on the loose. I took care of it.

[what, like it's hard? wood smashes a hell of a lot easier than skulls do, and the insides stop being able to try and chew your dick off after a point. she's probably still got splinters in her hair somewhere, but that's a problem for future her.]

You realize they've got maps at the front desk, right. That no-face chick could probably hook you up, but honestly, with her whole ventriloquist freak show deal, I get it if you'd rather stay away.]