LaCroix stood firm unaffected by the blade that was drawn on him, a rather odd reaction since knives were usually a sign that things where going bad. Instead he stepped forward, the moon shining on his flesh like the blade giving it an odd marble hue. He stood like a living statue of a god, firm and ominous with power. His voice too seemed to bare a musical manner and like Sweeney’s drawn the listener to it, keeping them transfixed. No one knew the true power he had under it, the hypnotic sense intertwined into each word “Yes…you do carry a burden and not only that bag at your feet” pure wicked honey “such rage you bare good sir…a robin redbreast in a cage puts on heaven in a rage” he said with a sigh nudging the trashbag with the toe of his shoes “Did you enjoy his death? Feeling his life ebbing out like the tide?” His lips curled into an amused smile “You wish to slice me with your happy blade…you think that will end me?”