Serendipitous, it may be, that the mercenary finds herself to be rather spotless previous to the discourse proffered —- so there is little complaint as she willfully lays her form upon the floor, cotton garb drinking up the crimson hue like a thirsty animal. There were no other means by which to clean the blood from the floor, and having been asked, it were only proper that she fulfill the task by any means necessary. It was rather simple solution to the problem at hand, as she now stands, clothes drenched in the sickly hue (though it were no stranger to be found splattered upon her personage.)

      A dutiful incline of the head, before she walks away to clean her clothing and bathe in the stream (dying the waters red like blood; after all, she was an instrument of death, and it were wholesomely appropriate for her to dye the currents with sanguine hue.)