Absolutely, positively, one hundred and ten percent batshit insane.
Whatever that was, it was no act. It was real, grade-A insanity. She had no plan. No back-up. Nothing. She was still laughing. You couldn't fake crazy like that.
He wasn't much for caring, though. Everything about the encounter was profit. If she didn't bleed out or get cut down by somebody else, he'd finish the job later. In return, she'd left him a scar, and a knife.
Business was picking back up.
((Vahka Basayev Continued In Discordant