Rook rises up from having killed another clown, knives dripping and the wild light of a fight back in his ice blue eyes, something altogether feral and gleeful. Nothing like a fight with something that doesn't want to die when it's damn well dead, and he's breathing hard but it'll take more than that to wind him.

"Found the fuckin' emergency rations, smart girl. Now let's fuckin' hustle our asses somewhere else, it's too crowded in this joint."

Case in point, he tosses one of his knives up, catches it, and throws it hard, his whole body behind it.

The blade thunks into the clown nearest Poison with a meaty wet noise, and Rook jogs over to collect his knife from the twitching corpse, a bloodthirsty grin baring his teeth.