Forty grand owed later and here Butcher is at his doorstep with anything but the money. It’s fatuous for him to have brought a zany pair of awfully pitiful looking strangers into his own home. But he also brought you, a supe. The conception at large was ludicrous, and it was abundantly evident that Butcher had spared a scarce amount of true, rational thought to this monstrosity of a mission. After all, a single fleeting glance in the direction of the foreign pair further confirmed this objective was voluntary death wish, and would prompt a derisory snicker to escape Frenchie’s lips.

Only after Butcher is at his hip, leaning in flush against Frenchie’s ear to murmur something that was indistinguishable to the opposing pair would the dots connect. Once again, Frenchie was being used as a direct pawn in just another one of Butcher’s overall stratagems, acting as means of leverage where Butcher acknowledged he could not. His cunning, witty nature and persuasions could only allot him so far before he finds himself out of touch with what, or rather, who he was dealing with. It does not go to say that Frenchie minds a bit of hazing every now and then, however. So, when Butcher promptly slips into the next room to leave them be, he'll do what's asked of him – as is in his nature.

“I take it this is, eh.. your first time accompanying Monsieur Charcuter, no?” Frenchie’s head curiously cocks to the side, a tiny, playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Arms cross inquisitively over his bare chest. “Why else would you have put your trust in the hands of a lunatic in exchange for help doing the impossible?”

Hughie shuffled nervously, looking after the door Butcher had disappeared through. It was you who spoke up first, "Butcher just recruited us to help this once. He mentioned you." Briefly. As all information from Butcher was.

“Has he? Comme c'est précieux.” 'How precious', Frenchie remarks.

A single hand with intent to study reaches out before him to rest a palm against your jawline, hand acquiring his warmth and adjusting his head to where eye contact was much less of a personable choice. He smiles. “What is it he has shared? He knows he's on quite thin ice, sharing my business without my knowledge.”

"Nothing specific," Hughie spoke up, trying to placate the strange Frenchman.

“I suppose he's finally learned to refrain from sharing my awful habit of ripping jugulars out with my teeth—probably wouldn't have worked so much in his favor had he informed you of such.” Frenchie murmured, digressing from said matter soon after.

"Now. Why should I help you?"