It'll be a close cut, but Lestat knows he can make it without lopping either of Chloe's clever hands off. He lines it up, touching the edge of the axe to the dead man's bare throat once, twice, the axe making a slow arc as he maps the motion he'll follow.

"If any of those rustic tchotchkes are worth more than the paint slathered on them, you have my blessing to liberate me of their possession," he murmurs, raising the axe high. "And perhaps - "

The axe thuds hollowly as it bites into the corpse's neck. There's no splatter of fluid, only the sullen gape of a dark wound. He wiggles the axe free and raises it high again, grimacing in distaste at the effort.

" - although I have a few guesses."