Grimly, Johanna smiles, her gaze fixed forward. Stabbing is a different story, she might say; you can stab with anything. Scissors for stabbing could be messy but God, there's days where she's wanted to put her axe into the face of her designer. Maybe she should have gone for the scissors instead. At least they were accessible.

Her shoulders are hitched high, conscious of the knife behind her back--just because she trusts her to do a decent job of a haircut doesn't mean that she actually trusts her--but still, Johanna lets Eponine get on with things, without offering any comment or suggestion for style or length. "You should do something decent with it. Don't just trim the ends. Maybe I'll cut it for you," she suggests, with a laugh that implies: maybe don't give her free reign of your hair. "Fair's fair, right?"