There's only a handful of people who could smile like that while feeling pressure against their airway. If this kid has taken up the mantle of Hawkeye then whoever gave it to him made a huge fucking mistake. It takes someone twisted to see it in others, he guesses, so it could have slipped by unnoticed.

"I'm a little too old for you to be making eyes at me when I try to choke you." Lester mumbles, flinching at the cuts that just keep coming the longer he wastes time. At first it's something he was stubborn enough to think he could ignore, but now? Now it feels like hell. Slow, painful, steadily growing hell. Whatever this was between them he could figure out and finish later.

He eases up when the skin is exposed. While Lester could be sensible and ask for the sin written on his paper, he's also curious to see if he can guess what it is. Lester scrawls the word murder into Francis' arm with the knife to see if there's any change in the frequency of cuts he still feels over his skin. They're starting to get deeper now.