Joe took the criticism in stride. He didn't care that Salem was yelling at him, really. All that mattered was that Salem went first. Joe stepped back a bit and watched with morbid curiosity. He hoped that Salem would be okay, he really did, he just valued his own life more. Joe flinched as he watched Salem  in pain, and sort of started towards him. However, Aamu caught him with the end of her body and placed a hand on his shoulder. He wasn't quite sure whether the gesture was to calm him down or restrain him, but he said or did nothing else.<br/><br/>When it was their turn, Joe nodded and approached the bowl once again. He retrieved his knife, which he luckily still had, and looked down at his palm. He sliced cleanly and made a fist, blood dripping into the bowl. Aamu hovered behind him until he offered her the knife, and she accepted it with a small head nod. She sliced her front hand in a swift movement and let her blood ooze into the bowl. Her blood was relective and oil-like, and it dropped as though it was more viscous. The bowl glowed like Salem's had.<br/><br/>Reflexively, Joe looked at the other hand where he hadn't sliced it, expecting the same form of symbol to appear there. Instead, he felt a hot searing sensation on the back of his neck. He was afraid to touch it, so he stood there in silence, wincing, until the pain subsided. He tried to turn his neck so he could see what had become of it, but then he realized that there was absolutely no way he could see it.<br/><br/>"Yo, Salem, does it look like a sick tat?" he asked, still stretching his neck but to no avail. With a sigh and a slump of his shoulders he gave up. He looked at his hands and ran them together as though they were unfamiliar. He looked at Aamu, then at Salem, and then at Solomon. "So, we did your whole pact thing. Are we good to go?"