Ian made a small murmur of delight. Kian seemed to comply so<span style="font-style: italic">easily</span>now. His spirit wasn’t broken yet; there was still fire in his eyes. That was fine, though; Ian enjoyed a healthy challenge. With Kian’s head tilted back, Ian threaded his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck to hold him steady as he poured a generous amount of water into his mouth. The cold likely stung, but not nearly as bad as the sting to that incessant ego of his.<br/><br/>Speaking of ego, it kind of hurt his own pride a bit to have realization dawn on him that he’d grabbed water and cotton, but not a cup. That didn’t particularly matter too much on a stone floor though. Ian brought the water back down to his side and stepped behind Kian, giving his head a less-than-gentle push forward.<span style="color: #80BFFF"><span style="font-weight: bold">“Spit. You can clean it up later.”</span> </span><br/><br/>His focus remained on Kian, but he wasn’t immune to the prying eyes of the room’s other occupants. He’d actually heard Lydia’s last remark through the door. Normally he’d have words with her about slandering his name like that, but that might have been the best thing that Kian could have heard. Hopefully that would get through that thick skull of his and make him realize that his poor attitude wasn’t going to get him anywhere.<br/><br/>Beyond Lydia, Thomas and even Lucas looked at him with sunken eyes, averting their gazes only when he spared them a glance. He hummed in acknowledgement and returned to doting on Kian, crossing the length of floor between his guest and the table. With a gentle hand, he dabbed the blood and gore from Kian’s chin and where it had dribbled down his neck.<span style="color: #80BFFF"><span style="font-weight: bold">“Did we learn anything today, Kian?”</span></span>