<span style="color: #00BF80">“Maybe you’d be better off sending me out of here then. I don’t really play well with others-"</span><span style="font-style: italic">Oh Kian, you have no idea how much we have in common.</span><span style="color: #00BF80">"I’d probably just end up a hassle and ruin your fun.” </span><br/><br/>It was almost kind of funny, in a twisted sort of way, that Kian should think that his unsociable and otherwise piss-poor attitude would ruin his fun. Ian's fun actually began<span style="font-style: italic">because</span>of that sort of behavior. If you took away the chains, the starvation and the isolation, Ian was a reasonable man and he did not believe in blindly attacking someone who did not deserve it. He was a man of morals. They were perhaps a bit iniquitous in comparison to someone else, but they were morals all the same. With that in mind, he never felt the need to hurt his visitors unless they acted out. Fortunately, something about being locked in an isolated and all-around unpleasant environment made people act out a<span style="font-style: italic">lot.</span><br/><br/>Ian felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward slightly, but it faded as he nodded his head in understanding.<span style="color: #80BFFF"><span style="font-weight: bold">“We’ll consider this preventative measure, then.”</span></span>With a dawning sense of resolution he grabbed the glass and threw the remaining water over Lydia’s head, delighting in her sharp intake of air as she was suddenly brought to reality. He traded the glass for the stroganoff-covered bread and took a gratifying bite as he crossed the length of his basement to retrieve the previously discarded wrap of tools, awkwardly scooping it close to his chest to prevent anything important from falling out.<br/><br/>For how careful he was walking it over, he was less than graceful discarding it on the table. He rolled it out with his free hand as he continued to eat.<span style="color: #80BFFF"><span style="font-weight: bold">”So,”</span></span>he continued as he choked down the last little bit of stroganoff-on-rye.<span style="color: #80BFFF"><span style="font-weight: bold">”Which of your teeth would you miss the least?”</span></span>He was tempted to take one of the ones at the front, maybe one of his incisors. He didn’t ponder that idea too long before throwing it out, though. He’d never considered himself to swing heavily one way or the other, or swing any way at all for that matter, but despite his obnoxious mouth Kian definitely had a sort of appeal to him. Something about destroying that sarcastic smirk just seemed sacrilegious.<br/><br/>A molar it was, then.<br/><br/>The wrap that the tools had been rolled up in was spread across the length of the table to display their contents. Ian’s tools were nothing special. A few sets of pliers, a butterfly needle with the stopper haphazardly cut off, a screwdriver and a hammer. Next to the literal tools, though, were his favorite: a ridiculously expensive nylon coverall sheath containing six knives, each varying widely on their intended uses. They were definitely butchery tools, but Ian found other ways to make use of them.<br/><br/>After careful consideration, Ian plucked a pair of crown removal pliers from its place on the mat. It always astounded him every time he looked at his misfit collection of instruments that he hadn’t been caught just based on his Amazon prime account alone. The butterfly needles, crown pliers and butchery tools hadn’t been bought on the same day, but they were close enough together that he felt like somewhere along the line a red flag should have been raised. They didn’t monitor that site nearly as much as they should. Ian turned the pliers over in his hand, looking at the insides of the flats to make sure they both had their signature yellow grips in place before pointing them at Thomas.<span style="color: #80BFFF"><span style="font-weight: bold">“You. Lucas,”</span></span>he said as he gestured from Thomas to Lydia, who was still drawing ragged breaths from the abrupt return to reality.<span style="color: #80BFFF"><span style="font-weight: bold">“Keep her awake. I want an audience.”</span></span><br/><br/>His free hand tangled itself deeply in thick brown tresses, only hard enough at first to ease Kian’s head back so he could see under the light.<span style="color: #80BFFF"><span style="font-weight: bold">”Open wide,”</span></span>he teased before his tugging changed its pace from gentle to violent, pulling as hard as he could at the hair wrapped around his fingers. The pliers made a quick descent inside what opening Kian allowed him, and he fumbled around a moment before he was able to get a solid grip on one of Kian’s bottom left molars, and pulled.