Ian blinked at the slight on what he thought had been impeccable host service. Then he laughed his way to the stairs, his amusement bouncing off the walls in the otherwise macabre environment that he'd so painstakingly constructed. Kian's sense of humor was refreshing considering his circumstances. It had been quite some time since anyone he'd brought home had actually gotten smart with him. The rest were poor souls too broken to fight back. Those were the ones that quickly lost their appeal. Once they stopped entertaining him, he really had no use for them anymore, so he sincerely hoped that Kian's humor was as resilient as his head apparently was.<br/><br/>Long legs carried him to the top of the stairs in a few moments' time, and Ian closed the door quietly behind him. One, two, three, four locks had to be bolted behind him. It wasn't that he didn't trust his own handiwork, the way he had taken so much care to make sure that the shackles hanging from his ceiling and wall were near inescapable, unless he were to try and kidnap Houdini's spirit incarnate. But that was why they had precautions, and one of those precautions involved the tumultuous task of locking and unlocking the door every time he went downstairs. Because it was the Houdinis in life that got you.<br/><br/>The framed pictures passed him by once more on his journey back to the kitchen. There had been more pictures adorning the walls when he'd first moved in. Mostly family portraits that his grandparents always insisted they get done every year. He'd taken them down. The only one he had been in, at least the only one that hung on the wall, seemed almost unrecognizable to him now. His hair had been shorter then, and his sister looked happier. He couldn't really pinpoint when exactly his family had stopped inviting him to sit in on the photos, but he wasn't really missing much. Better to not associate with them than have to sit uncomfortably for an hour while the photographer struggled to get the photo just right.<br/><br/>The kitchen... what was it he needed in the kitchen? Water, that's right. He retrieved a glass from the cabinet above his stove, filling it halfway with ice and even further with water. He set the glass aside and pulled open his fridge, eyes darting about for any left overs that he didn't care to give out. He had a horrible habit of making too much to eat, and an even worse habit of not eating the leftovers. It was a horrible waste of food, but he occasionally treated his guests to things he didn't think he would eat again. Today was no exception.<br/><br/>After fumbling about in his fridge and cabinets for a few solid minutes, he had put together a reasonable plate and heated it in the microwave. He had almost bolted back downstairs whenever the timer rang, but thought better of it and grabbed a straw from his silverware drawer, dropping it into the water glass and then continuing about his business. The locks were so much trickier when your hands were full. Ian found himself holding the glass in his left hand, and balancing the plate between the same wrist and his chest as his free hand made for the clasps on the door to pull it open.<br/><br/>"I hope you like potato stroganoff," he called down during his descent. He had grown callous to whether whoever was eating his food actually liked it or not. The odds were, if he was feeding them then it was a blessing and they would take what they got without protest. The way Kian looked at him the moment he touched the floor was interesting, then again the way Kian had looked at him from the moment he woke up was nothing if not perplexing.<br/><br/>Ian hummed as he walked; a light tune that vaguely resembled Quartetto Cetra, but it was overall just a motley rhythm consisting of all manner of things he'd been listening to lately. When he was face to face with his newest visitor, he offered the plate up for the other to examine. "I should have asked, do you like rye?" He was referring to the thick slice of soft brown bread that had been thoughtfully placed next to the stroganoff. It wasn't everyone's favorite, but Ian liked it well enough. "Oh, and the most important part." As almost an afterthought, he held up the glass of water close enough for Kian to reach the straw.