Ithi’Ka enters slowly, surveying the room with probing eyes.  She meets Robin’s gaze momentarily, hardly noticing the flare of annoyance she instinctively felt at the reaction her people received.  And from a man with preoccupations—occupations, even—like Robin?  One would expect some civility.  Savages, freaks, murderers and thieves—was that all that even these cosmopolitan Rekkenmares could see in her?  And here, among chains, a rack, flails?  All of this was intended to frighten those who’d never suffered real torture into believing their experience to be dangerous—all of it, from the chipped-plaster walls to the façade of flagstones, designed to stimulate and satisfy that dark need without letting it grow too powerful…<br/><br/>No, Ithi’Ka had seen the real thing.  She’d walked ancient chambers where her ancestors served the Titans as slaves; their bodies, their pain, their pleasures and their magic were property, commodity, amusement...  She’d seen the remnants of clanmates after fire giants flayed him alive—not for information, but for amusement.  She had suffered the anguish of the scorpion’s venom as part of her rite of passage, had walked the jungle naked, sweating blood until her body stabilized the tattoo’s poison and left her back a saturnine and ebony testimony to her will to live.  She had stood in chambers a mile underground, where the gods of her forebears were slain.<br/><br/>This room amused her.  Perhaps its play might even stimulate that aching thirst she never seemed to quell, perhaps for a time?  But it would sicken her, too, to know how shallow her needs had become.<br/><br/>“Robin,” she asks flatly, her black-cloaked body wraith-like as she straddles the dead Lieutenant.  She crouches, her leather-clad body hovering over the uniform-clad corpse, wraith-like and intimate like a lover back from the dead.  “Robin, I want you to tell me everything that you recall, from what you were doing before you find this man, until you report it.”  She doesn’t look up at the man, who wears little more than lingerie, though she clearly is not repulsed by him.  “Close your eyes, remember it.  Tell me everything, even what you think is not significant.”<br/><br/>As she speaks, she peels back the dead man’s eyelids to study his pupils and retinas.  She lifts back his swollen lips with her slick-leathered fingers so she can study his tongue.  She looks around the room for sign of struggle, for any scrap or thread that does not belong.<br/><br/>(spot 23, search 21, sense motive 9… evidently, she relies more on evidence than motive or personal insight gained through suspects.  That might be a problem.  Also has feat: Track.)