Trigger warning: disturbing themes, mentions of child abuse, implied abuse.

"What's special about this one?"

With a soft smile, Atzoh sets the lone egg back in its incubator before turning back to her makeshift worktable.

"The Lord Inquisitor suspects he might have swallowed something important and wants me to recover it from his digestive tract." She picks up her dissection tools and adjusts her glasses.

"I mean the egg, you hag! What's special about the egg?" barks Skolebrod, baring his fangs at her.

"It's no more special than any other of our little ones, dearest." she counters with a dismissive wave of a gloved hand.

The tundra slams his considerable bulk against the bars, of his cell, growling. Atzoh doesn't flinch. "Lies! What's your plan with it?"

She sighs, setting her tools down and craning her neck to look at the irate brute with a sweet, if patronising, smile. "I could tell you, darling, but that would ruin the surprise."

"Come on, Atzoh, just a hint." He whines. "What're you gonna do with it? You gonna cut it in pieces? Oh! Give it some of that "cure" you made. That kid foamed so much, it was hilarious!"

"Oh, stop it." She rolls her eyes, fighting off a smile. "What happened to Laufrey was tragic but sacrifices have to be made if this horrible disease is to be cured one day." She chides him, rehashing the same boring drivel she had served everyone who came to offer their condolences. Skolebrod laugs.

"Yeah, right, whatever you say. Hey, tell you what: How about you give up whatever plan you have, crack the egg open, scramble it and then we can have a nice candlelit dinner? It's been a while since we've had some one-on-one time together." He waggles his eyebrows. Atzoh can't quite stop herself from snorting with laughter.

"Oh quit it. We've had 'one-on-one' time just recently to make this proposed 'dinner'." Still, she gets up from her work and walks up to her monster, slipping a gloved paw between the bars to caress his cheek. He lets her, closing his eyes but the moment he relaxes his body, her soft touches turn in a vicious grip. In spite of it, he smiles at her and she smiles back. She knows him too well; she gets to keep her hand today.

Atzoh stares him down until all thoughts of maiming her have left his mind. She lets go, patting his head softly, then returns to her dissection.

"What about her?" Skolebrod asks. She doesn't need to turn and see who he's refering to.

"Our daughter is old enough to help me with my work." She replies breezily. "I thought she could give me a hand in acquiring more test subjects and, as you know," she glances at the prone form of the petite starry tundra, kept sedated by an IV drip, "silence implies consent."