Simon almost cooed when Darnies presented him with the tools. "[i]Ahh,[/i] good. This should make everything much easier." He took the tools eagerly, but narrow his eyes when Darnies hesitated with the manacles. Not suspicion, but his natural Fae tendency to be nosy. Clearly the young man had some sort of trauma around these tools - the signs were hard to miss, and Darnies had held the manacles long enough to burn himself. And that too drew his attention; iridium apparently burned him on contact. Simon never really made it a priority to learn the weaknesses of others of supernatural persuasion, but this one scratched something at the back of his mind. Simon's eyes darted down to the manacles; the surfaces were worn down significantly more than the usual wear and tear of time or use would do, especially on the outside of them. Done manually, then - but why? 

But Simon knew to respect privacy, at least to people's faces. He watched Chasa chain the hunter up silently, his eyes on Darnies as he left. He nodded understanding at Chasa's comment. So the tools were likely originally used on other supernatural beings. Maybe someone Darnies knew? Loved ones, friends, family? Himself? Simon pushed his curiosity down. Right now, he had work to do. 

With something approaching solemnity, Simon rolled out the blood-stained leather. Inside were the tools of the trade: thumbscrews, a scourge, a variety of blades, a couple of cones Simon assumed were for forcefeeding, some cloth and rags, presumably for water- or dry-boarding, smelling salts, and gags, among other things. 

It seemed as if Simon was in a world of his own as he inspected the tools. He seemed calm, focused, but the longer he looked at them, the more something seemed to permeate his being, practically pushing at the surface. Something like... [i]hunger[/i]. It seemed like a sort of irony that the vampires were outside while Simon was going through something very similar to bloodthirst. Parts of his glamour began to slip; he seemed to have abruptly grown paler, leaning over the tools like a grey vulture tired of waiting for his prey to die. Scars grew darker on his face, marring what had a few seconds ago been unblemished skin. He picked up a scalpel in one hand. His total focus was on the hunter, with Chasa simply an observer. 

He leaned in close to the hunter's face. "Open your eyes, kind sir." His voice, previously possessing a slight rasp, now sounded hoarse. "We're going to play a game. For the first part, I will work, and you will listen. Then, I will ask, and you will answer. But that comes later. This part, all I need is for you to be awake." 

The manacles seemed tight, and Simon was feeling confident, so he let himself come closer. The scalpel drifted a lazy path across the hunter's face, from his cheek to his chin, then dangerously close to his right eye. 

"When I was younger, I considered myself something of a scholar," Simon chuckled. "I learned many things about pain and how to inflict it. In many ways, torture is an art. You must think of it with no restrictions - every piece of skin can be burned, frozen, pierced, bruised, removed. Pain is not hard. Keeping the victim alive is harder. Not rushing the process is harder. The trick is to keep a balance between too much and too little." His brow furrowed slightly. "I was never a good student, sadly. Not of others. I was better at learning alone. Practice makes perfect, they say. All of that was a long time ago. I am different now. But I am, like all my people, my base instincts. We can play at humanity, take in their arts and love and pretend that is who we are. All of that is just a thin veil thrown over the fact that we are [i]cruel[/i] beings. Our nature cannot be denied. Only ignored for a time." 

Abruptly he turned away, putting the scalpel back and returning with something resembling a vice. He set it gently on the ground besides him. "First, kind sir, I will break a finger. Then I will break another. I will proceed depending on how well you take it. Maybe then I will ask a question, and if you do not answer it, I will be more creative." 

He gripped the hunter's hand tightly. "Just hold on, now. Think happy thoughts." He tensed his arm for a second, then, suddenly and violently, twisted the hunter's index finger.