I lock the stocks around your ankles and wrists, smiling playfully up at you. My fingers cheerfully drum upon the stock’s wooden top and I look down to your feet begin removing your footwear until your feet are bare and helpless.

Beside me you can see an open bag, filled with a menagerie of tools:

There are paintbrushes and pencils and pens, a rainbow of feathers of all shapes and sizes, bottles of oils and lotion, stiff hairbrushes, toothbrushes, feathery strings, sets of metallic finger claws… even a Wartenburg wheel!

Wanna talk now? Or do I have to do some work on you first?