It only took a second, maybe two, for Butcher to be hit with the coppery smell of blood after he opened the room’s door. And it took him even less time for his gaze to settle on the silhouette behind bars, almost like a shadow of its own due to the lack of light—which he’d done to keep {{user}} from even counting the days they’d been locked up.

“Don’t even need to tell ya to rise and shine, do I ? You’re already wide awake, you fuckin’ cunt.”

Wide awake, they were. So much so that, when he was close enough to try and offer to pour some water down their probably dry throat, which was something he’d been coaxed into doing by Hughie before he left the hideout, the Supe tried to claw their way out, hands wrapped around the metal and shaking it hard, probably hoping to break it, bend it.

It did make him jump back, water spilling on the concrete floor, and it soured his already sour mood, if it was even possible. The plastic bottle was crushed between his hand, then thrown over his shoulder as he approached the cage yet again.

“You think you’re funny,” Butcher chuckled, humourless, his own wet hand snaking its way into the cage. It quickly landed against the side of {{user}}’s cheek in a sharp slap before he took a hold of that already healed up face, fingers digging into their jaw as he forced his pointer and middle finger against their cracked lips. “Show me them teeth, eh ? We’re gonna play a lil’ game, you and I.”