Once the grip on his head eased up, Conor sat back up, looking at where the knife was embedded in Byron's abdomen. "Is this where you take your messages?" he asked, a bit of dry humor finally coloring his voice. His pulse was still thundering in his ears, but at least he didn't seem to be in danger of having some skin taken off anymore. Not yet, anyway.
"Or do you just have people sign their names?" he mused, dragging the knife along, sloping down to Byron's hip. Blood welled up in the path left behind, and he watched it curiously. Conor had never been one who enjoyed inflicting pain on others, but there was something...intoxicating about it. Especially right now. He poked lightly at one of the cuts, smearing Byron's skin with blood. He was curious, now, and though that usually tended to get him in trouble, he found he couldn't help himself.