"It's an ongoing process, I'll admit," Conor answered, letting out another hiss as he felt his lip split. He felt a drop of blood snake down his chin, but made no move to brush it away. There was a tiny voice inside his head that was starting to pipe up, 'You've made your point, the scales are balanced. Go home, leave, before you do something stupid.' Conor gagged the little voice and shoved it in a mental closet.
"That I definitely haven't forgotten," Conor replied, shifting his hips, but more slowly this time. This time it was closer to a roll, and while Byron went to work on his buttons, he leaned to the other side, drawing a serpentine down one hip and thigh with the blade of his knife.