He dropped his arrow back into its quiver, watching her loop the skull's chain into her belt. Watched her move closer and drop into a crouch in front of him. He rocked forward a little, leaning into her space. His eyes, brown and dead, flashed with a little interest. This was closer than they had been before, in a way; there was a little piece of him hanging from her belt.
Sparrow reached out, with his right hand. He didn't dart his hand toward her throat, but he could have. He wanted her to see it coming.
"Your kind of fun," he said, talking about the Dog King's question, about what Emilie said she liked. He let his hand stop just short of touching her, close enough to give her the option. Make it seem like a thing he was offering and not a thing that, one day very soon, he intended to do. (You didn't tell a man like Sparrow that you thought choking sounded like fun if you didn't want to try it out.)
Then he dropped his hand away. "I want something, Big Blue." He leaned back. "I'm bored down here. And I'm hungry." The edge he put on the word didn't make it sound like the kind of hunger that gnawed at the belly. No, his hunger was something much different.
"I want our kind of fun. Do you want to come play with me, Big Blue?"