[he hears it though, the little misstep, that faltering moment before the return of calm. Again, turned away from her, it has him smiling a cold empty smile, the realisation that all of this horrifies her. It's to be expected, and he knows this. Is fully aware of what he is and of the take most would have of Mother's actions-- that what She's done to him is something monstrous and twisted and wrong.

He doesn't entirely disagree.

But her hand has fallen away from him, and so finally he turns to face her again, the livid scar now concealed, and only part of the cruel, stark collar left on show.]

That I'll always be Her dog? It never needed to be said, back there. I'm no stray. I know to whom I belong.

[Again, that casual easy shrug, all fluid motion, and whilst he retains that smooth and confident drawl, there's a steel beneath his words now. A certainty.][He lets the words hang there for just a moment, wanting them to sink down into her-- on this one point he's an immovable object, refuses to bend. But then he smiles that crooked smile of his, infinitesimally relaxes.]

If you're done looking, may I get dressed?