[ Heinrix's eyes do not miss the way he pulls back slightly, the displeasure of leashes not lost on him. Of course he does not want them. Drkhari are slaves to their impulses, yes, but they have such warped little minds, that they see the indulgence in such violence as freedom, even though it is anything but. Were he in a better mood — were Marazhai slightly less of a thorn in the Inquisitor's side — perhaps he would have laughed at him, or shown him what he meant.

But the Rogue Trader's eyes bore into the back of his neck just as much as over his shoulder, and his back remained ramrod straight. ]

Do you think I shy away from bloodshed, Xenos?

[ He asked, his tone lightened, slightly. A touch mocking. ] My bloodshed serves purpose. Perhaps you should see it from my end, instead.

[ What he means, of course, is that he would take the blade to the Drukhari, but what Marazhai reads from it is easily misconstrued. It almost sounds an invitation, though it isn't genuine. ]

I have not been an agent of the Inquisition for so long to not draw some measure of necessary pleasure from my work.

[ Even speaking on it sounds somewhat... regulated. ]