[Oswald considers this for a moment, before he's stepping close, reaching out to take the man's wrist, thumb pressing to the inside.] Don't scream now. [He murmurs under his breath again, and there's a low hiss and the light scent of burning skin and, for Oswald's captive anyway, a significant amount of pain as a small mark, almost umbrella-shaped, is branded there on the inside of his wrist.]
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