[Flint and steel. The click of it quick, though not distracting, let alone detracting; he's trying again simply to try again, not to pull himself away.]

I've never known a slave to own anything like this— not even by right of succession, not even freed.

[If there's a note of awe traceable in his voice, there's little there to mind.]

Can't say I know what you're feeling about it going to pieces, but I know that.... [A glance towards that lever. A glance back, mouth twitching wryly (he hadn't spoken it aloud when they came in, and granted, he still isn't— but it's a tip of his hand as much as any). Click. Click.]

Well.

I don't want to be the one that does it.

[That's all.]