The squeezing elicits a soft, pleasured hum from Azwel every time--it feels almost unfairly good. For the second time, now (and probably not the last) he wonders if he's taken on too much. Immediately after that, though, he wonders if that's necessarily a bad thing. Bested by his own test subject? It'd simply be a clear sign that he needs to hand over the keys to the machine to someone new.

Maybe it'd be his turn on the table.

The question pulls him back out of his imaginings. "'Untoward?'" he murmurs. "Well, I've never used it to kill anyone, if that's what you mean."