Eridan visibly cringed at Eddie's choice, bodily, though his expression morphed into a sort of unabashed, gleeful malice out of place among his usual rage and haughtiness. Neither choice was the right one, of course, and as he flipped the lid, he expected Eddie would grasp the real intended torment of the evening - physical pain was no stranger, after all, not even torture, and the black case full of scalpels and bone saws exemplified that. The green case, on the other hand, held a lovely revolver, a custom job, silvers and greens and curving question marks put together by Handsome Jack months and months ago. The trigger was tied up in a festive ribbon, singling it out as Eddie's Christmas present.

Nothing was going to follow Eddie's chosen paths of logic tonight.

"Rough choice." Eridan slapped the green case closed again, now looming over the black case, perusing its contents. "But probably the better one, all things considered. If you woulda picked green, I was just goin' to pistol whip you a little and pick the black one anyway. Can't win for losin', right?"

Seemingly settling on a scalpel, Eridan raised it high enough for Eddie to see.

"And Ed, ex-moirail a mine, I think you're missin' the point of torture," he finished, examining the blade. "Escalation is what we do. If I don't get my wery own personal deathtrap when you pick yourself up six-odd months from now, I'm gonna be real goddamn glubbin' disappointed in you."