( Spit and blood spackle his cheeks, his lips. He closes his eyes for one long blink, visibly struggling to reel in his temper and the ungodly desire to gut her navel to neck. He does not bother to wipe it away. When he opens them again he smiles, though there is no joy or happiness in it. It's a cruel, angry near-grimace. It's a threat made of lips. )

As soon as you put this blindfold on, I'll tell you all about my plan. I'll give you the cliff's notes version of my great big villain monologue. But the last thing I need right now is you brain-texting tourist landmarks to that square-jawed mutant freak you call a father.

( It's accompanied by a pointed look; he knows you're going to. Short of lobotomizing her, he has no way to stop that. Even if he knocks her out, she's going to wake up eventually. Probably fake sleeping long enough to paint him a beautiful word-picture about every single bit of scenery they pass by for a god damn mile. He's not having it. )

Alternatively, I could just scoop out your eyes. I don't think you'll need those for it, either.