The first time Matthew lay eyes on inmate number 32065, the Frenchman was chained to a bed, and looked to be thoroughly medicated; the kind of medicated that, when one were to think about it later, at home safe and tucked into their own homes, it would send a shudder up through the center of their spine. Yet, even despite that warning, Matthew couldn't help but be intrigued as the seemingly elder blonde looked up just the slightest at their passing, (He had been told to wear sneakers to his first day of work, and after going through only two, echoing hallways, who had liked to take the slightest squeak and amplify it tenfold, Matthew was rather grateful for the advice; the clacking of dress shoes would have just been near unbearable in such quarters), and cobalt eyes met violet for a minute that seemed to last... well, a lot less than sixty seconds; perhaps the minute had only been a couple of seconds, but, it was enough.

Enough time for Matthew to decide, that even as Gilbert steered him on, continuing the tour of his new workplace, that there was something particularly intriguing about this inmate. Before they had gone too far down the hallway, Matthew turned to said guard, an albino with one of the cockiest grins the Canadian had ever seen, and eyes a brighter red than the last painting of a dying sunset, and asked, "W-what's his name, Mister Weillschmidt? Inmate...?" The strawberry-blonde trailed off as he craned his neck over his shoulder, to get a glimpse at the number embroidered on the front of the Frenchman's shirt. "Thirty-two oh Sixty-five?"

When he looked back up to the guard who had been 'saddled with newbie duty', Matthew was surprised to see the self-proclaimed 'Prussian', grinning from ear to ear. Yet, it wasn't in a nice or pleasant fashion. No, it was a bearing of fangs, and Matthew learned from that glance that the Prussian had a rather nice set of canines, if not the answer to his question.

"32065? That one's a real nutter, we tried to shove him off to the loony bin 'bout a month ago, an' they shoved him right back to us. Rumour's had it that he got caught with his hands down some kid's pants the very first day - So you'll be gettin' to know him real good, real soon."

"T-That's nice and all, Mister Weillschmidt, but that still doesn't tell me his name."

It was at that that the Prussian held out a hand, a mere centimeter from Matthew's nose, and shook his snow-capped head at the Canadian. "First off, it's not 'Mister Weillschmidt'; that's only what I tell them in there," Gilbert indicated to just who exactly 'they' were, with a broad sweeping gesture of his hand to indicate the rows of human cages surrounding them on either side of the hall; a few inmates grumbled at this show, and others simply returned to their cot or, if they had been lucky enough to earn the items, card games.

"But fer you, Matt, the name's Gil. Gilbert. Take your pick. And second off, that one, right there? That's Francis. He's quite the pervert - 'm pretty sure it's what got him in here in the first place - So for sake of your sanity, just tell him to keep his hands above the table at all costs. Don't be afraid to use force if necessary."

Without giving the blonde a chance to squeak out an 'alright' or a 'thank you', Gilbert placed a hearty pat on the small of Matthew's back that caused the Canadian to squeak out something unintelligable, which in turn only caused Gilbert to laugh. "And enough about that one! C'mon! We've got plenty more of the place to go through!"