One day, he has a new visitor. She is at first welcome, or at least as welcome as he is willing to go, which admit ably is not much, even to a woman. They do not drag him out of his cell into the thick glass room that they do to meet Kaizuka, which is a relief. He feels so much better with the bars between him and the rest of the world, or whatever small part of it knows or cares he's here. He's starting to suspect that not many people do know. He expected to get a letter from Harklight's family at this point, cursing him and damning him to hell. He really wants that letter.

What he gets, is worse, though it is under the guise of something he does not recognize. The guards fidget as if it is a Thursday, which sets him on edge. He isn't in a good mood, not that he's ever in a good mood, but still. He's been fiddling with the plastic chess pieces at night, so that no one is suppose to notice. He's positive that they do know, but he's hoping that the night watchman is as useless as everyone complains he is. He doesn't want Kaizuka to know that he is even slightly interested in the set.

He is expecting Kaizuka. It is not what he expects, when a woman strolls into the prison, and seats herself in a chair outside of his cell. He is curled up on the bed when she does, and he glances at her as she sets herself up, and sits without any extra movements. She is young, but not as young as he is, and he is positive he has never met her before. He wonders if she is a new doctor, but it was odd for the guards to be so ill at ease about a doctor, so he has to wonder.

She glances over his cell for a while, looking over the books he has not touched, the one still discarded on the end of the cell, and the chess set. There isn't much else to look at. She frowns.

"Do you play?" She asks him, when her eyes settle on the chess set. Her voice is crisp, and clear.

He thinks about not answering her. She is in the military blues of the UFE, so he doesn't feel obligated to answer. But he can hear his father telling him to treat women with respect. He can feel Cruhteo back handing him for not being polite to the princess. His answer is actually involuntary; it's out of his mouth long before he's decided he's going to answer. He'd have to fight not to answer her. He sits up, as is proper. "No."

She doesn't seem surprised at his response, but the guards behind her do. They're blinking and looking at one another. Slaine never talks to them, he only screams at things -never people- or is entirely silent.

The woman wrinkles up her nose, and for a woman, it is a cute gesture. "Don't. He always wins. It's a waste of your time."

He doesn't know how to answer her, so he nods politely in acknowledgement. He would like to tell her that he already has plenty of time to waste, but he doesn't. That would be rude. Instead, he keeps his eyes trailed on the ground, only taking glances at her once in a while, and never looking directly at her. Around, down, to the side. Never right at her, and never above her. He knows how to keep his eyes down, and still see things; he's been rather good at it for a while.

She huffs, as if this is a trying affair for her. "Is there anything you want?"

No one has asked him that. Not once. He could ask for things, and his guess is he would probably get them, but he doesn't want anything. Even if he did want something, he isn't accustomed to getting what he asks for, or being indulged. "No."

She spares a glance at his small pile of books, and her scowl deepens. "I'll get you something you can actually read." She then shrugs, as if a thought has just hit her. "Or maybe you like quantum physics. You are Dr. Troyard's son. The layer of dust speaks for itself though."

He winces at his father's name, and wants to tell her that he's Slaine Saazbaum now, the son of a great, horrible man, not Slaine Troyard, son of a great, wonderful man. He doesn't, of course, but he wants to. Instead, he looks at her for just a few moments, and lets the conversation die. He notices that she also does not look at him. She looks everywhere else in the cell, but not at him. He doesn't know exactly why, but he has some pretty good guesses. She folds her arms in front of her, and cocks her head. "Is it always this quiet?"

"No. They've turned the TV off for you." His statement isn't false. Usually he can hear the TV wafting from the guard room, but today it is dead silent. There's just her not looking at him, and he not looking at her, and the guards, who are looking at each other, shifting from foot to foot. If there are other living souls in the compound, he doesn't know about them.

She looks around, obviously wondering if she had not noticed a television before; when she doesn't see it, her face scrunches up, before turning back towards his general direction. "You're allowed to watch TV then."

"No." He wonders if he should expand upon that, if it is the proper decision. He decides not to, then does it anyway. "The guards watch television." He remembers enjoying it when he was young: watching science programs with his father, enjoying Sunday morning cartoons on the weekend. He doesn't remember those things well anymore.

She shifts, and her arms, still crossed over her chest, shift with her. "Do you want to watch TV?"

"No." That is perhaps the easiest answer he has given her yet. He has no interest in the dribble that earth television provides. In fact, he isn't interested in television on any planet.

She is not happy. He can see it in the curve of her lips, the lines around her eyes, but she doesn't look at him. The woman turns her head, and looks over at one of the two guards, who snap to attention under her scrutiny -and it is scrutiny, she is displeased. "Is he always like this?"

The guards look between each other, as if they're sharing a private joke, and shake their heads. He can see the guard she isn't looking at mouth the word 'no' comically, before looking somewhere else. The guard she addressed is much more polite about the situation. "No, ma'am. Troyard hardly ever speaks. You've gotten more words out of him in the past ten minutes than I've heard in months."

From the partial view he has of her face, he can see her features darken. She turns back towards him, and checks her wrist watch. She tries not to make a disgruntled sound and fails. She turns back to the guard. "What does he usually do?"

The guards share another look, before the one she's looking at straightens up, and answers her. "Nothing, ma'am. He doesn't read the books, he doesn't talk, and he doesn't eat very often. He sleeps a lot." Three clumsy sentences, that's what his life is now. Maybe he should just sleep more.

The other guard looks sheepish, but opens his mouth none the less. "He likes music, ma'am." Slaine realizes far too late, that it is the guard who realized he liked the music. If he cared a whole lot about anything, he'd feel slighted.

The woman looks back at him, but still does not meet his eyes. "Do you like music?"

It seems like a dumb question. Everyone likes music. Even people on Mars like music, and they have horrible taste in just about everything. Even they have music, and they like it. It's one of the only things the poor there get. Of course he likes music. "No."

He's found that lying is actually quite easy, though he still doesn't like it very much.