[ he looks her over, not in a lecherous way that most indecent men would, but in a loose gaze that's meant more to observe, to stitch together details to paint a picture of what the situation is. not that it takes much, since even before she answers his question, he can guess that she's new, with another wandering look to the room behind her revealing the same similar appearance that it has to his own — seemingly lived in but only in the way of setting it up to appear that way by the controllers that be in this place, whoever they really are, along with the disorderly pile of sheets that suggest a recent scramble out of it. he follows her curious look along the hall — her paranoid eyes tell him it's the first time she's seeing it, unsure of what she might run into. not a panic scared but a cautious one.

maybe he picked the wrong term to describe this place, even if it thinks it's a pretty fair descriptor. ]

Doubt it. Wouldn't be in this body if I was.

[ it might be something that only makes sense to the kind of people that come from his world, which she probably isn't from; when she'd turned her head to look down the hall, hair split into two pigtails — no cortical stack scar on her nape. best to keep it simple then, stepping towards the wall to the opposite side of her door, leaning his tall back against it. ]

I'm saying a bunch of seemingly rich assholes plucked us from wherever the hell we came from and brought us here. No motive, no explanation — we're just here with shitty hangovers and daily brunch. Not the worst prison but doubt it's a pleasure cruise.