"Forgive me for spending the majority of my existence in a cage," he says, delivered perfectly evenly. Had this been a month ago it would have been accompanied by a spitting snarl.

Yay, he's gotten sleep.

So what if he sometimes, still, looks over his shoulder expecting to see the looming presence of his Father.

"'Conversation' was near-to nonexistent." And what he did have was issuing orders.

That isn't to say he now is terrible with conversation; he's just fine, especially if he's discovering the ins-and-outs of a person, how they tick, what they value, how he can crack them open with just words.

So this, here, is hoping she might just leave. But he has this funny feeling she's too damn stubborn for that.

"Doesn't ring a bell. Why?"