[ This man holds himself different than the rest. Carmilla tilts her chin up in appraisal, like he's a piece of meat and she's trying to determine his worth before he opens his lips. Come to find out, he may be on the right track to it - she gives a sweet little laugh behind her hand. It's hard to tell whether it's because she agrees or whether she truly thinks what he said, that speckle of truth, is funny or not. ]

It's what they always say.

[ She settles on, once her laugh dies down and her hand leaves her lips to linger at her side. Her nails trace the cold iron of the bars separating them ever so slightly. ]

You truly don't look like you belong here. [ She ventures. ] In fact, you look like you'd be used to interrogating the prisoners on their worth.