"Politician. Makes sense. You talk like one." Fancy, his neighbors from low town would've called it. Andyr isn't quiet sure if that sits well with him, even though the man's apparently from a kinder world than his. Humans are still humans, aren't they? And politicians are still manipulative by nature of the job, right? What person in power isn't? You give someone authority over another life and the rest start blurring together.

Again, narrow-minded. He has categories he sorts people into, but he's been speaking with this man for longer than he does most any stranger, these days. Learned about his grandchildren, about his home. It's a bit more complicated, and Andyr's not sure he likes that. Everything on the Moira is a bit more complicated.

"Not really much else to do, 'side from counting ceiling panels." A beat, and he blinks, adding on shortly after - "37. Ceiling panels in my room. 153 tiles on the floor."

But that's not completely true; the part about not much else to do, not the tiles. He could fight less, take compromises. Comply with operations to get some time out of his cell, visit the other Houses maybe, talk to people. It's more a case of dignity. Of being able to say I fought for me, when no one else would.