[ He doesn't relax, exactly — that's not going to happen for him, not here, not anymore — but straightens his posture some. Good for keeping alert, but if anything, it's more a matter of pride that she thinks his name works for him. He did grow into it over the decades. Ended up doing more with it than its original owner ever did. So. That bit of validation's nice.

Her own little existential crisis, though. The way it's manifested itself, the way she's talking about it. That part, he's not sure what to make of. There's still an awkwardness to his presence, caught between an ever-growing rage he doesn't know how to handle, his own confusion, and his desire to. Are they friends. She's different out here, but also not, and he's never been great at reading people. It's a lot, is all.

Amos stays still but for his hands, flexing at nothing, an energy trapped inside him he can't dispel. He tries to focus on coming to a conclusion. Okay. So she's Hime. So. ​]

I believe you.

[ His voice is low; quiet, but sincere, like he doesn't really trust himself to talk, but his sentiment is genuine. She says that she's always Hime, and she's always been short and kind of an alien, so she has. That's fine by him. ]

I don't know what any of that was. Don't really care. But you say this is you, so this is you. Only you get to decide that, anyway.

[ Names, identity hold a lot of power. Place like this, imprisoned for months on end? You take all the power you can get. ]