Pierre looked at the man sitting in the corner of the cell in amazement. Unconsciously, he touched the torn sleeve of his suit. The guard's rough handling of the material as they dragged him here had made it even worse. Regaining his posture, he politely nodded his gratitude for the other man's offer to sit on the bed. He then carefully bent down, took off his shoes, and placed them beside the pair that was already standing by the door, before then proceeding to sit down on the mattress.
"Bonjour, monsieur," he said after a moment's pause in which he considered whether he should address the stranger in English or French. He chose the latter, as he considered a greeting in his somewhat heavily accented English to be almost impolite - an impression he of course did not want to make on someone who had so far been very courteous to him.
"My name is Pierre Duvier, may I know yours?" Pierre smiled at the other man. The Kusarian seemed to be as uncomfortable with the situation as he was. Again, his new habit of fondling his damaged suit returned as he expectantly awaited his cell-mate's reply.
