Pierre gazed at his cellmate, the Fisherman. Interesting name, he thought. It had a certain ring to it.
"Well," he began, finally managing to stop his hand from stroking his torn sleeve, "I would not necessarily call myself a pirate. I consider myself more as a... what do you Sirians call it? A 'jack of all trades'?"
He smiled a slightly nervous smile. The other man's openness had taken him quite by surprise and his curiosity, while seeming a little too blatant, also flattered him a bit. The man's attitude was definitely a nice change from the interrogator's.
"I smuggled when I got a chance to smuggle and pirated when I got a chance to pirate, vous voyez?"
He slowly leaned back against the cold metal wall of the cell, patting the mattress underneath him as he did so. He didn't remember the last time he had seen a bed in a Gallic prison.
"Sadly, I got caught this time. I wasn't going to harm the transport or its crew, but the naval pilots seemed to think otherwise." Pierre's smile became a bit broader and more earnest. "So here I am. At least the starscape provides a pleasant view."
He cocked his head a little bit, trying to get a different angle on his cellmate.
