Saturday is giving him a look of flat disappointment. "The mouse. Could you try a little harder? Or the natives will get restless."

Indeed, they already are. There are shifts and murmurs among the drones, and a sense of frowning. Saturday runs a hand through her hair, dislodging a small cloud of plaster dust, and sighs.

"Look, if not lying matters that much to you - the point of this is getting to know each other. They won't be happy or let us go until they're convinced we've done that. So you know, let's try and make that happen and then we can both get out of here."

She's not looking forward to it either; she remembers him, very clearly, and his complete inability to process "humour" or "people having different coping methods" or "no one actually gives a shit what you think of them."

"To that end," she puts on her peppiest, boosteriest smile, only somewhat because it's likely to annoy him, and twists her voice into a chirp. "Oh, a boyfriend? That's so sweet, how'd you two meet? Is he working here with you?"