[He isn't going to spout off about this, not until he's thought it through a little more clearly. There's no knowing who's listening, no knowing who she is, even, and no way Ricki is going to commit himself on paper to thinking that this is a crock of shit and then have to fight to appear to have come around later on.

Instead it's just polite, thoughtful neutrality as he takes a few bracing sips of his drink, before setting into the food. His stomach is in knots, but he knows he needs to eat.

Four bites in and he's calm enough to ask;]

If you're a Warden, darling, I'm sure it can't be as bad as all that. Hardly whips and back breaking work lines, hm?

[And the food is sure as hell better than Changi.]