It's called being realistic, you conceited idiot. You have far too much hope in being friendly with him working out in the first place.

[ The irony is palpable here. He hasn't hear that term used except by himself months ago, but judging by the irritable look on his face, hearing it tossed back at him hit a sore spot. ]

Hmph. As if I'd hold my tongue normally, thinking it'd be smart to rely on him to get us out of here.

[ Unsurprisingly, he still looks plenty pissed off. ]

The best you'll get is that I won't acknowledge the pig if I don't have to, and even then I won't make any promises.