( double the hellos, and a little wave to boot; this is one of the more amicable responses Ben has received from someone in this place, so far. he nearly got himself stabbed one time. was called names for the other. he can't help but blink a little blankly.

but this confirms that the mirrors let them talk; Ben was about to start knocking on the fractured glass, an idea which rings with all sorts of terrible idea alarms, for obvious reasons. he only has so many bandaids in his briefcase. )

If there was, do you think I'd still be here? ( it registers only a 3.5 on the sassiness scale, nothing very shattering, especially not with the exasperated sigh, or how his hands go to roost on his waist. ) Astoundingly enough, there isn't even as much as a too-tiny air duct to taunt me with the idea of escape.

( Ben is trying not to fret too much about that thought, right there: is there no air flow? is oxygen limited? how long do they have before they suffocate to death? damn it, if only he had a measuring tape, he might be able to logic that concern out...

and likely suffocate to death by the time he got the estimation out.

flatly, and with not an ounce of amusement: ) Here's a fascinating, and likely useless riddle: how does one end up in a room with no way in, or out?