To think, a dandy like him, on his knees with his fingers in the dirt, slaving away tirelessly just to appease his so called betters. He's dragging his fingers through the loose soil, raking as he shoves handful after handful of it aside, renewing, planting, weeding, his body shifting with an odd flexibility with his tail rigid and snapped back irritated. He'd rather be doing anything else but work. At least make work fun.

His ears crane back to keep Joker's voice clear and concise, his body language one of ignorance despite how tirelessly he seems to be motivated to work and toil.

"It just means they have more creativity than the last round of those seeking to weed us out from the rest," he responds, his voice low and sensual even at his worst, "It's manipulation at its best, Joker. It's just a matter of what they want to do with us." Nothing short of what he would do at home. Nothing better or worse than how he would go about breaking someone down to their core.