[ He looks up at Bastien, a bit of frustration bubbling through his manner. Accelerated, perhaps, by this talk of embarrassment. Byerly, who's survived by licking boots and abasing himself endlessly, doesn't entirely understand what's so bad about being embarrassed. It's simply a way of life. If someone blew up every time it happened, then how would they make it this far in life?

But, the more relevant topic: ]

It's not that it's a lie. It's that it is who I am. I can't turn it off. Not without knowing that I need to, and it's not like she gives me any signal that's what she needs. She communicates like a cipher.