"That poor boy," she says in the same loud voice, then checks herself, more because she doesn't want to draw attention to them than anything else - there would be few things worse for her than the front page of the tabloids detailing a spat between District Seven's Mentor and Escort. "That poor boy," she repeats in a whisper that's more of a hiss. "You don't want someone around, you call security. You don't lock them in the closet."