"Having my tongue stopped is bad enough," Alain says gravely, his broad forehead creasing into a frown. "What it's done to you sounds far worse. I'm only glad I didn't get the same." Then, with a little smile, "As for the smoke, I know it well. You'll know of my Escort, I'd guess? Jason Compson? The whole floor stinks of the herbal mess he smokes." He smiles a little, apparently light, but there's a hardness behind his eyes that's unusual for someone so mild. He hasn't come close to forgiving Jason for all that happened back when he arrived.