[It's as tolerable as imprisonment can be. Yuan finds himself increasingly and intensely with little to do but examine his own thoughts. He's not much pleased with any of the options, or with the stillness, and so those times when they are let out for brief spats of exercise are, lamentably, something of a highlight.]

[He does wish he understood exactly why the staring keeps happening. He's noted it at almost every opportunity Tethe'allans have opportunity to lay eyes on them, and it doesn't make much sense, because the one thing he can ascertain is that the faint whispering doesn't seem to be about his race. It's just... there.]

[Which is almost worse, because he doesn't understand it. Curiosity and discontent settle in like a pair of well-worn itches, to the point that eventually when Kratos meets him one one such walk -- it happens, now and then, but conversation tends to the awkward -- Yuan cannot help but ask.]

Why in all the hells am I still getting so many stares?

[... in retrospect, he could be more diplomatic; but it's confusion that bursts out, not anger.]