[ Heinrix's jaw clenched, a tightening that wound up to his eyes, and brow. The way he almost drew himself up and tighter, from just the sound of the Xenos's voice. He would not betray the Rogue Trader, of course, for they had asked him to allow the useful tools to remain intact, but there was a part of him that did not see the use in Marazhai in the same way that he did Yrliet. At least the Eredar had some value, but the Drukhari only lived and reveled in violence and suffering.

But here he was, trying to make sense of it, he supposed. Sense of the fact that Marazhai was still here and not in the hands of the Inquisition, which would have made so much more sense that it made his limbs tremble with the need to take him and pull the Drukhari apart piece by piece, and let that mad cackle fade.

His eye twitched, and his lips compressed. ]

I certainly doubt that I am anything close to a favorite, given how the Rogue Trader treats you.

[ He said, his tone clipped, and short. Oh, but who else could control him? ]

I want to understand. [ He lied. ]

Why it is that a Drukhari is still aboard the ship, unmolested, and allowed to roam the lower decks freely.

[ Did Heinrix particularly care about those who lived in the bowels of the ship? Not really, but he didn't wish them ill, either, and Marazhai was a distinct ill. ]