Well, that wasn't quite the response that Jupiter had been expecting. He'd figured that things would stay on the same page: this fellow being annoying, and him being complacent. But here they were "sharing" a laugh (though he was unsure what the humanoid was laughing about, as he didn't really understand laughing, anyway; and their laughs hadn't overlapped much, either) and the first response intelligible response that he got was an apology.

Another reminder not to judge so quickly, then. Other creatures weren't always as straightforward as he had a tendency to assume that they would be. This one was obviously one of those; apparently troublemaking was not his sole ability.

Regardless, Jupiter's response seemed to have placed him within his new cellmate's good graces. This was good; that had been what he was aiming for. And they were able to immediately move on from the silliness of pets and whatever other smartness he may have been planning to use, right to the topic at hand. Interesting that he mentioned breathing fire. That seemed to be expected of him from most of those whom he'd met, for reasons that he could not fathom. Had they heard of his exploits in some twisted way? Breathing fire may have had the same results as his real "trick", but why that was the assumption instead of the obvious truth was beyond him. And in this case, it was not a falsehood that he wished to propagate.

"No, I do not breath fire. I breath light. The tube provides me with nutrition without providing me an atmosphere in which I can cause considerable damage to the facilities." He glanced at the bindings on the convict with what was possibly a raised eyebrow, and then returned his vision to his face. "I am glad that you can punch things. I suppose that you should have done so when they were restraining you."

He pulled his giant head away again, stretching one of his wings as much into view as he could in the cramped room. "I fly and think and sleep. Sadly I have been unable to do so in a while now. I am glad, though, that at least one of us is a fighter. We will require your life in the event." He put his wing back down, hoping to have made his point, and settled into a slightly-less uncomfortable position, crouched down over his legs with his wings folded behind him, keeping himself upright by propping his head against the wall over his chained buddy's head.

"If I understand correctly, the event will have us fighting all of the other convicts of this station, possibly others, until we are the only ones left, or until we die. It is a game of theirs. Their people in other stations watch it on the small screens and cheer while convicts kill each other." He had no opinion on the sport himself, except that it was perhaps a bit hypocritical that these creatures placed him in jail for killing their kind, and now wished for him to amuse them with more killing. "I am unsure if we can trust them, though I believe that the people who watch come to like those whom they cheer. Perhaps then these people ensure the safety of the victors?"

He paused to consider the last question. Was it not a bit morbid to ask such a question so soon? "If one part of the team dies, the other must fight on, but cannot win. The final match will be between the last two full teams. Everyone but the victor dies."

He tried out the fellow's name mentally, found it distasteful, and then tried the shortened version that he supplied. That was also no good. "I do not like 'Iral'. May I call you Pho? It is easier that way. I am called Jupiter."