It had been a long time since Alim had seen a woman fix her hair, and he found it oddly nice to watch. Her accent was appealing as well. Granted, he'd never seen or heard many Nords in his life. Most of his time had been spent in Hammefell, High Rock, and Cyrodiil. He was far too used to warm temperatures to go too far Northward. So in all honesty, Thyra was an odd curiosity to him. But not an unwelcome one. Alim had always been far too curious for his own good. 

It was a problem, but he lived with it. 

The young Redguard shrugged, but acquiesced and set himself down. "You'll find I'm very accustomed to things like that. You don't survive long at Skaven without learning to climb a few roofs. Commoners don't anyway." He breathed and shrugged, having crossed his arms, his tanned shoulders now pressed to the cage as he stared into the darkness of his own cell. Alim almost sounded wistful. 

He glanced over his shoulder at her when she commented harshly on the Imperials, giving a small smile despite himself. He should have known a Nord would feel such a way, and it was a refreshing realization. If nothing else, she'd be as much trouble to these bastard guards as he was. Speaking of trouble...he reached into his pocket as she spoke about food, producing an apple he has nabbed from one of the carts that had passed by yesterday. He had been saving it for a special occasion, but he was nothing if not soft at heart. 

"Here you go, girly," he said, rolling the apple down his arm and presenting it outside of his cage. Once it caught her eye, he'd toss it over to her. "They should bring food by shortly, so I'd finish it before they get here." He shook his head, hair swaying. "You won't die today, or within the week if you're like the rest of us. You know how Imperial are. They have paperwork for the rats that scurry around here, much less for our executions."