It's odd, the way he notices everything now. As if he hadn't noticed anything before. As Francis, in that faux-commander's tone details the perfections of Raju's uniform pride is glowing faintly in his chest, even though Francis isn't an authority of any kind, won't be reporting what's done well here to anyone. Not that anything's actually been done well at all. It's there even knowing this is a game. Feeling its warm glow makes Raju as uneasy as the uniform itself, but thankfully Francis is unhappy with him, and there's that instead to deal with. Or should he think of him as Crozier now, through whatever game it is Francis is playing? Or Captain?

Raju moves his gaze from Francis' face to the air in front of him. His fingers are curled tight at his sides, in the way they always were; the one at his thigh, the other holding his helmet in place, both likely to move and twitch and fidget unacceptably if he doesn't keep them clenched at least a little. And then the strategy of figuring out what to say: always a strategy when one of the ranking officers speaks to craft exactly the right response, regardless of how likely this particular line of inquiry would have been back then.

"It gives the men something to look up to," he says to the wall in front of him, his voice lower as it is in uniform, hard confidence filling out every syllable. "Captain."