"I think you mean I should adopt the theory that's most convenient for my fragile psyche," Prior huffs, his expression faltering into uncertainty for moment. He's been warned enough about the easy answer versus the correct answer, and tempting as it may be to take the easy answer, it's not always the most beneficial choice, particularly when it leads to such a deviance between what Billy can see and what he already knows. "Works for me." A lie, but for now, not the worst he can tell.

Giving in to the inevitable (for once without a grand amount of fuss), he finally offers out his hand in greeting. "Prior. Billy Prior."

Despite the way lieutenant is tempting to creep into the mix, he leaves the designation for another time and place. There's no King and Country here, and even if there were, he'd be pressed to admit his place in the military after all he's seen and experienced. One look of pity, to him, is every bit as awful as one look of contempt. Better to avoid the lot if he can help it, although standing around in early twentieth century regalia certainly does him no favors.