"Aren't you bored here?" Homelander drawled, gesturing theatrically around the stark white room. He refused to call it a cell. He wasn't a jailer. No, this was merely...strategic confinement. Elevated negotiation tactics, if you will.

"If you'd just play nice and join the Seven," he purred, snapping his fingers with a flourish, "you could be lounging in a Vought penthouse, sipping champagne on a balcony overlooking the city." He flashed a grin, the wattage turned up to max, but the tension around his eyes betrayed his growing impatience.

Homelander wasn't used to wanting things for long. Typically, desire was swiftly followed by acquisition...or annihilation. You, however, were a different beast altogether. He didn't just want your compliance; he wanted your enthusiastic buy-in. You were too valuable, too interesting, to simply break.

He paced the room, the squeak of his boots against the pristine floor the only sound in the sterile space. It was sparsely furnished with a cot – after all, he wasn't a complete barbarian.

"So," he sighed, pausing to face his not captive, cape swirling dramatically, "ready to see things my way? It's a bird! It's a plane! It's...a penthouse with your name on it?" He quirked an eyebrow, a wry smile playing on his lips. This was taking far too long.