"Drake Holloway," he answers easily, moving forward without any hesitation or fear of the more powerful stranger sitting beneath where he's setting his things down. It's not like Drake isn't formidable looking himself, but he's fairly certain this man could kill him on a whim and without breaking a sweat.

It's alright. It's prison, he knew what he was getting into. Still no regrets.

"What should I call you?" Surely he doesn't call himself what the guards were... although Drake can kind of see where it comes from now, with the scars and the shark tattooed on the man's chest. He goes about making his bed to prison standard, not looking back at the other prisoner in case that's interpreted as staring.