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Phoenix is well-versed in keeping his opinions to himself and his head down. In Umbrella - and most of the outfits he's cycled through since - being too good at your job got you noticed, and being noticed was never a good thing. The suits started to get ideas about you, and what you could do, and what you could do for them, and that turned into politics, and he wasn't interested in any of that.
It's not as easy to keep his head down in the BSAA, especially not with Redfield. The man seems genuine enough, almost ridiculously so, wearing his bleeding heart on his sleeve and working himself to the bone to save people that can't be saved. Phoenix keeps that assessment to himself; it won't do any good to say it. Redfield asks his thoughts, of which Phoenix has… varying amounts. He has plenty about missions, and how they can be run, how effective they are and how effective they could be, risk to personnel. The BSAA doesn't operate like he's used to, they care about casualties, and he's… learning. He's trying. It's strange, like a badly fitted uniform, but it's getting easier, to balance the need for a successful mission with minimizing casualties.
The personal opinions are harder. He hasn't had those in a long time, at least not that he remembers. He's sure he did, once; he knows he didn't simply come to be as a fully formed adult, or maybe he did. Who knew what Umbrella was capable of? But no, he has enough flickers of familiar-unfamiliar memories that he knows he was someone else once. It doesn't matter, even though Redfield personally promised him they would try to find out his identity. He doubts they will, if Umbrella didn't want him to exist, he would not exist in any capacity.
He's getting off-track. Personal opinions are difficult. They're subjective, and worse, they're dangerous, or they were, at one point. He'd had them, in his previous career; knowing who to avoid and whose ire to mitigate was a useful skill, but simply having opinions about people and things is bizarre. Why would he care what the cafeteria is serving for lunch? It's food, and frankly, better food than he's used to, so it doesn't matter to him whether they're serving turkey or beef, or whether the side is green beans or spinach. He is learning though, that talking about these opinions is important to the others for whatever reason, so he's decided that he likes the beef more than the turkey, and spinach more than green beans. It's entirely arbitrary, but it gets him nods of agreement and laughter, which feels… pleasant. It feels like he belongs. He'd never been a part of anything in Umbrella, or Tri-Cell. He'd been a leader, untouchable, HUNK, Mr. Death. Here, he's just Phoenix, who likes hamburgers and dogs and reading books.
Redfield asks him what music he likes while they're sparring - he likes sparring with Redfield, they're a similar weight class, and they're well matched in skill levels, so neither of them needs to hold back - and he doesn't know. He says so, and that gets a nod. There's no shock or scorn, which is… pleasant. Redfield has been understanding when it comes to the gaps in his knowledge, and he appreciates it.
They spar to the sounds of whatever CD Redfield had brought - he doesn't dislike it - and then afterwards, he heads to the showers. By the time he reaches his quarters, there's an email in his inbox with a list of artists for him to try out.
I'd like to hear your thoughts on these next time we see each other.
He grabs his notebook, his pen, and his headphones, and clicks on the first link.