It seemed from the look on Strelein's face that Trent's etiquette was not entirely proper, but since he was invited in nevertheless, Trent didn't mind much. He'd achieved the first step of what he was looking for, anyway, despite his poor social manners. Trent himself dangled somewhere at the bottom of the hierarchy, and deservedly so, and so he hoped that would've taken away some of the thought that he might be here simply to laugh in Strelein's face or take pity on him. Apparently not enoughly so, though.
After stepping in, and closing the door behind him after a few seconds of doubt (he wasn't sure what was proper in the world of doors), Trent watched as Strelein opened the curtains and touched the beautifully painted walls. It felt a little awkward as he began to speak, as though he was speaking to ghosts of the past rather than Trent. But what he said after that confirmed that he hadn't, after all.
Trent tried to wrap his mind around how to go about convincing Strelein that he wasn't here out of pity. He was, in part, although it was not so much pity for Strelein as for himself that drove him here. After all, he wanted to do something right. He thusly shook his head. "No... Uh, I just was kind of worried, I... guess?" He looked at Strelein, hoping that wouldn't come off as a cloaked version of pity. "Because of the things said at the meeting, and, uh... Yeah. I figured that you could use a friend." Trent offered a somewhat bashful smile, hoping that his words were genuine enough - because they were - for Strelein to accept the tentatively outstretched hand (well, figuratively, anyway) that Trent was offering.