The shirt. Always the shirt, with this one. He managed a half-hearted smile, and answered her question.
"For some. For most." He wasn't exactly 'some' or 'most' of the population of Dune. He was something else. Had he his wish, he'd have returned to the life of the sietch -- that life he never had at all, but that he could still remember from his father's experiences. It had been a good life, a clean one, bereft of most of the ugliness hiding under the polished surfaces of the citadel's facade. "We don't have 'cakes' and candles are used for illumination only rarely." They were something of an oddity on Dune, with the heat of the place.
"I don't think I'd like to be 'even'," he said, trying desperately to stop talking about home. "And since it's clear that you're never going to stop asking --"
He grabbed the bottom edge of his t-shirt and tugged it over his head. Leto was not built like a Sardaukar trooper, but lithely. There was a great deal of strength to him, but it was lean and sleek, not obscenely showy.