For the second time in one day, Hadver finds himself awoken by a gentle thud. This occurrence, however, he finds a constant stillness afterwards. Beneath him also rests a quasi-comfortable padding. It almost feels as if he is lying upon a pliable cardboard box. Almost instantly he knows where he is.

He doesn't even need to open his eyes.

He knows.

A cell...

He takes a deep, unpleasant gulp of the dry air then opens his eyes. As expected, he is greeted by almost complete darkness – say for a light that radiates in from over his head. Whatever the source may be, it is nowhere near him. And it is not meant for him. Yet it does allow him some insight to his world.

Just barely can he make out the thick, metal rails of the bunk above him and just barely can he make out the tattered, ill-kept innards of a decaying mattress that hang from their natural container. He takes a second, long drag on the air before calmly sitting upright.

Sadly, a surge of discomfort and soreness ripples through his rattled brain and manifests upon his swollen jaw. He puts pressure on his temples, but this headache is not going to be quelled so easily. It is at this moment where Hadver actually finds himself grateful for the lack of light. This is almost worse than when he discovered dwarven rum. That week is still a blur…

"Haddy!"

Brin's shrill voice plucks a sensitive nerve within Hadver's brain and he jumps uncontrollably. A gentle smack echoes as the poor man's head collides with the bunk above. A moment passes before he settles back in his spot. It takes equally as long for the pain to spread to the back of his brain and oscillate to the front.

Fully tormented, poor Hadver swings his legs over the side of the bunk, squints in dire attempts to avert the pain, and glares at Brin. The little nuisance sits with legs flooded against a set of bars. A gentle light, the same noticed before, christens half the boy's body while the other is left in the shadows. He looks quite ominous with his sheen. Well, he would, if Hadver knew he wasn't so simple.

"Brin," Hadver manages to emit through the pain, "did I mention how much I hate you?"

Brin grunts, "Haddy, do you know what your problem is?"

"I spend my time with you?"

"Of course not, silly," He chuckles. "It's that you are always so angry."

"Oh, is that right? Are you a doctor now?"

Brin takes a moment to think about that before replying, "I always wanted to be a doctor, actually. Except, I was never good at fixing people after I broke them—"

"Brin, that wasn't a serious question…"

A blank look sweeps Brin's face. "Then why ask it, Haddy? Why ask it?"

Hadver cocks his eyebrow. He is perplexed on daft this boy can actually be. "Brin, it's called a rhetorical question. You—"

"Excuse me? Don't use that kind of language when ladies are present!"

Brin stares angrily at Hadver. Hadver stares with utter bewilderment at Brin. The two gaze awkwardly at each other for a couple moments before Brin suddenly breaks eye contact to peer at the light. The rage washes from his face – as if the illumination is some sort of cleansing force. He frowns and shakes his head in disgust.

"Even Fatty is a lady, Hadver. Even Fatty."

Hadver cannot help but bite on those words and he twists. Instantly the light slaps him as if a fouled concubine and he winces in pain. His vision is skewed for a moment, but it all focuses in a matter of seconds. Before him stand three outlined figures that face him and Brin, but keep their faces downward. They huddle beneath a large, hanging lamp and peer down at what he believes to be a table. Either they are looking over some sort of document or that is simply the most fascinating piece of furniture ever made. He cannot imagine.

The one in the middle stands taller than the other two, yet they all seem to hold themselves in the same manner. Given their rather curvy silhouettes and their postures it doesn't take Hadver long to realize that they are women. And, if his guess is right, the tall one is also the same wench. The one he would like to hit; hit with something blunt and heavy.

Yet he knows that is a waste of time. It shall simply suffice to stare at them. Bending over. At their table. That's what he will do. Just stare. He and Brin will simply…anaylze them fully.

And while the two, well-mannered gentlemen gawk with sundered maw, one of them suddenly finds himself a bit perplexed. No matter how hard Hadver stares at them or at their surroundings he cannot figure it out. Maybe Brin has simply lost his mind. Maybe…

Hadver frowns and inquisitively asks, "Brin?"

A moment of silence passes, "Yes, Haddy?"

Another moment of silence, "Have you lost your mind?"

"Um. No?"

"Well, then how do you explain your imaginary friend, Fatty?"

Brin snorts, "Haddy, you are just blind. A blind and simple man." He extends his arm through the bars and points. As if that is going to help. "See, Haddy, that is Fatty."

Hadver squints, "There are just three elves, Brin. Three, fine elves."

"Three? Haddy, you need to get your eyes checked."

"What?" Haddy breaks contact with his eye candy to glare at Brin. "Did you forget how to count, Salami Boy?"

"No, silly." Brin chuckles with a touch of arrogance. "There are two delicious elves and Fatty. You know. The one that smacked you up and down undignified street like a sissy."

"Undignified? Who taught – wait." Hadver instantly turns to stare at the taller woman. He scans her head to toe, but he doesn't see it. "Brin. Why the hell are you calling her Fatty?"

"Why?" He wags his arms through the bars. "Look at her. Her thighs are too meaty. Her ankles are huge. Her hips are way too wide and will you look at her butt? Huge, Haddy. Disgusting."

Hadver would normally smack the boy, but such sudden movement would stir the headache. And he doesn't want that.

"Brin," Hadver calmly, smoothly replies. "That is what we normal people like to call a healthy rearend. It's only fat to you sickeningly skinny elves."

"I know, right?" Brin says. "I bet you cannot count her ribs while standing either."

"And I bet you couldn't pick a pretty woman from a line up."

"Hey!"

Both turn and continue their little argument. The two feud with each, blissfully unaware of this room's design. For the three women positioned themselves, as they have time and time before, in the perfect standing for the acoustics to work in their favor. So much so that they can hear each and every word the men speak. Perfectly. Of course, the ladies have no intention of stopping them. Not now, anyway. It simply makes it all that much better...