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Of all those in the cell, only a few looked his way- and of those, only two bothered to answer his greeting. Kiffar was beginning to think these people would not be so sociable, and the yearning for his old cell had already begun... Though these ones, at least, didn't spew whatever insults came to their vile tongues without hesitation or filter! For Darmon, he had an appreciative nod, accepting the man's name, respecting the will to actually green him in turn. For Yarmira.... Well, when dealing with crazy people, special care must be taken, and Kiffar was nothing if not accommodating to those with particular needs! He resisted the urge to lean away in horror as the little treefling declared that she had used his corpse well, wondering at what horrors she foresaw in her mad premonitions of his death, only to see that she was comparing him to a Senche. That [b]almost[/b] made him scowl, stricken by the blatant racism, but it would do no good for a madwoman. 

Besides... She followed it so swiftly with flattery, and he did love flattery. He instead offered his best, toothiest grin. It was a horrifying sight, truly, an approximation of a smile ill suited to feline features. Why the many manthings and elfthings did not simply tip their ears and blink their eyes, he would never understand. For good measure, he extended a hand to pat her head, between the strange antlers that adorned her, ruffling her hair in a manner that probably came with some risk of whiplash. Divines, but he could probably pick her skull up like a yarn ball with those murder mittens!

[color=f7941d]"Kiffar is... Pleased this one has been so resourceful, yes? The treefling did very well. Kiffar is... Yes, Kiffar is here to help the treefling. But Kiffar must have dinner first, and the guardthings will bring the dinner Kiffar has asked for, with the little potatoes. Or else the guardthings will have to fix [b]two[/b] doors."[/color]

The last, he spoke over his shoulder, loudly enough to be clearly audible in the corridor even with all the chaos. Satisfied that his point was made, despite zero evidence to confirm it, he shuffled his shoulders contentedly and began the arduous task of pressing his way deeper into the cell, seeking a space he might have room to sit or curl up. Instead, he found himself thigh-to-face with a foppish man who seemed to be declaring himself the loin-lapping champion of his kind. Kiffar blinked lazily, leaning forward to stare straight down at poor Isai in confusion.

[color=f7941d]"This one... It flirts with the witch-woman? Kiffar thinks she will eat you, too, but her way will be much less fun than yours. Scoot, scoot, fancy man-thing. Kiffar will sit here, and the man thing will be scooted or be a cushion. Treefling! Darmon-Thing! Come, come, sit with Kiffar, tell him of why the many manthings and elfthings are here, while we watch the fancy one be eaten by the witch-woman."[/color]