[center][h1][b][i][u][colour=FB6222]Darmon[/colour][/u][/i][/b][/h1][/center]

Between the aches of his beating, the noise of the now rather crowded cell, and the ramblings of a few of his new ‘associates’ who seemed to have questionable touch with reality, Darmon found it had to follow the conversations. A few close by tried to talk, but he just shook his head and gave an apologetic shrug.

He pulled himself a little tighter as he looked about once more; this many folks so tightly packed was a recipe for disaster, and he could feel an underlying tension in the air. Clasping his hands together, he began to fiddle with the rings on his fingers, something he’d done ever since he was a child whenever he was nervous.