Nevin's head was swimming as he tried to get his bearings. The 'gentleman' who had dumped him in this cell had not been particularly keen on avoiding trauma to his ‘unconscious’ cargo. While two men had been half-carrying, half-dragging him between them at the start, one of them had gotten tired of it and let go, leaving the other man with a suddenly much heavier burden.

This had prompted the other one to drop Nevin as well, and Nevin had dropped like a sack of potatoes to hit the ground. His head had still been ringing from the backhand blow that the unknown man had given him, but he had still tried to get up to his feet - any opportunity for escape - only to be met by a brutal blow to the side of his head with a club of some kind. Then another smashing foot caught him in the stomach, and Nevin had felt a surge of bile in the back of his throat.

The short, callous exchange had taken maybe a few seconds, and left Nevin utterly dazed, but still semi-conscious. There had been a brief ‘argument’ about which of the two would finish carrying him to the cell, which he vaguely thought was won by the crook who had the club - something about not going near the bitch who’d given him the rot made him especially vicious. So the kicker had grudgingly started dragging Nevin again, now by the feet, down the stone corridors. The captured alchemist tried to keep his head from hitting the ground too much, but he was already shaken and having trouble with thinking so he did not have much success.

There was a harsh sound of grating in his ears after a few moments of stillness, and he was dragged/thrown past where the sound had come from. There were muffled voices spitting at each other with vehemence, and Nevin could tell one was female, but his head was throbbing too much for him to figure anything else out beyond the fact that it was strangely familiar.

The other person in the cell seemed to be content to ignore him for now - which was a relief because he was still convinced that their captors thought Nevin would get eaten by this person, and anything that kept him alive in this situation was a good thing. That was when Nevin realized that his captors apparently thought him utterly incapable of escape - they had left him unbound, and with most of his clothes. Yes, they'd taken all of his gear, but they hadn’t even bothered handcuffing him.

He sat up - apparently they were convinced that this other person would kill him so they just did not care - and shook his head, ignoring the swelling on the side of his head as he started trying to peer through the darkness in the chamber he had been dumped into, looking to see if there was any other way of escape than the door that his captor had just left. It took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the dark, and the throbbing pain in the side of his head to drop enough for him not to hate the thought of opening his eyes.

“Nope, not on board with this.” He massaged the side of his head, trying to feel if he was developing a lump where the bastard with the club had clocked him. Nevin forced his way to his feet, pulling himself up with the cars of the cage, then looked back, trying to peer through the gloomy cell at his erstwhile cell mate. Hopefully they didn't decide to go for him now that he was on his feet - his was a shaky stability, completely reliant on holding himself up with the bars of the cell.