Ah, isn't this familiar? A dreary cell, the dull throb of a bruised temple and a split lip, and nothing but the company of listless, passed out drunks. Well - all right. That last one, not so much. In his last cell, there wasn't any company, and he certainly didn't have half the view. Those bars look practically wide enough for him to slip through, though he hasn't tried, yet. That could be foolish without a plan, first.

Though what, exactly, he's waiting for he couldn't say, until he happens to catch the wandering eye of the stranger across the little block of cells. Not passed out, maybe even sober - he might even be up for a chat.

"Come here often?" Anders asks, a cheerful sally, though the grin that tugs at his busted lip stings, as he lifts his head from where he was resting it against the blessedly cool wall.