Perhaps it wasn't a smart idea to be snarky to his cellmate. Or the guards. Or the king. He'd already gotten quite the beating, but he was determined to get his way, one way or another.

But this time he landed in the kitchen as punishment. Strange, considering he punched a guard in the face---like he'd done two times before. Each time he was beaten bloody; now he's in the kitchen! He's a man! He doesn't deserve to be cleaning dishes and mopping floors!

But he was here anyway, apron tied around his waist, and there was nothing he could do about it.

At least he had company, although he never bothered to remember their name. At some point, he got bored of talking to himself and caved, "What did you say your name was?"