Art grinned as he was plopped down on the bench of the processing room. His clothes were tousled — though they always were — and a bit of blood was dried on his bottom lip. He didn't seem all too bothered to be going to jail for the night. It wasn't like he was drunk enough to not know, either. He was, unfortunately, pretty damn sober.

He was only mildly inconvenienced, really. Sure, he'd punched a guy, but it wasn't like they were all that hurt. Them going to the hospital was dramatic; at worst, they had a busted lip or a broken nose. Big baby.

“Yer dramatic,” he snickered, leaning his head back. “Tha’ bastard deserved a little beatin. You saw the pin, didn’tcha?”