The corner of Number 6's mouth tugs up into a smug grin.

"How about this?" He starts to tick off grievances on his fingertips, one by one, "I've been once-again stolen from my home and imprisoned in someone's idea of a holiday gone wrong; there is, apparently, some type of drug being regularly administered to me to make me unable to control what I say; and, lastly, there's no kettle in this cabin so I cannot even make myself a proper cup of tea." Talk about priorities.

"And now I am afflicted with this conversation on top of it."