[ Between the state of Flamebringer's busted looking wrist, and the blood all over his face, Ernesto can't help but wince a little. He's taken his fair share of lumps over the course of his life, but looking at Flamebringer right now still brings on a pang of sympathy pains.

Even the smile that follows that question is more of a grimace than anything, though there's another reason for that. ]

I guess if I got what was coming to me, then I'd be locked away for the better part of my life myself.

[ He turns his head a little to look at a couple of guards not standing too far away from them. He manages a smile that's a little closer to a real one, though it still looks kind of pained. ]

It might take me a little longer to find the humor in it though.

[ That it happened to either of them. Maybe he's just taking a page out of Miss Ch'en's book on this one, but he's not about to cast judgement.

What he is going to do is raise one of his arms so he can catch part of the sleeve of his cheaply made white gown between two of his canines. They're just sharp enough and pronounced enough to make it easy to catch the fabric, and rip it with a small jerk of his head. Letting the sleeve drop out of his mouth, he wiggles a finger into the newly made hole, and easily rips the majority of the sleeve right off.

There's enough fabric from it to wad up and make a second friendly offering to Flamebringer; this one seems like it might be more useful than the bread. ]

Here. I prefer my shirts sleeveless anyway.