After being forced to take life, Argent was not feeling his best. However, the prospect of something to eat was enough to lure him back to Ferruccio's room, but not before he took a brief detour to the benches where breakfast was arrayed before he entered the arena. There were still some left overs around - though Argent wouldn't have eaten any of it, even if the code would allow him to - the food was not why Argent was there to begin with. Pretending to stretch, Argent spread his arms and walked rather stiffly in the general direction of a grate sat into the stone floor. When he got close enough, Argent rotated his head around on his neck until he could look right down it. At the very bottom of the grate was standing, murky water. Perfect.
Looking over the assortment of stale, rotten, small or otherwise unsatisfactory pieces of meat that had been left by the combatants before they went to their battles, Argent took a plate from a short stack at the side of the tables. He took a fork and knife from the pile next to the plates. Using the fork, Argent went down the benches and speared a few pieces of meat, pulling them onto his plate even as his stomach roiled. Finally, a pile of left overs stacked on his plate, Argent turned away from the tables and began to walk away, in the direction of the grate. Clutched in the hand holding the plate aloft was the knife, while the fork was stuck into the summit of the pile of meat, like a flag atop a hill.
When he was close enough, Argent purposefully tripped over his own feet. The monk went sprawling to the ground, the meat flying from his plate and pattering over towards the drain before falling through and splashing loudly into the water. His knees and elbows burned and Argent pulled himself into the fetal position, wheezing as if the air had been knocked from his lungs -- using this to hide his hands, as they slipped the knife into the waistband of his pants and arranged his shirt to hide it.
A moment later, Argent stood up, doing his best to appear dazed as he dusted off his black clothing. As soon as he was finished, Argent picked up his plate, an embarrassed look upon his face as his eyes searched around the ground for the knife he had lost. Then, a look of worry crossed his face and he called to a nearby Warden who was watching the table "Sir, I have lost my silverware - and breakfast - down the storm drain."
With a look on his face that said he could really care less about Argent's fall, he spoke back "So? Go get another plate if you really want this slop."
Looking down at the plate in his hands, Argent got a dejected look in his eyes as he went back to the table and sat it in the pile of dirty plates at the end "No thank you, sir, I seem to have lost my appetite." Without waiting for a response, Argent turned from the benches and went towards the doors that lead to his cell block. His breath came short and each second stretched on for hours, even as his footsteps fell in slow motion. The entire time, the monk was sure he was about to be discovered, that some small thing might alert the nearby warden, but Argent finally got through the door and into the cell blocks.
The moment the door closed behind him - hiding him from sight of the warden beside the bench - he let out a great breath and then gulped for more. By the essence. Argent thought to himself as he set out for his cell -- intending to deposit his contraband before meeting with Ferruccio and his new found friends.
