Fucksville's a hell of a drug. When it's not amplifying your aggression and rage tenfold, you're left with a world in slow motion and one hell of a high. As Grog dangled limply from the Mayancatec's shoulder, he casually examined his surroundings, since he had nothing better to do, and, well. It was sort of amusing seeing all of these emaciated and generally battered prisoners rioting. Grog really hoped they'd just start beating each other senseless, but alas, that was not the case. Deprave had began to rally the inmates, and started going on about conquering Earth and similar things. Well, he had pretty much all the aspects of a super-villain, so it made sense, despite being a totally dick move. As Grog's eyes darted around the gathering team, from the ambiguously psycho spirit, to the poor Mushroom crab who had the mother of all booboos, the kneeling Jon with the kid by his side caught his attention. Higher than a kite, all he could do was let loose a lazy giggle. He perked up as much as he could, made a finger-gun pointed at the visibly distressed knight, and twisted his head in a sort of upright manner, which [i]definitely[/i] did not seem good for the spine.

 "Eeey, Jon. Lookin' good man!"

 He immediately fell limp once again, his half-masked face slightly bouncing against Deprave's back. Grog's only remaining thought was rather simplistic. He should have a nice pint of beer. With that out of the way, he began giggling between gulps, that he somehow managed to down with the aid of a crumpled pink straw kept in his pocket, and narrowed his eyes, absolutely certain that he had forgotten something important.