James enters the mess directly after this half-naked kid and flips his cigarette away. He looks trough the room, notices the clear proofs of a figth. He sighs. "Hey Boss!" he calls Vlad, clearly the man who is in charge here "Your Punks are nothing but barking brats. Good luck making them into Soldiers, maybe you wouldn't even get them to become proper footman!" As he tries to grab a new cigarette he realizes that he run out of them. "Ah, shit!"