He decided he would close his eyes and meditate, musing on the winds of magic and the ways of Mystra. It was an old trick apprentices learned. It was not meant to pass the time, but it served the purpose well enough. Gods, he wished he had a woman to pass the time instead, but it was like wishing for the moon, he thought. And then the last thing he could ever expect, happened. 

A mellifluous voice appeared out of the darkness, echoing gently in the deep. It was both lovely but high; an elven voice if he was not mistaken. He'd been lucky enough to hear a few before. Female, he realized. Then the words reached his mind, rather than just his ears, and he realized what she was saying. Disgusting? Yes the dungeon was positively dreadful. That he could agree with. However, the underdark caught him off guard. He could hardly see, but he blinked in surprise regardless. Peering into the gloom, following the voice with his eyes, he began to see twin indigo orbs in the dark looking directly at him. 

"By the nine hells and mystra's arse," he breathed, his blood running cold. No, a drow being here? That was impossible, he thought. A female drow as well. What sort of debacle drew such a dreaded creature in this underground jail? If the stories were true, they were even more dangerous than the men. Though she was speaking congenially, or at least in a way that spoke of a shared fate. If nothing else, this would make a fine story if he ever got out of here, and if not, it was another way to pass the time. Though this was not necessarily how he pictured doing so with a woman. 

He didn't know he was sitting in the same position, thinking extremely similar thoughts on just how uncomfortable he was. Truth be told, his ass had not felt so sore in a long time. 

"I've not made a habit to visit many dungeons, admittedly, but I do agree this one is quite disgusting." He said aloud. Malcador had always been blessed with good looks and a smooth voice, though evidently it had not served him well enough, or he might be out of this shit hole. He had been under the false impression a drow might have a predilection to a place like this, but this seemed to be a learning opportunity for him. "I won't ask why you're here, but am I remiss in guessing you've not been here long?" 

He let the question linger before inquiring. "And are you a dark elf? Because if so, that's the most interesting thing I've heard in weeks, beyond being thrown into this pit of destitution."

He did not have a plan on getting out of here, though he could pick locks. First he needed to find a suitable lockpick however, and somehow get it into his hands. He wondered if previously prepared spells could work in a warded space? He did not wish to try it immediately though. There was always a chance it could set off a beacon or alarm to whatever spellcaster had placed the wards. He did not wish to draw attention to himself so early in the game. Plus he was far too curious about his new jail companion. Even if she were just a surface elf, it was still a rather enticing prospect.