<div style="background-color:#353535; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><div style="text-align: justify;">"That could have gone worse," Mal said after a moment of quiet that was occasionally broken by hisses and sobs of pain from Blake. The half-a-broom had been removed rather forcefully by Mal and lay discarded by the door. The broom handle had left a nasty hole in his arm, but you couldn't see bone, and she took that as a good sign. Following the ruckus on the deck, Rog, or someone just as big as him, had grabbed both runts by the neck and thrown them inside what Mallory could only describe as Hell, except maybe less fiery. It was cramped, it stank, the rolling of the ship was even worse below the deck, and the boards were kind of wet and creaked more than she would have liked.<br/><br/>"I suppose we should be grateful that they didn't just chuck us overboard. We'd be swimming around in my puke," she added conversationally as she went for another fruitless search in the brig for some sort of wrapping for Blake's arm. Even if she acted like everything was all right, the red stain spreading from underneath Blake's broad hand and onto his shirt were beginning to worry her. Could you die from having a broom stuck in your arm?</div></div>