The nonplussed look he made when he'd originally been offered the blanket returns for an encore more vibrant than the first. Instinctively the mercenary tries to duck away from the gesture now manifested physically, but he fails and is not the worse for it. The handcuffs would have made getting comfortable in it a challenge, anyway. Now that he is cloaked in dry fabric, he quells any sign of resistance, shuffling over to the back of the cell where shadows overwhelm the dingy light.

"Once we exhaust our use to them, then they might dispose of us," he suggests coldly with the linger of one final chatter breaking into those words. "Or maybe they intend to use us in ways that make us wish they starved us here instead..."