The mustached tiefling bandit you know as Crumnley Woodwell rises to his feet, and scowls at the sight of your new home. "Fuck."
He thinks to himself for a moment, recollecting his thoughts, and sighs. "Look, I fucked. My research was bad, which probably cost us the heist. The be fair, however, how was I supposed to know that trolls would even read books, much less attend a book signing in a fucking raincoat?"
He turns to face the rest of you, looking somewhat puzzled. "Oh, Susan? I.." His words trail off for a moment, as he tries harder to think back. "You.. were you there with us even? I apologize if you were but I swear I don't remember you coming along with us. Hell, I don't even remember seeing you for.. two months maybe."
At that moment, you notice a wooden panel move in the stone flag-stone ceiling above you, and a television screen slowly lowers down in to your cell. It appears to be off.