An angry drow is the last thing anyone should want to put in a little room. Luckily, he'd made a promise that he wouldn't immediately try to kill anyone else if things didn't go his way. His first instinct is to try and liminally recreate his swords that had been left behind, but instead makes the attempt at a coiled whip instead. He knows by now that people are being whisked away for intimate conversations with their captors. So far he's heard of nothing dangerous, but drow are nothing if not paranoid.

As a father his worry is more for his son then himself. Not only Drizzt anymore, surprisingly enough. His mind often trails towards Elphaba, even moreso now since the mistake in identity nearly cost her life. The thought of losing her had... hurt.

Tugging his hood down over his face to shield his sensitive eyes from the lanterns, he slowly moves to approach the roses, eying what he can of the odd chairs.