It's not all bad

Artisan was becoming tired of his cell, of peeing on delivery-wolves, of drinking barely enough to feel a buzz each day. His hunger strike had started out spiteful, but somehow had devolved into a strategy to get the most of his offerings of liquor. Pawsteps from outside his cell sounded again and Artisan glanced out the bars, waiting to see another stranger slip a tray beneath and to him so he might have his daily lot of booze.

This stranger was prettier then the others and younger too, but Artisan was distracted by the expectation of getting drunk sometime soon. "Breakfast? Did you forget the beer?" The wolf had a bowl of... something, but scenting the air he noticed no strong smell of alcohol. Had Artorias stopped sending them down with booze, to entice him to eat? His muzzle wrinkled in annoyance.

"Speech"