So....they had a Tribal now too. This job was going to be an extra special sort of fun. He didn't mind Tribals, himself, hell, he prefered their company most days to a lot of the civlized folk of the wastes. They made their views clear, they rarely resorted to deciet, and they were dependable to a fault. The psychos like the White Legs and 80s were the exception rather than the rule. The problem was that those psychos were the Tribals that got talked about most. That might cause some trouble with such a mixed group. He'd probably have to keep a hand near one of his guns, just in case.

The Cajun nodded over to Ra'tara politely, taking a seat in an old red leather chair and trying to make himself comfortable in the 200 year old piece of furniture. He didn't recognize him by tribe, but he figured that he had to be from one of the warrior-hunter bunches, probably a lot like the Dead Horses or the Singing Bears.

"Good day t'ya, hun'er. Spirits' trea'in' ya well, look like. Called Henri Delacroix. Singin' Bears call me Scouts-Many-Marshes, too." He didn't know if this guy knew of the Singing Bears, but with Tribals it never hurt to express your multiculturalism, least in his experience.