[center][h3][b][i][color=b8860b]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h3][/center]
[b][center][color=b8860b]Location:[/color] Road North of Salarn, one day out[/center][/b][b][center][color=b8860b]Interacting With:[/color] The Medieval X-Men [/center][/b]

The quiet conversation between Ranger and Pugilist quickly escalated into a public admonishment of his advice. A look of confusion struck Keystone's features, if only for a second, before being replaced by weary annoyance. In his mind, this was supposed to be a working conversation between professional warriors. It would seem that this was not a shared take on the situation. 

Perhaps it was his delivery she found unacceptable. Wouldn't be the first time. 

Sadly, the point of his query remained unaddressed. Keystone decided not to press the issue; barring catastrophic failure of some kind they would soon arrive at the next town over, completing his contract with the group. Until then, he would remain a pillar of professional stoicism in the presence of their squad commander. He was a fighter. This was a bread-and-butter job. This is what Keystone did for a living. He had gotten too casual with his peers, is all. That tiny oversight could be corrected. 

Still, he was a little sad to switch back purely to "business mode". After weeks of travel, long enough for the climate of his surroundings to have changed, he was hoping to have more of a social experience. It could wait, he reasoned, until after their job was done. 

He was Keystone. This is where his reputation lay. (That and the other stuff, anyway.)

A good point was raised by Kyra, however: He was preparing a meal with a distinctive, non-forest odor. While the smell of smoke would carry far under the denser canopy above, farther than the savory aroma of sizzling sausages, anyone nearby would recognize this as such, prompting attention. He made a note of the observation in one of his books, and returned to his duties. Damage was done for tonight, at least until a heavy wind swept through the area. May as well keep cooking. 

Keystone smiled at Ash and tossed him a tuber slathered in sausage grease. He liked dogs. Even big ones. Even if they weren't really dogs. 

When the Dire Wolf's ears perked up, Keystone got back on the clock. Battle lines were drawn, and their squad leader gave orders. Unfortunately, his order was to [color=a187be]"...guard the food"[/color]. Whether it was intended as such or not, activities just prior made him strongly suspect that this was a personal jab. Keystone's face reflected his suspicion, with "Really?" being the unspoken message. 

He nodded and extended two fingers upward. A reflexive insulting gesture, from where he hailed. Nonetheless, he threw his hood up and assumed a high fighter's stance with his hands empty and nearly closed before him. Keystone peered forward into the gloom, his only human eyes not optimally suited for nocturnal combat. His ears, however, were focused elsewhere - scanning for evidence of anyone else lurking about in the bush around them.