[i]Prince Pox.[/i] 

Pox's beak seemed to perk up, twisting this way and that like a flamingo amongst it's flock.  There was an almost robotic motion to it, a hyper awareness that he didn't respond to until he realized it was just a response, an endearing term.  He went back to his normal procedure of day dreaming about having a pet for his needs.

[@Lyla]

It was Nanami's calling out to him, thanking him for the water that Pox made sure to respond to her.  He lowered his mask, reaching up to his brimmed headpiece and giving a tasteful 'Tip o the hat'  [Color=green]"You may not see it, but I'm smiling quite widely.  Thank you for that Mistress Nanami."[/color]  Of everyone, new recruits such as himself and those established in the company, she was perhaps most interesting to him.  He saw a fellow intellectual with her constantly reading books and sophistication.  The learned are quite rare these days.  Surely she was this company's grand strategist or sage of knowledge.  She also seemed to not mind his looks so much, always a rare treat.  He had not remembered the last smile flashed his way.  Before letting the moment pass, he spoke out to her on happier things.  [Color=green]"I've documented quite a few strange things I've no knowledge of.  Perhaps on this missions completion you could enlighten me?[/color]

This train of thought actually led him to remember a few things.  There's quite a many in the company, and it was his sole purpose to be sure that they were minding their health.  He knew many a tough soldier ignore their health only to be laid out for Pox to fan, repeating I told you so.  He kept his blanket, pack, and shade there as he took his skins.  Figured he just trade them out with the others and just refill the empty ones.  Pox always drank from a tin cup he kept anyway, easier for the beak and the straw within to drink from.  He scampered to his feet.  Bet or not he had work to do, and Stephan could deny his potions away for solid coin.  It'd be a fun little argument back out on the open rode he figured.  He was in, he was in.  

[Color=green]"Whelp.  Time to see if I have to be a mother hen."[/color]  He would have to start outwards and work in.

[@HowlsOfWinter]

Octavia, whom was quite quieter than the rest was not acclimating well.  The redness of her face and paleness of her skin was a bit concerning.  He actually crouched low to see. Thankfully her breath was normal and not shallow.  She was just snoozing it seems.  Good idea, considering the walk in store.  He remembered back to his inventory, he didn't have much ice breath left.  And he had to selfishly keep that for himself, lest he be the heat casualty sooner rather than later.   

His opinion of her was pretty simplistic.  He caught her glancing at him from time to time, but he didn't know if it was from open disdain like he could on occasion detect from Jenramo, or the messages proceeded him.  He defaulted to the least accusatory opinion.  She was probably shy.  As shy as essentially a mercenary could probably be, but shes supposedly new too just like.  She'll open up.  The motion made his beak titter back and forth, but he dared not a word to disturb her.  Maybe another conversation for the road and then she'd be with the rest of them arguing about stupid and morbid stuff.  Pox didn't like how small her hat was and wished she had some kind of pitch tent like he did, but he also didn't want to disrupt her sleep her either.  He could only just leave her a full water skin and hope she would get the hint before moving on with his self imposed chore.  

[@Athol]

Approaching back towards the center of the camp, the whispers on the wind began to have a rather haunting melody to them, it made Pox stop, studying yet another of his new companions.  Was that coming from [i]her[/i]?

Pox had to admit that he felt a little intimidated by Yui.  He had worked with soldiers before but she brings a whole new shine on the word overkill, or so he could imagine.  Really pegs the confident, monster hunter aesthetic complete with one of those unique black powder rifles.  The soft little 'twang' of a crossbow didn't compete against such a weapon.  The stories she must have though.  He always wanted to ask her if it was the same type he used to ignite his Garda Egg bombs but the situation never really came up.

He stood out and would easily be caught listening if she even bothered to look.  He couldn't help it.  It was one of those melodies you had to listen to because you try to place it to something you heard before but fail to get it just right.  He just stood there, the water skins dangling in his arms.  Again interrupting something that could be considered stress relief was just something he wasn't conditioned to do in the lighter circumstances.

He appreciated the cast of characters in moments like this, like colors of meadow or paints upon a canvas.  It almost felt more real then the droves you'll find in the cities.