Casidey glanced at Laeris with a tight-lipped smirk for a moment after the older elf returned her volley. It had been a decent insult before he botched it up with his “recovery.” The fact that he had softened it to spare her feelings affronted her far more than any mere gibe could. Verbal fighting, even in jest, shared the same two basic rules as any kind of physical fight: 1.) Never throw a punch without being able to take one yourself and 2.) It’s inevitable that you’re going to get hit so expect it and make them pay. Casi followed the rules to the letter. Nevertheless, she was happy enough that she had gotten anything out of Laeris at all. Perhaps, she decided as she passed her cup over to Jakob, she would make it her personal vendetta to at least get a chuckle out of the stern soldier by the time their little cross-country trek was over and done with.

When their resident herbalist returned her dented mug she gave him an appreciative smile as she raised the concoction to her lips. Even though she wasn’t exactly a big tea drinker, Cas would readily admit that Jakob’s was among the best she had tasted. He seemed to have a gift for that sort of thing.

That was just about all that the thief had gleamed about him. He was odd to her. She had never really experienced anyone like him before and it made her a little more reserved towards him. The other two were much easier to decipher. Derek was a good ol’ boy, friendly and courteous with the ability to feel right at home with most any crowd. Laeris was your standard, battle hardened warrior who would much rather run a man through than have a leisurely chat. Casi had encountered both types enough times, even in the cesspits where she normally liked to linger and associate, to be able to have a good idea about them.

But Jakob was alien. He was aloof and constantly in some other realm that she apparently couldn’t glimpse. Mayhap he was just too deep for a girl who constantly wore her emotions pinned to the front of her shirt. She was, in fact, the only member of their little group that would willingly share her past. Tragic as they all might be, she supposed that hers was probably the least if she was so open about it. Casidey thought she was pretty well off, all things considered.

With one last swig Casi drained the rest of her tea and then stuffed her cup back into her pack in the most unorganized way she knew how; somehow it just always just seemed to work for her. She stood just after Jakob and brushed the dirt that she was sure had accumulated on the back of her pants off, careful not to swipe a hand over a one of her knives’ sharp edges. “You can keep your stories,” she told Jakob as she hopped once to readjust her bag’s shoulder straps into a more comfortable position, “I’d much rather have a bed and a good ale… or five.”

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