He will be fine. Just resting within the tents..
when he is awake, we will straighten this out.Â
  But being within a camp of mercenaries in the middle ages wasn’t exactly an ideal circumstance to be lying low in. Especially when your natural appearance, and the fact that you are a woman, was a natural call to attention.
Nonetheless, the affairs on the hilltop which took her young struggler captive led Rosie to follow close behind.. not that the mercenaries had much of a say in whether she followed or not. She may not have wielded an intimidating blade, but her willingness to stand her ground and the threat to fight otherwise was enough to persuade the group, obviously recovering from a battle loss at a fortress, to not pick another fight. They likely thought of her to be his mother or caretaker of some sort – for now, she would not clarify.Â
  Still, Rosie bears scavenged mismatching armor beneath her heavy red cloak, a chimera of poor quality as a not so great testament to her standing in all this. She wandered, she stood, then settled upon a barrel she thought would give her the best view in scouting her surroundings as her back pressed to a tent where Guts rest in the meantime. Even Orpheus, the dog sized bird of prey, hopped around and dug into unattended rations laying behind the barrel. When Rosie looked down at him, she inwardly sighed and rubbed her eyes. Yet another complaint she would likely hear… another reason for her to be disliked and distrusted, probably accused of stealing, or maybe haggled into working to repay the debt of her voracious familiar The woman is keenly aware of the curious eyes that pass her, her own face hidden well within the shadow of cloth but she studies each on-looker cautiously to take em into account.
Most were harmless.. well kept, kind natured albeit in desperate need of a shower. And battle-worn. Beyond that, they seemingly functioned as a reasonable group of hardworking people, rather then money hungry heathens. There were worse groups she could be stuck with.. The matter at hand remains, though; She needs to find a way home.
And make sense of the red string that seems lead her back to Guts.
Many may have walked past her, but the last thing she anticipated was someone brave enough to actually approach her without animosity. Rosie almost jumped slightly when Corkus’ voice broke her trail of thoughts, her shoulders squaring and her back straightening as her head whipped towards him with a look of surprise. Without her sunken eyes being obvious, her complexion was considerably youthful, paired with dark pink lips and noticeable smile lines when they tilted into a crooked, timid grin. Prominent fangs poked out of the corners, a jagged pink scar trailed up her cheek, and down the left side of her lip. Rosie debates the tone to take.. then decides to play along. She giggles like a maiden and acts coy, tugging her cloak closer for security,
Rosie chose her voice carefully, speaking higher in her throat than the usual deep maternal sound that came in her more relaxed state. She squirms bashfully upon to barrel, then works her way to face the man. Pulling her hood back just enough to expose her golden eyes into the light, her lips part just a little more to reveal those teeth in her act. Her lashes flutter as she looks the man from head to toe– he was probably similar to her own age. Closer than most, the ever arrogant warrior that used stature to woo the hearts of delicate young girls. Standing at 5′3 had its pros and cons when you forever looked small and cute. The feline pupils dilate and widen with wonder,
“ You look like a very strong man.. You could probably lift me and push me around with ease.. do you have a name, Mr.Warrior ?Â
You must have been fighting for so long here with this group.. probably very knowledgeable.. could you tell me more about where I am? Who you all are? ”Â
The woman was visibly startled by him approaching, but not scared, which he took as good sign. Indeed, she seemed to not mind conversation, giggling like a bashful village girl. Closer look at her, however, made him realize that despite this demeanor she was most likely not a local. Her face, while undeniably cute in features, bore a visible scar. That alone could mean she was a victim of war sometime in her past, like plenty at these difficult times, but a look at mismatched armour poking from under the cloak told a different tale. A woman warrior? The concept could probably make most people gape with astonishment. But not anybody in the Hawks. Corkus merely tilted his head intrigued; it seemed their Casca was less of a rarity than anyone thought.
However, the woman’s attitude was opposite of Casca’s stern seriousness. She sat there fluttering her lashes and smiling to show glinting... fangs? He blinked; must be a light trick, he decided, better not to think about it too much. The mercenary straightened and puffed his chest, pleased with the compliments and wanting to keep the impression .
“Well, you’re certainly not wrong about that, miss. The name’s Corkus, captain in the Band of the Hawk, the best mercenary band in whole of Midland, and you’re currently in our camp.” he boasted, showing around with a sweeping gesture. “A pretty lass is always a welcome guest, an’ if you need anythin’, well, you’ve found a right man. Ask away about anythin’ you want, while we wait for that friend of yours, wonder if I know him. Anyway, I don’t think I know you yet, so, what’s your name, pretty?” he asked as moved to lean his back on the tent next to her and crossed his arms in a casual pose, gotta keep the image going, and it was easier to chat that way.
“Say, you’re not a mercenary by chance, are you? Not everyday you see a woman in armour... well, I mean other than one of our commanders, but that’s beside the point, haha.” he ended with a small laugh, noticing he probably trailed off with that one.Â
