[BlueInTheShell]

Waltz latched onto the bread with a clumsy attempt at being dainty, looking at the bit of bread and stuffing her face with reckless abandon. Smacking her lips and brushing crumbs off of her chest, the Barbarian raised a brow and itched her backside; the woman adjusting her rear and shifting her weight from one side to the other. "It's not meat, but ah like the bread. Tastes like goodness and farms. If that makes sense." She beamed, eyes moving over towards the younger two. "Ah wish ah still had the same innocence those two have too. Ah miss being so naive. Ah wanna see the world anew again sometimes, yeah? And then bash everything like ah did the first time." Waltz added in, snickering and looking to the halfling. "...Yah might wanna step a bit back. This sword doesn't like magic. And Ah don't want it hurting you, but ah gotta clean it or he gets pissier than a starving owlbear."

With the song ending, Waltz wriggled in place. It was a somber song, but then again, there was little to have joy in when it came to the matters in the North. It was a struggle for live in such a frozen rock, and even the slightest error could have been fatal. Waltz, snorted. It was probably why everyone was so bitter and accepting of fate up there. Unlocking the magic blade at her lap, the woman pulled out the gleaming blade; and beginning to polish it - The woman immune to the fact when the blade was drawn, the sword let out an almost overwhelming, palpable aura of fury and rage for the magic-wielders in the area; Waltz humming like a loon and giving the sword a small bit of polish.

Scowling and muttering under his breath, Christoval began to rummage through his own pack, pulling out a meal ration and splitting it open; the younger knight breaking a chunk of tack biscuit and stuffing it into his mouth. When you don't have anything nice to say, just stuff your mouth with food. He could hear his mother's lecturing about people like Percival in his head, and while the man was both an elder, and the party's sole healer, there was something about him that didn't stick with Christoval. Healers aren't normally this...This haggardly, right?

Wisp glowered at Percival, brushing a tuft of onyx hair behind pallid ears as she snapped her fingers; a set of spectral, purple-hued shackles emerging in her hands. Just a bit of show of course, but each excuse sputtering out of the healer's mouth was another minute Wisp thought about plunging something sharp into both of them as a lesson. Zero Tolerance. "You think I care about who started this whole argument? The boy is simply looking out for everyone, including yourself. If you weren't so enamored with poisoning your liver, you would see that." Taking the flask, Wisp raised a brow at Percival, and unstopped the Flask, taking a few drops and rubbing it in the back of her mouth. "...I have a sore tooth. I'm numbing it, and he knows that." She spat back at Percival, capping the flask and shoving it back towards the healer. "Continue being so sour, and you'll have to tend to a very upset Dark Mage. I'll keep Christoval from you if needed. But your mood is irritating. Stop it."