"Food poisoning? That's a laugh," One of the mercenary's companions muttered. His voice was rather dry, even as he shifted a hat to cover his face. He seemed to lean his large frame against the back of the wagon, on the pretense of rest, but the others just ignored them as they took the deck of playing cards and began to deal in. When one of them asked the large man if he was in, a casual flick of his wrist made it clear he didn't want to play for now.

Drusilia didn't dare open her sight up to the winds of magic. She was afraid she'd go blind with the various auras that she could almost feel surrounding these men. Where before she had been an eager hunter, trying to destroy those who held onto magic, she knew she couldn't even get farther than halfway pulling one of her blades from its sheath before she would be dead. These were dangerous individuals, and while they joked, teased, and prodded each other, it was clear that they could have easily ground each other to dust.

And if that was the truth, what could they do to her?

It didn't take her long before she felt like an outsider, and so, grabbing her gear she moved to the front of the cart, sliding next to Godhand. At least she felt comfortable around the mercenary, even if he was rather crass. The view of the country side was nothing to talk about and so there wasn't much talking. Drusilia was merely observing her equipment, seeing how well the elves had done on it.

Like everything she had seen made by her technical cousins, the repairs were hardly noticeable. The only exception was the armor, which had been patched up, before matching leather spread anew over the chest. A soft sigh left her lips before she began to slide the armor on once more. When she snapped the last tie into place she felt a bit more protected, yet still exposed, still in danger.

"How do you deal with them?" Drusilia asked finally, before she unsheathed the long sword the mercenary had damaged. It was almost as if that incident had never happened, such was the work that went into repairing it.

"What do you mean?" Godhand's answer was a bit vexing, as she was sure he knew what she was asking.

"How do you deal with them?" She asked jerking a thumb in the back, "I've heard so many stories about them, and none of them even hint at being controllable, let alone friendly to anyone, well except for maybe one."

Godhand scratched his chin. Already there was stubble growing back. "Well, we all came up the hard way. We just understand each other, I guess."

She raised an eyebrow before she smirked, "Do I detect a hint of emotion there? Is the great Godhand Striker starting to crack that tough outer shell?"

"Is the great Godhand Striker going to have to smack a bitch?"

A bit of laughter escaped Drusilia's lips before she looked at the mercenary, "I won't lie, I missed this. It was torture moving through here alone. I can't help but think everything has this pervasive red haze about it, like the lands waiting to kill me. It’s a bit tough to deal with constantly, unless you have some kind of distraction..."

"See? I knew it. I grow on you. Like cancer."

She only shook her head before she said, "Well if that's the case, you'll kill me slowly, and I'd rather take a slow death than a quick one. Mind if I take a drag to calm my nerves?"