Firefly Ravine rusted

Buchanan was not comfortable in the presence of many. He was prickly, standoffish, and in some cases hostile towards strangers: a deep seeded influence of The Officer that he would never be able to reprogram out of himself. He was working on it with the help of the Marauder wolves ...even if they didn't even know they were helping him out. Like everything else, it was a slow process for him. He wouldn't change over night, magically, just because he'd kind of settled down. He might never change (which definitely a possibility). For now, all strangers not apart of Marauder's Keep were met with the same caution: standoffish, tense, because despite himself Buchanan was always ready for a fight. He didn't want one but he was prepared for one nevertheless.

She responded to his greeting, her voice accented and cracked. He studied her more closely as she looked down and away from his briefly, only to cant his head ever so slightly to the side when her gaze rested back upon him again. She offered him nothing else, though. Just a return of his greeting. Perhaps he had misinterpreted her intention when he'd noticed her approach? It was possible. After all, the assassin wasn't the most adept at social conventions. Despite his curiosity, he too, did not speak, sticking to the assumption that if she wanted something from him she would tell him as such.