| During the entire trip, the Kid was restless. He did not belong in the calvacade of nobility. He should be on the northern front, waiting for the next incursion of Old Wicked's constantly probing fingers. But, he had his orders. And orders were followed.
Usually.
~~~
The Kid's mouth went agape at all the finery the Canon displayed. Such wealth was the vibrant dream of a former guttersnape like him, and he was oblivious to most everything else for a while---until he saw the food. Then, with little grace, he plopped himself down and started in with a plate of---well, a little of everything.
He had finished his first plate when he noticed the others sitting around him. He blushed, knowing that his lack of manners would probably disgrace the Furyondy officers. Abashed, he sat back, beginning to twirl his father's dagger in his left hand. It was a constant twitch---he did it when nervous. Or hungry. Or anxious. Or, well, whenever he wasn't doing anything else.
Smiling his nervous but innocent smile, he softly says "heya" to the folks gathered around before twirling the dagger faster. | 
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