At least they're about at the church now, headed for bonfire square. It's not that far to the general store. The Soldier gives her a side-long look for the joke. (Damn right, lady. I don't think weapons are supposed to be pretty, Sergeant. Says the guy who absolutely admires a good knife or rifle and gets jealous of the people with fancy swords. I admire them for practical purposes. Uh-huh, yank the other one, pal. It's got bells on it.)

It's been too long for a comfortable response, now, hasn't it. They twitch, blink, and hurriedly answer, "Yes. Me, too. See the new people. What was brought for us. Wanted to help, but I'm not doing so great at that, apparently."

Look, they can poke a little fun at themselves. They're aware this is ridiculous, even while it's also mildly alarming. They're just too tired to really get twitchy about it, especially now that they're thinking it might just be a thing they'll have to deal wit. It's one of the few times the Soldier isn't in a state of constant, over-focused vigilance.