Rosinante is always paying attention, or so he'd like to think. He's been trained to do so. He's curious, anyway, about the lanterns of others in general - but that slip of green, that trace of a crack through the glass, that's unexpected enough to cause his expression to slip briefly from neutral to somewhat alarmed. His eyes widen and he straightens his back a fraction of an inch, as if about to sit up rather than slouch forward as he's been doing, though he doesn't end up doing more than that slight but perceptible flinch.

Is it just the light from the aurora reflecting off the glass? He peers upward and exhales a breath of smoke. "Yeah. Rastus doesn't seem to mind so long as I pick up after myself. No litter, that's his rule."

He can't help it. He glances back again, looking to see if the green is still visible - or if Soldat has shut the lantern back up altogether. It can't be one of those malfunctions from the previous month, can it? All of these so-called events, as Robin had named them, seem to finish up in a week or two. They don't linger.