Ardiss sighs at everyone's obvious interest in the child. She had gathered from conversations that he was more than the typical aggravating kid, but in her mind he was still just a crying brat. She distracts herself by stretching one hand out in front of her and inspecting the skin of her new host. Flexing the fingers, she tests the muscles, watching the joints and tendons pull in fascination.
<You are certainly more physically capable than my last host,> Ardiss compliments mildly. She catches a glance of her reflection in her drink, <and you don't have a wretched scar across your face. Andalite scum.>
Ardiss lowers her hands and they check her waist automatically, despite this host having no holster placed there.
"Drat," she says out loud. Maybe that is why she feels so edgy. "No gun." She looks around the bar, but sees no one that she could imagine readily giving her a weapon of any sort. "I wonder where those pirates got off to," she wonders, adding silently, <I bet they would arm me, if the price was right. No point in being helpless.>