Indeed, he wasn't, though he wasn't the grouchiest guy Maeve took care of. She had a feeling he had taken to his transformation much differently than she had her own. "Why? You have a lot of those? Schmoozing and shit, martini in hand?" The image almost made her laugh again, as well as the thought of using her abilities on something so short term.
Briar watched him out of the corner of her eye while she stepped around him kicking around the leaves until she found her scarf that had been dropped in the ruckus. Dirty cloth in hand she came back to the tree, dropped it back on the ground beside him and promptly laid in the dirt to use it as a pillow. "Aye. I smoked with him once." It was far too casual for near strangers, but that was one of her shticks, no matter the face.
One her hands raised so she could look at it in the moonlight, the bruised knuckles, with one showing a bit of blood to boot, "Any group that tries to stagnate fails, explosively in my experience. And good riddens. Fuck 'em." The last two words came with unexpected viciousness, the unwanted image of her mother's back, "But when does contentment rollover into stagnation?"