The name of the group makes Rosemary like them automatically - Rosebloods, it sounded quite magical with an undeniable undertone of darkness to them. Walking over to join the group, the ocelot eyes the strangers with curiosity, though not much showed in her constantly blank expression. Her four eyes, however, move about quite rapidly to analyze them all; this flurry of motion gives her excitement away, though even this doesn't last for long as she makes a point to cut her curiosity off before she can unease the strangers.

She glances at Pincher for a moment, drawing internal parallels between him and Sola - she knew him for a good while now, enough to know he proved himself time and time again as an effective leader for the Typhoon. She thought of him as, perhaps, the best that a male could possibly do at leadership; though, in her heart, Rosemary does consider him reckless and that suits the pirates just fine. But the Rosebloods, she can imagine, is less reckless and far more proper, especially with a female leader at the helm. Based on what little Sola has said thus far, Rosemary supposes she likes to lead with dignity from the shadows more than in the open - a leadership strategy that seems entirely different from what she is accustomed to in the Typhoon.

Prestige's answers jar the ocelot out of her thoughts and back into the little meeting here now. She tilts her head to the left as she considers if she has any questions - as the head soothsayer, she feels her responsibilities to the Clan with every injury she treats and every herb she carefully prepares. And that's one thing she doesn't like about allying with the Rosebloods; she wants to treat less wounds, and that goal is hard enough when plenty of their members seemed to make a living out of clumsily hurting themselves in the most ludicrious ways possible. She hasn't seen many battle wounds; she certainly doesn't want to see more, but allying with another warlike group might increase their wounded.

"How often do you plan on calling on us for battle support? Do you have enough medics to support your own war efforts, or will you expect help with that?" Rosemary asks, her tone insipid and flat. Regardless of the urgency in her head, she never could convey her feelings all that well, and this seemed one of the worst examples when her mind felt alight with passion but the emotion never quite made it to her expression. She knows that fledgeling groups usually have trouble getting healers - the Typhoon, even established as it was when she first joined, didn't have any for a few weeks. Even now, the ocelot does most of the work here, and she is starting to buckle under the pressure of providing as the sole medic for such a large group.

Rosemary doesn't think she can handle healing even more wounded, especially not wounded from another Clan's memberbase. She certainly won't have time to help train them, especially given that she'll need to train the next generation of medics here once she finishes selecting them.