War of the Lost Kingdom

Johan rises and eyebrow and is now not only watching the halfling Spellcaster, but also the humans that is talking about him.
He is not treading in any way, just paying attention

A not so subtle look of concern spreads across Doc's face as he finally makes it to the rest of the group, but as soon as he looks up from the ground at the others, his attitude returns to that of stoicism.

Welp, we're all here lets go. he says in a low but rushed tone

Zifu looks up and down the line to see if there are other "girls with birds" present. Surely the rough woman wasn't referring to her, right?

Zifu purses her lips as she investigates the crowd.

Zifu remains in line, and wonders if weasels pass for birds in this region. The realization that she is pretty far from respectable civilization begins to settle in. She puffs her cheeks in growing impatience, fingers drumming upon the shoulder strap of her travel case.

Though she remains next to Ian and Doc, Greta grows impatient and calls out to her remaining fellow passengers staying in line.

"You, little man with the dog, and you little man with the hand, get over here! Hey you, the one with the bird, yes you, get over here!"

I look up at the yelling lady. Name’s Finn, thank you very much. I walk over.

Directed at both Greta and the processer.
Name is Johan Silversmith, monster hunter and rider in the Wild Hunt
He holds a short pause, for dramatic effect. In a much more pleasant tone, he asks: How may I help you?

Southrun
The answer is immediate, the next is given with much thought.
Weapon of choice... Wits! Rest depending on the target. If a flying beast, traps, webs and pistols is first on the list. For a melee opponent I would prefer the rapier. Blade of steel for most, silver for werewolf, cold iron for fay.... Hmmm... Could you be more specific?

Xiao Zifu is definitely at a loss, pointing to herself to confirm that she is the target of Greta's attention. She almost feels as if the entire line has melted away from her and put her front-and-center, isolated in the vanishing crowd. She gets no help from the owl, who appears to be asleep where it stands on the travel case.

With an embarrassed smile and apologetic nods to those in line, Zifu detaches herself from her place and hesitantly walks to where Greta stands. She stops a good five paces away, toes perched precariously at the imaginary point-of-no-return. "Um, can I help you?" she asks, voice soft with uncertainty in her own question.