Crimson might have been one of the first to wake up, and to do so without any difficulty, but he was the last to leave. He apparently liked to be at the back at the group, perhaps finding it the safest location; or, maybe he simply didn't trust other people to be behind him.<br/><br/>As they moved along, and the sheriff deposited his badge on the ground, Crimson watched it. Nobody else seemed to give a damn, but as he rode by it, he actually dismounted to pick it up. He was, of course, quick to re-mount, and catch up; not that much of a gap had developed.<br/><br/>Quietly, while staying perfectly mounted on his beast of a steed, he would fiddle around with it and his vest. Their was a small hole in the chest of it, where it had been shot just one too many times, and he now used the sheriff's badge as a makeshift patch. Who knows, it might come in handy for him. And the badge itself is obscured by the red overcoat he wears.<br/><br/>When the sheriff asked if anybody had been to Port Rose before, Crimson would extend his arm up into the air, make the briefest of waves, then retract his hand. No need to go shouting out a 'yes', when he could just signal it. He seemed to like being quiet.<br/><br/>As he continued to mosey along, he would hear Maude's introduction, and roll his eyes. "Is that why you'll be good to go on foot?" He'd ask, dryly. In fact, dryly doesn't quite seem to do it. His voice makes it very difficult to tell if this is a rhetorical question, or if he is<em>sincerely</em>asking her.