No stranger to the oddities and almost damn straight impossibilities in the world (although the creatures of Helovia with their wings and horns did strike him as queer), it seemed to come as little surprise to the well-meaning Banjo, that the misshapen 'neddy' with the pretty, pronged headdress could speak; it seemed the same could not be said for the foul-mouthed bat who was the only ‘horse’ among them (the puny tips which suggested the opposite were well hidden from his view). The previously grinning buck passed a stunned-mullet glance by lips that otherwise appeared to be lovely, feminine and mild. “Strewth…” he murmured beyond realm of his company’s hearing. She had tongue enough to knock any of the blokes’ socks off back home - what a bloody rippa!

A light smirk quirked the corners of his mouth as he watched her.

Perhaps he dwelled on the freckled female a moment longer than he should’ve; next thing he knew that admirable bunch of kindling set atop snowy’s poll was waving about at eye-level, and Banjo propped in place promptly, “how’s ya father…! You could take someone’s eye out doin’ that, y’know?” It was a rhetorical question, passed through his returning smile (and though the thought crossed his mind, the horsaroo did not help the smart-looking weaponry aside). The stag spoke, and insecurity was the first thing identified. If he’d been a pussy in the bush like that, he would’ve spent a lonely old life with dingos at his heels - the chestnut cleared his throat a little as it dawned that he’d been more or less in the same boat.

Anyway, the ‘not-so’ lady, (or Elspeth, as he’d quickly learn) was the first to respond to the stranger’s hesitant questioning with a rather unflattering answer - in Banjo’s opinion anyway. He might’a given her nine out of ten for the dumbass approach; not that his was much better of course.

Thankfully, old mate with the mini tree-on-legs picked up between the mare's mindless rambling and whatever misunderstood rubbish the bushman could have produced, he held the group together with remarkable tact. As the golden one spoke for each party beside him (glancing each way in turn), the buck nodded vigorously, dangling corks bouncing comically around his face as he did. The other’s head dipped ceremoniously to conclude his speech, and the horsaroo accepted that as motivation to bring his bit to the table. “…n’ya can call me Banj, mate. Like Thrano and his pet ere (if it’d been Ashamin he would slapped him a goodie, right across the back), …and El… er…” He glanced at the sheila who hadn’t mentioned exactly what her deal was yet, then again back to the white. …well, lemme just extend a warm as piss invite to my club, ah herd. Me’n the blokes (and girls…) will show y’round, n look out for ya if you're keen.”