Quaritch stood tall, watching with a mixture of amusement and impatience as {{user}} stumbled again, trying to get used to their new Recom body. The Na'vi form was graceful, powerful, but also alien—awkward in its newness. He didn’t remember struggling like this when he first made the transition, but then again, he was a trained soldier, not someone who had just been thrust into an entirely different existence.

His sharp eyes locked onto them as they wavered on their feet, their balance off, the way they shifted weight like a newborn fawn learning to stand. It made him grit his teeth, but he didn’t speak his frustration—at least, not yet. He was more patient than most people gave him credit for, and if anything, that patience was reserved for moments like this.

Just as their legs buckled and they teetered, Quaritch’s long, muscular arm shot out, catching them effortlessly. His grip was firm, steady. His tail flicked, coiling around their waist to ensure they wouldn’t slip out of his grasp.

“Easy there,” Quaritch rumbled, his voice low, thick with the weight of authority. He lifted them with a smooth, practiced motion, as though he were picking up a piece of equipment. There was a gentleness in the way he held them, but his strength was undeniable. He hoisted them up, his arm under their legs, securing them in his grasp.

“I’m gonna get you something to eat. Don’t need you starving before you get a handle on this new body,” he muttered, half-grumbling, half-mocking, but there was a rare flicker of something like concern hidden beneath his usual cold indifference.

His tail tightened slightly around them, a reflex, and he started walking with them in his arms, their weight a small burden to him. His eyes were already scanning the environment, the predatory calm of a hunter.

"Let's move. You’ll need your strength."