riverviewlogs | (Open)

who: Claire Farron & Open~
what: Her arrival + her settling in as a perimeter guard.
when: December 9th.
where: Communal housing + hanging out around it.
warnings: TBD? I can't think of any off the top of my head.

The new world faded like a dream. Claire stood beside her bed - her assigned bed - eyes unfocused. Had she imagined it? No, she knew better than that. That world had been real and so was this one.

Tipping her head back, she let out a long breath, her lips set in a grim line. As much as she wanted to avoid the reason she had been brought here - instead of left alone - she knew that wasn't possible. Flicking open her bag, she pulled out the knife Serah had given her. It was the only weapon she had, but since she was meant to be a perimeter guard, she knew that wouldn't always be the case.

With the blade tucked into her belt, she left her room and paced down one of the halls, alert for any sounds of distress. She couldn't really help herself. After fighting for so long, after being a guardian, a warrior, a savior, she couldn't turn her back on anyone in need.

Too bad no one seemed to be running to her aid. But that was on a par for her life so far.

"What would you think of all of this?" she smirked as she thought of her sister and her friends. Running a hand through her hair, she shook her head ruefully.

"Hey, anyone alive in here?"

(Outside)

Since she was a so-called "perimeter guard", it followed that she needed to know said perimeter. Armed at last with a proper gun, Claire slipped away from the communal housing and took advantage of her duties. The knife Serah had given her was still in her belt, ready for any close combat if, for some reason, her gun was knocked away.

Maybe she could put together a gun-blade somehow. That was her preferred weapon for being a guard, at least.

Boy was this bringing back memories. Her stride lengthened and she rested the gun against her shoulder.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Sorry, forgot where I parked the wagon." He smiles brightly back, ever sarcastic, but not unfriendly. John's no Riverview veteran, but he's been around long enough to know a newbie when he sees one, and he rarely forgets a pretty face. That, and the pink hair is hard to miss. You could land an F-18 in the dead of night with a mop that bright on the runway.

"As for what's going on outside? The usual. Mutant lions, tigers, and bears, oh my, with a dash of creepy crawlies. Just in case teeth and claws aren't enticing enough." John's already dolled up in webbing and BDUs, carrying an assault rifle, his side-arm, and a few grenades, just in case things get and heavy.

"Between the two of us, we probably have enough bullets to do a quick sweep, so long as we don't take the scenic route. Whaddya' say, Corporal Candy?"

Funny. Claire was going to have a hard time keeping a straight face around this one, but maybe that wasn't so bad. Laughter was good for her. She had avoided it for far too long, thinking herself above it or unworthy of it - especially after she lost track of Serah.

"Fair enough." she motioned at the gun, "I'll need to reload this if things get hairy. I also wouldn't mind a larger blade."

She loved her knife; she didn't want to risk losing it. But a knife wouldn't cut it with mutants anyway.

"My name is Lightning." because Claire was still too big of a shift for her. Besides, she felt like she was in the thick of it again.

"We'll get along fine if I don't have to hand your ass to you."

"We can stop by the armoury on our way out. There's plenty of sharp and shooty things to choose from." John sticks with his gear because it's what he's used to, and competent with. As cool as a lightsaber sounds, he's more likely to chop off his own arm than do damage to someone else. Not that it hasn't stopped him from winging one around, when no one's looking.

"Lightning. Pleased to meet you. John Sheppard. I've only been here a month or so, but I'd be happy to show you around the place." He holds out a gloved hand to her, respectfully, because for all his sass, John's still a soldier, and he recognizes his kind when he sees them.

"Likewise."

"Then we won't have any issues in the field." she wouldn't appreciate having to resort to fists, but whatever got the job done, right? Speaking of armor, she might need a few pieces of that too. Nothing so heavy it would slow her down, but enough to blunt a blow.

She wasn't gifted with godly powers anymore.

"I'm up for a tour." Claire shifted her gun and took his hand, giving it a brief shake. This whole being sociable thing was as new as her responding to Claire instead of Lightning.

"I don't think we'll have any trouble. Neither of us are green." not by a long shot.

The mere mention of the word green almost makes John laugh, the corner of his mouth quirking.

"The hardest part of this mission will be filing the paperwork." John's not entirely exaggerating. A month in, and he's still not sure who he's reporting to, or where it goes, not that he's gone out of his way to ask.

Truthfully, the life of an NCM is taking some getting used to. Maybe it's not that the PG are unorganized, so much as John's gotten used to being the one in charge, and always in the know. There are perks to going where he wants, when he wants, and only thinking about the task at hand, but he's been an officer for the better part of a decade. His job almost seems too simple, only worrying about himself. He almost misses the burden of responsibility.

Almost.

Mostly, he misses his team. The way they worked together, and the camaraderie.

"Let's go. The Wall Research and Defense want this info yesterday, and trust me, you don't want to get on their bad side."

"I can't really remember the last time I did paperwork." which would make it a novelty for awhile? She was bound to get bored pretty quickly, but after all she had gone through, a quiet room and some paperwork weren't the end of the world. Metaphorically or literally.

"Am I supposed to be scared?" her lips quirked, challenging, but she fell into position beside him nonetheless, "Upper management will have to make do with our best and not complain."

Otherwise the hand that fought and protected could start to bite.

"In that case, you'll get lots of practice." John wouldn't just dump all his paperwork on Lightning, but if she needs a refresher? There's nothing like hands-on experience.

It's an uneventful walk to the armoury. The HQ really isn't that big, and most PG are busy doing something or other. They're an active crowd. Like John, most prefer to be out in the field.

"Scared? No. Prepared for a headache? Yes. If complaining were an Olympic sport, he'd take home the gold every time." On a good day, Rodney's constant chatter is enough to make John ears ring. Surviving one of his tangents requires a tactical combination of smiling, nodding, and knowing your nearest exits.

"Here we are. Armoury. Shop til you drop."

"Noted." she could grin and bear it with the best of them. Her temper wasn't nearly so short-fused as it used to be. That didn't mean she would take anyone ordering her around too much, however. Claire Farron would always have her emotional limitations no matter how much she learned...or matured.

"What are the Olympics?" no, she was serious. She presumed some sort of competition or sport, but the name didn't ring any bells.

Of course nothing mattered as much as checking out the Armoury when they finally caught sight of it. She grinned and walked inside, eyeing the guns and the various other gear with a critical eye.

"I'm really not dressed for combat." not with her high-heeled shoes. She tugged them off, sought out some socks and exchanged them for some boots. Then she added on a few pieces of leather to her person for protection should she need to fall or roll. Last, but not least, she gathered more ammo for her gun and dropped it into a satchel at her waist.

"Olympics. Well, every country on my planet sends their best athletes to compete in different games to win medals, and the country who wins the most gets bragging rights until the next one. Some games are more important than others. No one really cares who takes home the gold medal for curling. It basically exists to make Canadians feel included." John's an old hat at explaining Earth traditions and sport at this point. Even before Riverview, he's spent years trying to convince the Athosians into starting a football league.

He picks up a some kind of anti-materiel rifle, one far too large and unwieldy for an in-and-out mission, but definitely high on cool factor, and beads it on the target across the room while Lightning picks out her gear.

"What are you talking about? I wear heels into battle all the time. Surefire way to distract the enemy." He tosses her a few grenades, underhand, with a grin.

"Don't get too excited. I doubt we'll be seeing a lot of action, but we'll probably get stuck clearing a ton of bush. Might as well do it the fast way. Efficiency." That, and explosions are good for the soul. They make John feel better, anyway.

"We have something like that on my world. I guess ambition exists everywhere." she isn't surprised; humans will be humans, "Why is curling less important? All of the sports should be equal, right?"

If they are not equal, what is the point of working so hard and displaying them to the world? Claire hums faintly as she readies herself for combat. As a last measure, she shrugs off her cardigan and hangs it near her heels. She doesn't want to be easy to catch - nor does she want it torn.

She looks up from her preparations in time to catch a grenade. What the hell?

"Don't toss them!" she clips the explosives to her belt, grimacing, "You do have the legs for heels." her eyes flash, slightly mischievous, but the emotion shifts suddenly into something sterner, "I'm not wasting grenades on brush. Besides, brush can be a nice cover."

That and animals could be living there. Blowing up their homes - or them - is bad manners.

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