2237-07-23 - No Need For Sorry

Theories abound on the number of Vipers and Raptors being brought in for the Timber Wolves to use.

Date: 2237-07-23

Location: Biscayne Terminal

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 310

Jump to End

Give Isolde Asa too much time to herself, and she regresses to her previous life. She is in her off-duties -- dirty and sweat-stained and a little torn in places thanks to getting snagged on various bits and pieces of tech -- and her dark hair is drawn into a serious ponytail with her forelocks pinned back with a black bandana. She has hauled out some of the computer parts from some of a damaged and out-of-rotation gate stations to create a nerd corner near the food courts. She is currently tapping away at a keyboard that has been hooked up to a multi-monitor computer set-up, and all there is in a constant scroll of code. She misses a key now and then as her ghost ring finger tries to engage with what she's doing, and she curses in Tauron before breathing deep and backtracking to fill in the missing keystroke.

CAP around a spaceport is reminiscent of her days prior to the Vanguard, operating over parts of Scorpia that did see war. Astraea, largely, is just glad to feel useful again. Those first hours -- that first day -- of not knowing there they were going or what they were going to do had the Raptor pilot feeling uncertain and frightened for her future. Having a sense of purpose has given her something to focus on other than 'life as a refugee,' which is important to her. Very. It keeps the darkness that creeps at the edges at bay. With her assigned shift over, she's hiking her way through the food court towards those lines assigned for their ilk. The free food for those without cubits to pay for the fancier ("fancier") stuff. Helmet left behind in the makeshift ready room, she's peeling off her gloves as she goes.

Falling into line, Nova pulls out her new sketchbook from a pocket. It's some starport giftshop journal. Floral cover and all. The only perk is that it does fit into her flightsuit pockets. A pencil is pulled out from another as she flips open the cover and starts scribbling as she shuffles along behind a few marines.

Kell has adapted to being landlocked rather quickly, his previous station before being transferred to the Vanguard was with a Libran Airbase. He actually appears to be a bit more at ease having boots on the ground instead of a ship's deck. Having woken up not too long ago, the Viper jock had gotten changed and slowly made his way to the terminal, as if trying to determine what he is to do before he is officially on-duty. He is actually in more casual clothing, not his duty blues since he can't afford to get it dirty without easy access to a laundry room, and since he isn't due for CAP yet, he is not in his flightsuit.

Isolde continues to tap away at her keyboard and then dramatically hits the enter key with her pinkie finger. Her expression is one of joyful expectation, but that quickly melts away into dismal frustration when all the monitors go totally black save for a small blinking green rectangular cursor at the upper left-hand corner. She leans forward, bonks her head on her knees several times, and then gives a surrendering sigh. She takes the keyboard off her lap and starts to scoot back out of her corner. "You will work," she informs the pile of computer hardware, and that tiny green cursor just blinks back at her steadily. She mopes her way to her feet, and starts to rub at her aching left hand. She shuffles forward, taking a peek around the terminal. Rocking slightly to one side, she thinks she might spot Kell, and starts to raise her bandaged left hand to wave his way.

Thus far, Astraea has had three outfits. Some off-duties someone managed to nab her off the Vanguard, some Picon naval sweats, and her flight suit. Official duty gear? Nope. But then, even the off-duties are lucky; some folks don't have that. She scuffs forward a few strides in line and finally gets to where she can grab a tray. The sketchbook is finally tucked away and a tray grabbed. She stands out a bit at the moment; most of the others in line are in various forms of marine gear or what the Picon Navy has issued out. She's the only one in a flight suit at the moment.

Stifling a yawn, apparently not completely awake yet as his daily 'morning' ritual is all ruined now with their makeshift berthings, Kell is slowly looking around the terminal, trying to ignore the mass of civilians here, whether they are part of the group that is trying to make their way deeper into friendly lines or just those with jobs in the spaceport. He does spot the wave from Isolde and waves back, his feet already bringing him in the ECO's direction. "Pi! How are you feeling?" He asks before seeing the electronics and arching a brow, "New project?" He then sees Astraea not too fara way with a tray, his turn to wave another over, to increase their gathering to three.

As Kell approaches, Isolde starts to dimple. The duet of questions draws her eyes first to her hand and then to her mess of computer hardware. She shrugs a shoulder. "Consider it my self-induced physical therapy... a few of the gates have been damaged, so I asked if I could borrow their computer equipment. I'm trying to get a program put together that will let me simulate jamming. I gotta practice with, you know... uh... nine instead of ten." She actually sounds incredibly bashful about that, and she starts to rub at the carpal bone that once attached to her ring finger. She notes the wave toward Nova, and she also offers a smile and nod as she continues to massage at her knuckle.

The wave is caught out of the corner of Astraea's eye and she looks over to the movement. There's no other adjustment made lest it be meant for someone else. However, when she sees that it's Kell, her features light up. A little. Not as much as they might have, say, a week ago, but there is a bit of a shift towards something more than merely going through the motions. She lifts her tray a bit and gestures with her head towards the chow line. She'll join them in a minute.

Seeing Astraea's response that she is getting some chow, Razor nods his head understandingly. When Isolde mentions her missing digit in her response, Kell winces slightly, unable to maintain his usual reserved expression as he accidentally asked a question that involves her wound. In his mind, he wanted to avoid talking about it, lest it brings up bad memories of her time on the ground, "Sorry..." Is all he manages for now, unable to find other words to make things better, not exactly gifted with a silver tongue. Trying to find a way to change the subject, he looks back to where Nova was, "Uhh, want to go join Nova on the chow line?"

"People really gotta stop apologizing about this whole thing," Isolde says with a wry note. "I mean, you didn't shoot me in the hand. I guess you can be sorry that I gotta deal with it, but really... no one's gotta take the blame for anything." The Tauron glances over toward the chowline, and she tilts her head a bit. She shrugs a shoulder. "Sure." She looks slightly amused then. "You letting her fly your Viper, huh?" She teases him gently before she nudges him along so they can cross the short distance toward the chow.

When Astraea notices that rather than waiting for her to join them, they'll be joining her, she hip-checks the marines in front of her. "Make room." They start to protest and she blinks, blithely. "I saw y'all let her-" a look to one of their group, "in line. Yer gonna let them in line in exchange. C'mon." The ways of naval life. She's leaning back through people behind her to grab more trays to hold out towards Kell and Isolde both. "They got ya back in rotation yet," she asks Isolde once they're both in conversational range (without shouting), "or still getting caught up?"

Not much Kell can say to that before just nodding his head to Isolde since she has a point about people apologizing for her wound. He is more than pleased to move onto Pi's question, even if it is a teasing one, "Not /my/ Viper, but Cherry wanted Nova to fly one of the new birds back and I didn't want to accidentally ding up one of the new fighters. So I took the Raptor home." He would never have heard the end of it, from the other pilots and the deck crew if that had happened. When they get to where Astraea is, magically extra space appears and Kell gives her a smile.

"And you didn't ding up the Raptor. So, no heads will roll." Isolde grabs herself a tray, tucking it under her arm as she falls in line with Astraea. She shrugs a shoulder slightly before she gestures off in some direction. "Yeah, mostly... I gotta spend sometime trying to get my fingers all retrained on some of my jamming short cuts. I guess this downtime, if that's what we're gonna call it, will help with that. Not much to do besides flying CAPs and doing some PT." She shrugs a shoulder. "Sounds like your Viper run went pretty good. Where'd we get the new birds from anyway?"

"It was a Viper factory we went to. Museum, too, from th' looks of it," Astraea explains to Isolde as she makes room for them both and hands off the trays. By that point, they're at the food. It's a sort of hodge-podge of the cheaper items from the food court restaurants. But hey, everyone can enjoy burgers and fries, right? There's some salads, too. At least it's variety, even if it's cheap and mass-produced. She starts dropping things onto her tray. "From what I've been hearin', there's plenty bein' made. Lots of ships. Vanguard just didn't have room for more than we had, yeah? But... we got more now. More than we had on her. So... I dunno if that's just for while we're here or of they're gonna send us to another ship, or-" there's a look cast to Kell and worry, briefly, in her mien. "Different ships."

A light laugh followed by a shake of head by Kell, "No, I didn't ding up the Raptor, it behaved rather nicely so I have a feeling I wasn't flying Fifi. And we didn't run into any trouble on the way home, though none was expected." Taking the tray that is handed over, Razor nods his head to Astraea's answer about the Viper factory and museum. At Nova's concern though, he seems to think it is a possibility, "Maybe the Galactica?" The question is asked in a somewhat hopeful manner, since he was supposed to be on the Battlestar until last second transfer orders came in. "It sounded like the Vanguard was in bad shape, don't think it was meant to slug it out with Cylon capships."

"I definitely wasn't gonna let you fly Fifi," Isolde says, fully aware she has zero say in the matter. She perks up then when they mention the Galactica, and she looks almost nostalgic. "I miss the Galactica." Then she nods in mute agreement to Kell's assessment of the Vanguard. She is quiet for a few moments as she gets some chicken nuggets, fries, and some veggies. She then glances over toward Astraea. "I'm always worried that we're gonna start getting word from Command that we're running out of ships too fast."

"I think Iris was in Fifi," Astraea offers to Kell, after stuffing a few fries in her mouth. Eating in line? Of course. She's hungry after CAP. Plus, fries. You can't get 'em quite right from a ship's galley. "Th' way she was fussin' over th' Raptor she was flyin', pretty sure it was Fifi." A cup of pudding is nabbed at the end of the line and another for soda, plus some dipping sauce for the nuggets she's claimed and the woman is stepping aside so the other two can finish. She does shake her head for Isolde's words. "No, we aren't runnin' out. Heard th' techs talkin'. Fleet's puttin' out plenty of Raptors an' Vipers. We don't gotta worry 'bout that anytime soon. Which..." She looks sheepish, with a bit of a glance towards Kell, including him. They've all three been shot down at least once. "...is prob'ly for th' best, considerin'."

Salad first is scooped, then a couple pieces of grilled chicken, then some steamed vegetables, it looks like Kell is a bit more conservative in what he picks for food from the variety that is available, somewhat fitting with his usual demeanor. As for running out of ships, he can only nod his head slightly, "I'm not sure if it is a good thing or a bad thing that they aren't sharing more with us on how this war is going." Razor does glance to Astraea and sighs, somewhat reluctant in his agreement, "I've lost two of our birds myself... two too many."

"If there's a fuss, it's probably Fifi." Isolde peeks at the pudding cup and considers her own but then shakes her head and settles for her entirely savory food choices. She glances over toward Kell and Nova, and her brows perk up curiously. Then she shakes her head. "We're not supposed to know more." It's a slightly heavy statement. "More we know... could be bad. I mean, look at how we get when we come home to a Cylon-infested area? Banshee almost lost it."

There's almost always sweets on Astraea's tray. It's almost a temperature reading of how the Scorpian pilot is doing. If there's none, it's probably a bad sign. The fact that she only has the one is bad enough as it is. She's not as bad as Eva, but close. Short, curvy; that's how Nova operates. She keeps within regs, but by nature of genetics and a decent amount of time spent working out. There's a small smile for Razor. "I'll raise ya two. I'm at four by now." With Isolde's words, however, her expression sobers once more as she starts aiming for where they can get their drinks. Soda, water, coffee... She's opting for soda. Usually it's coffee on the ship, but the spaceport offering hasn't been suiting her thus far. "They'll tell us even less here I'm guessin'. Not 'til they wave us on to wherever we're goin' next."

Water is Kell's choice as he inclines his head in Isolde's direction, "Yeah... I have a feeling they won't tell us anything unless it's /good/ news, like we removed Cylon presence from one of the colonies." Morale is a very brittle thing, very easy to ruin good mood or positive momentum. Razor then glances at Nova and arches a brow, "Four? I don't remember you losing that many birds..." The only one he recalls was when both Raptors went down, "Though Raptor pilots and ECOs have a much harder job. You guys have to touchdown in hotzones when delivering our Marines." As for their situation on Picon, Kell can't help but say, "Sometimes, I feel like we're not even making a difference here on Picon. Cylons are pushing and pushing, hell they even hit us here which isn't exactly front line."

Isolde nods with Astraea's words, looking a bit more thoughtful as she grabs herself a water bottle and sports drink. She starts along toward the sitting areas, and she glances over toward Kell at his words. The woman looks a bit uncertain, but nods all the same. "Yeah... I know. I would never say that around Van, but... I know how you feel." She stands there a second, and then looks a shy worried. "You know, I'm gonna go eat with the computer stuff. I might be able to get that sim up and running." She glances toward Kell and Astraea. "Have a good lunch, okay?"

"Good luck," Astraea offers to Isolde as the ECO goes off to fuss with her simulator setup. She gets her drink and balances it on her tray before aiming towards a table. She falls into step alongside Kell and glances up at him, almost sheepish. "Four," she affirms. "The first was on an extract mission at an apartment complex here. I'd just landed on the roof. Cylon with a rocket launcher took of th' back end of my Raptor. Was lucky I was still in th' cockpit powerin' down." She finds a table not far from Pi, in case the other woman decides to rejoin them. "Second was droppin' marines off in a hotzone. Delivered 'em an' on the way back, another rocket took me an' Meteor down. We crashed in th' middle of th' city an' had ta find Flats an' the others who also got shot down." She sits down, tucking one leg under her as she does so. "Third was that comms repair job. Barely got th' Raptor back, but I think they decided to scrap it for parts in th' end, so I'm countin it. Fourth was that one the other week. You saw th' state of it. That's another parts. So two destroyed. Two that probably weren't gonna be made flight worthy again."

With both hands holding his tray, Kell can't wave but he does nod to Isolde when she chooses to return to her self-constructed work station, "Don't over-exert yourself, Pi, with these new Vipers and Raptors, maybe holobands and other supplies are inbound as well." That or they will be moved to somewhere that has the right equipment for them. Razor then looks back to Astraea as she goes through the number of Raptors she's went through, "So two... parts are still parts. And we've come home with Vipers that were in terrible shape." Walking with Nova to one of the tables, Kell sets his tray down before pulling the seat out so he can sit. "Until Walsh seeks us out or complains to the CAG, I guess we're still doing okay."

"Well, none of the ECOs have demanded to stop flyin' with me yet an' Eva wants to talk to Whisper 'bout trainin' me for Vipers, so-" Astraea gives a small shrug, "I guess I ain't doin' too bad. Can't really help a Cylon with a rocket launcher. An' that second time, th' intel was bad. The streets were supposed ta be clear." She opens one of the sauce packets for her nuggets. After this, however, there's some squirming to get her flight suit unzipped so it's around her waist rather than leaving her more awkward and roasting. She flexes her hands once free, looking across to Kell. "Y'think maybe they'll send the Wolves to th' Galactica? I've only seen it over Scorpia."

Uncapping his bottle of water, Kell takes a long drink to quench his thirst before picking up a disposable fork and starting on the salad, "Well, /I'm/ hoping we are sent back to the Galactica, since that was where I was supposed to be tranferred to. Plus I heard amazing things about being stationed on a Battlestar, all the perks you can think of. But if not the Galactica, at least soemthing bigger than a Cutter. Or an airbase. The birds we picked up won't fit in the Vanguard and she's grounded for who knows how long."

"S'what I've been tellin' folks," Astraea offers in a quiet voice, pulling the small journal she's using as a temporary sketchbook from her pocket. The couple of pencils follow suit. It's all put next to her tray. "I grew up under those docks, y'know? Th' Scorpian ones. Seen a lotta ships in 'em. Somethin' with th'sorta damage th'Vanguard had ain't gonna be ready in just a couple weeks. An' they aren't gonna leave folks like us just playin' overwatch for a spaceport for months." She picks up a nugget, dipping it a couple times. "We're gonna go somewhere else." She bites at her lip. "I'm jes' scared it ain't all gonna be t'gether."

Hearing that, Kell arches a brow, "What do you mean we aren't going to be all together? You think they are breaking up the Timberwolves?" That is something that Razor had not even considered, but when Astraea mentions it, it does have him considering that possibility. "I think if they were breaking us up, they would've told us by now. And so far, we've been doing a pretty good job so I don't think Command will be considering that an option for now. Everyone knows how hard it is to fit into new units."

"You think so?" Astraea looks worried for a moment and briefly; young. She always looks younger than her twenty-seven self, but much more so in the moment. Scared, really. "That they won't split us up? Sometimes refugees get divided. I know they try to keep families t'gether, but can't always, y'know? They do their best, but it's not always possible-" She takes a deep breath, reaching for her drink to take a long sip. There's a half smile at Kell. "Even if we do, I hope I'm posted wherever you are, Razor."

The fear that is in Astraea's eyes is not something that Kell understands, having grown up in better circumstances even though he wasn't with a rich, well off family that some of those from Caprica or Leonis may have been gifted with. Her question has Razor puzzled for a moment until she mentions refugees, "We're not refugees, Nova. We're a squadron and after how long we've trained together, flown together. Command isn't going to throw all that away on a whim. I've only heard them breaking up squadrons or taskforces when either the primary mission has been completed and our job is done. Or if we've suffered such great losses that we don't have enough left over to continue on." And right now, neither are applicable, as there is still much to do on Picon.

Biting at the inside of her lip, Astraea takes a deep breath and looks down at her tray. She grips at the edges of it. "We kinda are, though, aren't we?" She's stopped eating; her stomach can't handle it for the moment. "If ya think 'bout it. We ain't got a home. Most of us ain't even got proper clothes. We dunno where we're goin'. I know our job ain't done. I know we're... we're still a squadron, but they'd at least assure us of that, right? Tell us somethin'?"

"We may have lost our home but I don't think it was a permanent one to begin with, since we are supposedly a Special Forces Taskforce." Kell says with another shake of his head as he finishes up the salad that he was working on. Another quick drink from his bottle of water, he adds, "If they were going to break us up, they would've told us by now and we definitely wouldn't have flown those new Vipers back here. When I woke up and started making my way to the terminal here, I saw the deckhands busy at work with paint. Timberwolves are still being painted on them."

The Scorpian gives a slow nod, leaning an elbow on the table next to her tray. She picks up the cheeseburger she'd nabbed, but just stares at it for a moment before setting it down. "I hope you're right." Astraea is quiet for a time, staring off across the food court before she finally looks back to Kell. She sits up a bit straighter, considering him. "Are you religious, at all?"

Kell is rather confident that he is right, but this is the war front, not the simple peacetime that is enjoyed back home in Libran. If he is completely wrong though, he would have egg on his face after sounding so sure of himself, "I hope so too, Nova. We have a good group here and everyone here are the first ones I've flown with, when it comes to an active theater." With his salad finished, Razor now picks up the disposable knife that is rather blunt and begins working on the grilled chicken. When the subject changes with her question, Kell arches a brow at Astraea, "Religious? Well..." A pause as he considers his answer, "I believe there are Gods, if that qualifies. But I don't really attend Temple or delve deeply into the texts and stuff."

"I only dealt with a few hotzones on Scorpia b'fore I was here," Astraea agrees, offering a small smile towards Kell. "Yer one of th'best I've flown with. I s'ppose that ain't sayin' much, but I'd rather not get used to someone else coverin' me, y'know? I like knowin' yer watchin' my tail. I know I'm safe wit' you out there." She fusses with the wrapper on the burger, but finally pushes herself upright to start unwrapping it to eat. "Do ya follow any? Like, I mean, not... I don't- didn't really delve too deep. Have been more lately, I s'ppose, but are there any that you've ever really... followed more'n others?"

Hearing the compliment, Kell can't help but grin and incline his head appreciatively, "Thanks, likewise, Nova. I've gotten use to you and Milkman covering me as well." Not surprising that when in the air, if the three of them are present, they usually end up grouping up. Familiarity is a very safe and securely feeling. As for the question on the subject of religion, Razor shakes his head, "Not really... though I guess I should honor Ares more since we've been in active warzones." Now that it is being mentioned, Kell looks a bit more thoughtful on the subject.

"You an' me seem to have targets plastered on us sometimes, don't we?" Astraea flashes him a bit of a smile as she starts taking small bites. Working her way up to actually eating properly again. She does give a small nod. "Jigger is dedicated t'Ares. Makes sense fer th'war an' all." She looks down to her tray. "It's Apollo fer me. Has been since b'fore th'war, but... he's an archer, too, so I s'ppose that fits. Natural progression from archery was th'gun, so-" She gives a small shrug. "I think of my talons as a sort of arrow. I think he guides 'em for me."

Most of the chicken has been finished, Kell pushing the remainder around before forking a couple pieces of vegies, finish those up first, "Well, from what I can see, your dedication to Apollo is paying off. You're right on choosing Talons, especially in protracted battles. Whisper is making a strong case for missiles though, but I rather see both types of armaments being successful than neither." He then considers what Astraea says about Jigger, nodding his head again, "I didn't know that Jigger was that religious. He's a very good pilot, there's no doubt in that and from what I hear, he use to be a Marine."

"I know th'missiles hit harder, but... look at th'sheer numbers. Just two versus how long some of these battles have gone?" Astraea shakes her head, "'til th'day Whisper or Walsh or Ryan or someone comes an' says I gotta use 'em, I'm stickin' to Talons." She finally gets through half of the burger before setting it down. "I've hit just as hard sometimes, so I don't see it happenin' anytime soon." When he mentions not knowing Jigger is religious, she gets a small sort of smile. Something distant in her mien. "He's Gemenese. 'Course he's religious. An' yeh, he did. Gonna try workin' with him I think ta' improve my aim wit' my sidearm. In case I get shot down again."

The rest of the chicken is finished before Kell speaks, his bottle of water drained as well, "I guess he doesn't strike me as someone who is very... Gemenese." Then again, it sounds like the Libran has the notion that the Gemenese are all extremely religious, very obvious about their faith. "And I think that is a very good idea, having him work with you on that. None of us wants to be shot down but sometimes it happens, and we should all be prepared." This does have him thinking about Isolde and how she lost a finger, a slight wince appearing as he glances in the direction where the ECO pilot is working on her electronic rig.

"You should talk t'him sometime. He might strike ya as moreso if ya do. Like, really..." Astraea handwaves a little with what remains of her burger before eating it. She grabs a napkin to brush her hand off before reaching for her fries, following Kell's gaze towards Isolde. Her expression sobers a little. She takes a slow breath, giving a small nod of agreement. "That's why I wanna practice. Th'SMG I used after I was shot down was nice, but I ain't really practiced with 'em, y'know? So I wanna get some time an' with someone who can give me pointers."

Tapping his chin with his used fork, the plastic prongs a substitute for his fingers, Kell adds his own thoughts to her training, "See if he can give you pointers on staying hidden if you find yourself groundside. The best defense sometimes is to not be seen at all." He did quite a bit of that when he was downed, spent most of his time hiding and avoiding Centurion patrols. "And work on your endurance as well, it is /very/ exhausting when you are constantly trying to evade and hide. Stressful too."

"I'm very good at hidin'," Astraea offers with a bit of amusement in her tone, "Trust me. I don't wanna be found, you probably ain't gonna find me. It's a Masters thing." She picks up her container of fries and offers it out to him; in case he wants to ruin his healthy meal with something salty. "But endurance, well, that is somethin' I ain't always been good at, no. Prob'ly do need some help wit' that. But right now it's more bein' able t'work with marines, since sometimes us Rapor pilots gotta, y'know? An' Jigger seems like he'd be a good one t'help learn, since... he used t'be one an' all."

Shaking his head at the offer of fries, Kell says, "Thanks but I'm good. And endurance will definitely be needed, I was lucky that I had training back on Libran, so I was able to push myself. There were times where I was just a few minutes in front of a roaming patrol." Lots and lots of walking, constant walking as he was afraid to take too many breaks.

"Frak." Astraea draws the fries back, looking down at them. She sets the container down, shifting in her seat. There's a slight squirm from the woman as she picks up a nugget, dipping it in the sauce before eating slowly. "'m sorry, Razor. That it happened. That ya got shot down. That we couldn't get ya right away. It's all frakked up." She extends a leg under the table to nudge his. "Don't let it happen again, yeh? Some of us were a right mess with ya gone."

Hearing that, Kell manages a smile, "Reminds me of what Izzy said to me earlier, there is nothing for you to be sorry about, Nova. Definitely wasn't your fault I was shot down, nor was it your fault that where I bailed put me in a location where SAR wasn't possible. I'm just lucky I got back." In one piece too. At the nudge, a smirk appears, "I'll do my best, I've been keeping my Viper damage to a minimum since I've returned. Just so you know, Nova." He then puts his fork down on the tray, "I think I should head back, in case they need volunteers to help."

"Still sorry, all th'same. Don't care whatcha say." Astraea's about as stubborn as they come, even for a Scorpian. Even so, she does manage a bit of a smile at his words. "I've noticed," she says, of the lack of damage to his Viper. "Been tryin', myself. Noticed we've both managed, least th' last couple missions, t'be just 'bout th' least damaged out there. Guess that says somethin'." When he speaks of leaving, she bobs her head in a small nod. "Of course. Don't push yerself too hard. Endurance counts. Even here." There's a small smile for the Libran. "Happy huntin', Razor."


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