The front door clanks open, sounding for an instant like it's much heavier (and much more metallic) than it appears. It's not very different from how it opened the last time Gaeta came to Milliways
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Those duty blues aren't Amestrian -- the cut's wrong, the color's off, and the rank insignia's not on the shoulder-tabs where it should be -- but there's a certain similarity to military uniforms the world over. It catches her eye.
Hawkeye is, for once, not in blues herself. She thought she was heading out to take her dog for his evening walk, and you don't wear your uniform at home; that's part of what off-duty means, and what respect for the uniform means. (She wishes she were, a little -- being in Milliways has not stopped feeling like being in a danger zone yet, even though nothing's happened, and it feels more appropriate to be in duty dress for that -- but at least she's still got a gun.)
The man gets a glance that's on the calm side of interested. She'll wait to see if he's looking sociable before she greets him, though.
Gaeta, by then, has settled in at a table with both hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. (He's contemplating a cigarette, but realizing that he left the current pack he's working through in his rack.
(One thing he does miss about civvies: they actually have pockets.)
He catches sight of the woman, and of the glance she's giving him; he offers a nod in reply.
Hawkeye returns it, the slight polite gesture of one stranger to another. (It must be said that even in a skirt and flats, there's something military in that impeccably straight-backed posture. Even though Hawkeye did have good posture before the military academy and parade grounds finished the job.)
She turns her steps towards his table -- not necessarily to join him, of course. One nod is hardly enough welcome for that. But standing by the door indefinitely feels both silly and conspicuous, and Hayate is making quiet let's-go-outside-boss whines; there's no reason to not carefully investigate the outside, and no reason she can't let her path carry her near the other soldier's table while she does.
(And if it makes her shoulders prickle to walk across the crowded room in this bizarre place -- it's only mild, easily ignored, and the wariness only barely shows.)
The military posture becomes all the more apparent when she starts walking; it snags Gaeta's attention a second time, and much more thoroughly than the first.
Whether she's ex-military or merely off-duty, he can't decide. Possibly the latter. Or, if it's the former, she must have very recently left the service.
Don't worry, it'll buff out soon enough, remarks a surprisingly bitter thought, and, startled by it, Gaeta shoves it down and away.
Hayate halts with her, and cocks his head with doggy interest at Gaeta. Hello new human! Do you want to pet him? Do you have interesting smells?? (He doesn't approach, because he's well-trained and Hawkeye hasn't told him to stop heeling. But he's interested!)
All of these things count! And so, to be honest, does NEW HUMAN. HI NEW HUMAN.
...Hayate likes people, as long as they aren't shooting at his humans.
Hawkeye nods, with a very faint smile. "He's friendly," she says. And, to her dog, "Okay, Hayate.
Thus released, he trots happily forward. He's a small dog, and well-behaved enough to not try jumping up or anything, but he'll be very glad for all the ear-scritches he can cajole.
It isn't hard to cajole them out of Gaeta; as a soft smile emerges, he rubs a practiced hand over Hayate's ears, seeking out just the right spots for the best scritches.
"Hi, Hayate," he murmurs. Looking up, "How old is he?"
Gaeta nods. I hope Jake's doing all right, he thinks as he keeps up the scritches. (As if he's going to stop in the face of that expression.)
He ought to go down to the civilian camp to check on him. Maybe. Once extenuating circumstances have calmed down a little more.
Straightening a bit, he offers his free hand to her; his rank doesn't roll off his tongue as easily as it once did, but he's getting better at it. "Lieutenant Felix Gaeta."
"From Amestris," she adds, because around Milliways this is something that needs to be said. (And something, she's learned already, that probably isn't going to be recognized -- but she doesn't recognize his uniform either, so she can't really complain.)
"Unfortunately not," he says, somewhat apologetic. The fact that most of the bar doesn't recognize those names, however --
Hedging his bets: "So you're...not from Earth?"
(He's not aware of how his voice peaks with just a hint of hope. Sometimes, it's nice to talk to someone who won't be surprised when you say you're not from there; who won't treat such a precious place with such casual indifference.)
"Oh." Faint surprise; fainter disappointment, too, as unnoticed as the earlier hope. He gives Hayate's ears one final rub and straightens fully. "It...may not be, but -- " Rueful, "I'm hardly an expert."
Those duty blues aren't Amestrian -- the cut's wrong, the color's off, and the rank insignia's not on the shoulder-tabs where it should be -- but there's a certain similarity to military uniforms the world over. It catches her eye.
Hawkeye is, for once, not in blues herself. She thought she was heading out to take her dog for his evening walk, and you don't wear your uniform at home; that's part of what off-duty means, and what respect for the uniform means. (She wishes she were, a little -- being in Milliways has not stopped feeling like being in a danger zone yet, even though nothing's happened, and it feels more appropriate to be in duty dress for that -- but at least she's still got a gun.)
The man gets a glance that's on the calm side of interested. She'll wait to see if he's looking sociable before she greets him, though.
Hawkeye is friendly; outgoing, not as much.
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(One thing he does miss about civvies: they actually have pockets.)
He catches sight of the woman, and of the glance she's giving him; he offers a nod in reply.
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She turns her steps towards his table -- not necessarily to join him, of course. One nod is hardly enough welcome for that. But standing by the door indefinitely feels both silly and conspicuous, and Hayate is making quiet let's-go-outside-boss whines; there's no reason to not carefully investigate the outside, and no reason she can't let her path carry her near the other soldier's table while she does.
(And if it makes her shoulders prickle to walk across the crowded room in this bizarre place -- it's only mild, easily ignored, and the wariness only barely shows.)
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Whether she's ex-military or merely off-duty, he can't decide. Possibly the latter. Or, if it's the former, she must have very recently left the service.
Don't worry, it'll buff out soon enough, remarks a surprisingly bitter thought, and, startled by it, Gaeta shoves it down and away.
"Evening," he offers as she passes by his table.
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Hayate halts with her, and cocks his head with doggy interest at Gaeta. Hello new human! Do you want to pet him? Do you have interesting smells?? (He doesn't approach, because he's well-trained and Hawkeye hasn't told him to stop heeling. But he's interested!)
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...if not, then Hayate is out of luck.
As a consolation prize, though, Gaeta does start to offer his hand to him, after a quick inquiring look of may I? directed to Riza.
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...Hayate likes people, as long as they aren't shooting at his humans.
Hawkeye nods, with a very faint smile. "He's friendly," she says. And, to her dog, "Okay, Hayate.
Thus released, he trots happily forward. He's a small dog, and well-behaved enough to not try jumping up or anything, but he'll be very glad for all the ear-scritches he can cajole.
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"Hi, Hayate," he murmurs. Looking up, "How old is he?"
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Time flies.
Hayate, it may be obvious from his wagging tail and bright-eyed stare, is a BIG FAN of Gaeta now. YAY EAR-SCRATCHING.
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He ought to go down to the civilian camp to check on him. Maybe. Once extenuating circumstances have calmed down a little more.
Straightening a bit, he offers his free hand to her; his rank doesn't roll off his tongue as easily as it once did, but he's getting better at it. "Lieutenant Felix Gaeta."
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"First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye."
"From Amestris," she adds, because around Milliways this is something that needs to be said. (And something, she's learned already, that probably isn't going to be recognized -- but she doesn't recognize his uniform either, so she can't really complain.)
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As he releases her hand: "Amestris -- may I ask where that is?"
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She doesn't mind; she doesn't try to hide it.
"West of Xing, and south of Drachma. But that doesn't seem to mean much to most people here."
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Hedging his bets: "So you're...not from Earth?"
(He's not aware of how his voice peaks with just a hint of hope. Sometimes, it's nice to talk to someone who won't be surprised when you say you're not from there; who won't treat such a precious place with such casual indifference.)
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And then: "We call it Earth," she says.
"But I haven't met anyone who talks about any of the same countries. So I don't know if it's the same Earth others mean or not."
Hawkeye's education did not prepare her for multiversal compare-and-contrast.
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