(Untitled)

[smelltheashes]

She claimed a bunk early to ensure that she'd have a place to sleep. Her personal effects are carefully stowed. And she's taken a quick walking tour so she knows where everything is

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[remindmeof_me]

Now that Shephard's back at the base, he's heading into the hangar to check on the black beast. Long, long before he was born they wrote the Rifleman's Creed and made it a basic part of Corps doctrine; it took Shephard all of thirty seconds to edit the creed to fit his situation:

My chopper and myself know that what counts in this war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit... My chopper is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weakness, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its barrels. I will keep my chopper clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready. We will become part of each other...

There's more, but it boils down to the same thing: come and look after your equipment, and learn what you can about looking after it from those who know how to do it better than you. So, Eleanor's likely to have company real shortly.

[smelltheashes]

The sound of footsteps behind Eleanor makes her look up, briefly. "I'll start working as soon as I'm finished here," she says evenly. "Most of these don't belong in the rag pile."

[remindmeof_me]

"I ain't the one who put that together," Shephard answers, a little started. "Reckoned I'd just come down'n look the birds over, that's all. Found anything good in there?"

[smelltheashes]

"Plenty. Have a look--" She lifts a pair of well-worn denim pants, part of the basic ensemble worn by the bulk of the civilians now housed at White Forest. "These are perfectly fine, they just need patches on the knees, but someone was content to throw them out!" She tsks and shakes her head as she carefully folds the garment and sets it atop the rapidly-growing stack of fabric.

[remindmeof_me]

"Shit. My momma would thrash any of us didn't patch up a pair of pants only had that much wrong with 'em," Shephard says, shaking his head. "Or make somethin' out of 'em, anyway- might want to wash 'em real hot first 'n make sure they ain't got somethin' nasty living in 'em, though."

[smelltheashes]

"Well, of course you want to wash them first, that's just common sense, isn't it?" She pulls out a torn and stained T-shirt. "And this--there's more than a square foot of good fabric left on it!"

[remindmeof_me]

He was thinking of some infestations that required extra hot water; they were the major reason he could think of to throw away otherwise perfectly good clothes. Still, he nods. "No shit. Got somethin' in mind for that? You could get a lot done off a shirt with that much left."

[smelltheashes]

"Well, I've got to patch those pants with something, haven't I?" says Eleanor, primly. "It's big enough to potentially be a quilt square, too..."

[remindmeof_me]

"Gon' have to take your word for that," Shephard says. "Momma taught us a shitload of skills but quiltin' ain't one I ever picked up. Make some good patches, though, you're right 'bout that."

[smelltheashes]

Eleanor produces a small pocket knife and cuts the clean part of the shirt away as carefully as she can manage. The rest goes back into the rag box.

"You're... Shephard, right? Corporal Adrian Shephard?"

[remindmeof_me]

"That's me," Shephard says. "I'm guessin' you're the mechanic? Eleanor Freeman?"

He and Dr. Freeman don't talk much if they can help it, but he got filled in on who'd be working on the chopper before heading down here.

[smelltheashes]

"Just 'Eleanor' is fine." She picks up the box and strolls over to where the helicopter is parked. (She's a very petite girl, but the box weighs considerably less than it did before she started sorting through it.)

[remindmeof_me]

Shephard nods. "Fine by me," he says. "Thanks for comin' out here, by the way."

[smelltheashes]

"You're welcome," she says pleasantly.

She slows to a stop when she walks around to the side of the hunter-chopper and gets her first glimpse of the alterations Shephard has made to the paint job.

She doesn't say a word, but her nose is wrinkling in spite of itself.

[remindmeof_me]

"Problem?" says Shephard, glancing from chopper to Eleanor and back again. "Didn't have much of time nor tools."

Of course, she could have picked up the Black Mesa survivor dislike for the Corps, but... well, he'll deal with that if that's the case.

[smelltheashes]

"Just one more thing to tune up, I suppose," she says, smoothing out her expression again.