cleaning stuff [ota]

[spikyflyboy]

With everything being so damn cold, Jane avoiding the whole 'lets go outside during the day' thing because it was just insane, and really, he didn't like cold that much. His stint serving in Antarctica had proved that to him years ago. Instead he sat in the mess hall, his fire arm taken apart on the table in front of him, cleaning it out

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[watch_the_nails]

Victor had to admit, he was mildly impressed by the newer team member he'd first met in the garage. Not only did Worth seem to slip easily into the military lifestyle here - a refreshing change from the whining, mewling complaints from so many of the other team members - but it looked like the man also knew how to take care of his weapons properly. Even though Victor had his claws, he still kept his knives and guns clean and in good working order, a habit instilled into him from years of military service, not to mention common sense. Even with his skills, a badly-maintained gun could mean the difference between life and death.

Drawing his own weapon, Victor casually walked over to where Worth was sat and took a seat close to him, beginning to dismantle his own weapon and removing the necessary materials for cleaning it; it was more difficult for him sometimes due to his claws, but that was something else he'd adapted to over the years, using the tips of his talons as built-in screwdrivers when he needed to. He didn't give a verbal greeting to the man, but nodded his head in acknowledgement of his presence. Worth may not have known it yet, but coming from Victor, that was practically a sign of respect, and that wasn't something easily obtained from the large feral.

[spikyflyboy]

Frankly, the fact that the resident 'big bad' actually tolerated Jane and his random quirkiness was fine. More than fine really. Jane didn't do that 'sitting at the big boys' table because he was more inclined to fight for the little guy. It just meant he was a little more ostracised, but he did all right.

Jane, in true Jane fashion, grinned. It was his own greeting and while he wasn't picky with his friends, the wider the grin the better the idea that he liked you. Victor sort of fascinated him. A hundred plus, a seasoned veteran, and the possibility of actually getting a first person account of just what the hell went down in 'Nam all those years back.

Not that he was obsessively concerned about it. Not really. But having your imagination completely destroyed regarding your absent due to death father -who was supposedly hailed a hero, really didn't sit too comfortable for Worth.

[watch_the_nails]

He accepted the grin for what it was, an unspoken gesture of acceptance between two grown men; it wasn't often than people seemed glad to see him, but that was mainly Victor's own choice. It suited him just fine for most people to keep their distance. Having established a comfort zone with Worth, he set about dismantling his weapon slowly; a standard-issue Beretta M9, something he'd been using for the past ten years, and he was able to take the piece apart with surprising speed, even with his claws. After a few minutes, he did choose to speak, although it was more due to personal interest than to break an awkward silence - because as far as he was concerned, the silence wasn't awkward at all.

"So, you made any new friends out here yet?"

[spikyflyboy]

Jane nodded slightly, attention on his own 9mm, but answering Victor. "One or two, sure." His room mate for one, did that count as friends? Probably in Scion's mind, he'd talked, that had to stand for something.

"Couple of them don't seem like they fit." He was having trouble working out just why some of them were there. Edie, the kids, the pretty girl with streaked hair, the crazy redhead. What was going on, he wasn't sure. Maybe, having been around a touch longer, Victor would have a clue. Jane glanced over, indicating that he would appreciate Victor's opinion on that.

[watch_the_nails]

Victor glanced over to meet the other man's gaze and caught the unspoken question, his curiosity as to just what, exactly, such a bunch of misfits were doing out here in the middle of nowhere. He shrugged and put down the part of his gun that he'd been cleaning, wiping his greased and oily fingers against his trousers.

"They don't." He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand; even being pretty much immune from coughs and colds didn't always prevent a runny nose from the extreme temperatures. "None of us do. We're Stryker's little pets, and he's trying to train us to come to heel when he wants us to. You must have worked that much out by now, right?"