RolePlayerGuilt
DeadDrop
Megsychan
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Xacha
OldManMountainAs night came, Sabrina found herself in the hangar once again. As usual, she was tending to her frame. Her uniform blouse had been unbuttoned a bit at the top with her sleeves rolled and a towel around her neck. The rest of the day had gone on without much event. She was processing what was going on now with her unit. A lot of it stunk like her old Joint Task Force business in the NSU, but this was different. Still, there was a lot she learned in those years fighting the SSU on the frontlines, and a lot of things she picked up on. NSU rock n' roll was certainly piqued her interest, and she got to listen to it a lot when she was on-base down in that jungle.
Music from her portable radio was echoing from her station where she worked at something with a crescent wrench on her FRAME's foot. Her dog tags clinked as they hung just barely free off her bust while she had a knee down to get into the inner workings. She wanted to make sure everything was good, and no problems would be plaguing her in the field where it meant the difference between life and death. That was another habit she picked up in her deployment time: Fixing her machine herself. It wasn't that she didn't trust the other mechanics, but she needed to be able to recognize the difference between something that isn't a problem, something that's worn from wear, and something that may look like sabotage. She watched her back but didn't make it obvious that she was doing so. She didn't want to seem paranoid, after all.
For now, Sabrina continued working on her FRAME, enjoying the air conditioning after wiping some sweat off her face with the towel she had. A toolbox, some oil pans, and a other odds and ends lay clustered into an organized mess for quick access when she needed it. The lights were dimmed as a sign that there weren't many people around at this late an hour. The soft clinking of her dog tags punctuating her wrenching was one of the only noises she heard for now as a single flood light spotlighted her in her work, being full on in contrast to the others that were saving power.
Music from her portable radio was echoing from her station where she worked at something with a crescent wrench on her FRAME's foot. Her dog tags clinked as they hung just barely free off her bust while she had a knee down to get into the inner workings. She wanted to make sure everything was good, and no problems would be plaguing her in the field where it meant the difference between life and death. That was another habit she picked up in her deployment time: Fixing her machine herself. It wasn't that she didn't trust the other mechanics, but she needed to be able to recognize the difference between something that isn't a problem, something that's worn from wear, and something that may look like sabotage. She watched her back but didn't make it obvious that she was doing so. She didn't want to seem paranoid, after all.
For now, Sabrina continued working on her FRAME, enjoying the air conditioning after wiping some sweat off her face with the towel she had. A toolbox, some oil pans, and a other odds and ends lay clustered into an organized mess for quick access when she needed it. The lights were dimmed as a sign that there weren't many people around at this late an hour. The soft clinking of her dog tags punctuating her wrenching was one of the only noises she heard for now as a single flood light spotlighted her in her work, being full on in contrast to the others that were saving power.
