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    1. Yotta Yocta 11 yrs ago

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Sorry, I knew that I just couldn't be stuffed spelling out that name lol. :P
No problem, mate.
Sorry to hear you're sick, Wayne. Hope you feel better soon :)

@Vert. Not much. A kid and his mum were killed by soldiers for being infected, Moot and Olivia are planning escape,Joe is locked in the ladies bathroom, Allen is outside.... Nothing too major yet.
Moot follow Olivia's finger with her eyes before looking to the phone, holding her hand to her jaw in a thoughtful manner for a few moments. As much as she liked to make a bang and maybe pay those murderous soldiers a bit of karma, drawing such attention would be dangerous for them and everyone else. Besides her jet lag was already giving her a headache. She held a finger to her lips, a universal signal for quiet before standing, noticing another civilian had entered the shop.

Let's get closer.

She typed. Klara hoped they wouldn't have to resort to typed messages for too long, much more accustomed to sign language. The baseball bat she had borrowed from the communal troupe luggage was peeking out of her rucksack, quickly pushing it down to remain inconspicuous. She wandered in the direction of the jet bridge.
It's on the character list so I'd say you're accepted. :)
The woman began to hyperventilate again before regaining some semblance of composure, Klara simply watching patiently for her to be ready to speak again. She kept talking about her mother and home, obviously worried about their well being but seemed to think going their would make things normal. Such hopes were not well grounded but nevertheless... Moot would need someone who knew the area and Olivia needed a friend. She watched with curiosity as she procured and typed into her phone before showing it to her.

Moot almost laughed - She thought she was deaf. It certainly wasn't the first time someone had assumed this and right now couldn't be bothered pointing it out. Instead she gently took the phone and began to type a response. Klara held out the phone:

Klara Marinovski.

Call me 'Moot'.

I want to find my friends,
trapped outside I think.


Klara paused a moment to examine the surroundings as the soldiers, and their victims, calmed somewhat. She began to write again, this time smirking to herself deviously.

There are windows close.

If I make distraction, can you get through them?
Klara heard the dark, tear-soaked woman taking three deep breaths before so much as turning to face her. The anxiety was clear and she new it well from her earlier days as a performer - one does not leap through the air without safety nets and not take a few good breaths. She had a squarish, rounded face but was not unattractive, "Who... who are you?" Moot almost smiled but stopped herself - grinning to a stranger was rude, she'd look like a madwoman.... At least in Russia, though she supposed it was different here. Then again, a lot of Americans seemed at least halfway insane.

Klara quickly began to sign the letters of her name but paused partway through, thinking better of it and making a waving off motion with the same hand. She doubted the woman new any sign language, frankly. A thoughtful expression crossed her face and then delved into her carry on rucksack. There was suddenly the sound of struggle, crying and screaming in the near distance, Moot slowly looking up to investigate. The violence and desperation unfolding made her jaw harden and eyes go wide with shock as well as anger. She stood slightly as if to move to confront the soldiers but a look at their guns told her this was not the time.

The African-American woman was sobbing again - something about her mother and maybe another family member. Klara quickly produced a pen from her bag and snatched a nearby napkin, scrawling something in her best English. She placed the improvised note in front of Olivia and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

It read:
Are you alright?

People are idiots,
But I do not think staying with them wise.

Do you want to leave?
Ok, edited it :)
Wrote my last post just before running out the door. I can edit it in a few hours :p
Barely a squeak escaped Klara's worn, red sneakers as she strode across the international terminal of the LAX, as if she were entering the circus ring albeit at somewhat more of a frantic pace than was customary. The increasing chaos supplied by these foreign and hence altogether stranger strangers, huddled around every television, door and window in terrible curiosity, made it more like wading through snow. The American airport already had an air of another country - expansive and unfamiliar. Moot did her best to remain focused despite this and her increasing jet-lag, eyes scouring the masses for any sign of her fellow performers or, more importantly to her, Daniel the clown and her lover.

It had been an hour and 45 minutes since they disappeared but still no sign nor response to calls and texts. The people were less than helpful, perhaps due to their current focus on the 'quarantine' on this state or simply their difficultly communicating with the speechless. Klara tapped another on the shoulder, a shorter and balding man with a coffee-like complexion. He flinched in surprize, not having heard her approach and cautiously turned to face the acrobatic young woman. Moot waved a little hello and held up a smallish, slightly damaged photograph - it was of Klara and Daniel, she point to the latter. With a free had she began to sign a question but he was already shuffling away mumbling something about charities. She sighed in exasperation, wandering in to the nearest restaurant selling coffee and sitting in the vacant chair by a young african american woman. Klara rubbed the bridge of her nose, eyes scrunched closed.

As the military annoucement blares out across the building, Moot strained to translate it. She knew english but was somewhat out of practice. Something about soldiers and a lockdown of somekind on the area. Klara made a silent prayer that Daniel was not outside - true enough, she had no religion but the news screens showed such horrors.... it was then Moot finally noticed the tears running diwn the woman's face. She made a thoughtful grimace at rapped her fingers twice sharply on the table beside her.
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