Welcome to Gaia! ::

Mills sat on the floor in a shadowy corner of the main hall. Between her bent legs sat a shapeless mass, a nylon laundry bag she had found in the room she had claimed after her confusing confrontation with Lutwidge. But the satchel had a broken strap, which she now endeavored to repair, a difficult task given what little she had at her disposal. The frayed end of her floppy green sweater's sleeve had given her the idea to use loose yarn to stitch it together, but the lack of a needle was vexing. For the time being she had tied the strap into a handle for carrying. At least the zipper was still intact. It would serve well enough to carry whatever she found while out scavenging.

She pushed her rolled-up sleeves further up her arm and glared suspiciously through a shaggy forelock of ginger hair at anyone in the vicinity. She had grown particularly sullen lately, though whenever she did open her mouth the usual bravado did not hesitate to manifest.

Mills saw him shortly after he had entered the main hall. He had a "street" air about him no matter how unintimidating he tried to present himself, and it had nothing to do with his packaging. There's a walk and a shifting glare that's particular to someone who's been out there for long periods of time. Of course the facial expression and even an age were impossible to read behind his gas mask, so there's where the packaging came in. Just the swagger or the tattoos and dyed hair alone would have suggested a different type of person. But this guy looked like he could be dangerous.

Even so, Mills could not stand being stared at. Understandable nervousness and a mild paranoia that she might be projecting some sort of weakness brought the glare out of her. When she felt his eyes upon her, she looked around until she realized it was the guy with the gas mask. That took enough time for her to finish tying the strap, as she had to keep glancing up to be sure. The mask, it's impossible to tell...

Her frown deepened when he waved at her and automatically she gave him a sour look. But... she was awfully curious. He was the most interesting-looking normal human she had seen in this place.

She tested bag's integrity then rose to her feet and swung it over her shoulder. It'll work. Then she approached this newcomer -- though he's probably been here longer than me, she thought, and stood solidly before him.

"Hey," she said, pleased to note that days of misuse had left it sounding deeper and scratchier than normal, though her expression was tough and less than friendly. "Nice mask." Hey. I wonder if he's actually part fish or something. Why else would you wear something like that, unless you're a raver?

Clyde's body language was confusing. Perhaps he was simply trying to appear timid. Or perhaps he was one of those guys who likes to dress imposing but doesn't feel that way at all. Mills wouldn't know anything about that though. It never hurts to act tough then be a little nicer once everyone knows where everyone stands. There were a lot of scary guys around, and someone her size had to get by on grit alone, sometimes.

Mills frowned when he gestured in response to her compliment. A thumbs-up? Is this guy being an a** or-- oh. He gestured the same way toward her bag. He seemed to like it or something. She hefted the bag a little, "Er, thanks. Right. I guess it's hard to say anything through the mask. But you can speak, right? I met this guy once who liked to pretend he couldn't speak English because he's Chinese. I mean, he's a freaking dragon. Like anyone's gonna know."

All right so he knows how to speak. Makes sense. The mask doesn't make sense, but they wouldn't let him have it if it wasn't important, she surmised. He started writing his name in the air while she considered this. It wasn't until he was about halfway through that she realized he was spelling something out. Maybe it was her background involving graffiti (which was, ironically, her reason for being here in the first place) that made her realize what he was doing without ever having done this in any other context.

She frowned in concentration, which was remarkably similar to the growly-frown she used as a shield. She muttered and shook her head a few times. "Okay... C. J? No, L...T...Y. C-L-Y... Clyde? Your name is Clyde?" She pointed to her chest with a thumb. "I'm Mills. M-I-L-L-S. Use of any other name will get you shanked. And, it just so happens I'm working on one of those. It'll be badass when I'm done with it." She was, of course, referring to a butter knife she had somehow confiscated from the lunchroom and had been honing little by little with shards of concrete wall. She had scrapes and torn up callouses from the process that she could be proud of. She wasn't about to show the knife off to anyone though.

"Wish I could ask you about the mask. Do you need it to breathe? Do you have gills or something? Or maybe you're an alien that can't breathe oxygen... Huh, I guess I just asked you about it. But you don't have to answer."

This "conversation" really reminds me of Zhu's, before he told me he could speak freakingAmerican. But she liked Zhu so it was forgivable. This guy, Clyde, was actually trying to communicate complex ideas in words, which was very limiting. "You know what you need? A chalkboard," she grumbled.

But she did try to answer his question. Me and this room? she thought. Oh. "Yeah. I'm here because my room doesn't give me enough light to work on s**t. Like this bag." She lifted it off her shoulder briefly. "Now that the strap's fixed, I'm going to go looking for stuff I can use. I 'inherited' a great room, but it was cleared out before I found it, so I need to repopulate it," she smirked. "What about you, Clyde? Oh. Nevermind. You don't have to answer." This is lame.