Welcome to Gaia! ::

She led him up to the front doors, and thankfully the entryway was much nicer than the outside. It still wasn't homey and normal like the house was, though. This was a building of purpose and without figures walking its halls intent on business, it couldn't reach that same sort of comforting everydayness. But it was less scary.

America walked to a closet and it was full of cleaning supplies, as well as lanterns and weird little contraption made up of red solo cups that she gathered along with all the rest. Half of the supplies she handed over to Dawson, speaking all the while, "From what I hear? The world just about ended in 1999. But a bunch of hunters, like nearly all of them, gave their lives to save us all."

There was, of course, a moment of silence, heavy and pointed in respectful gratitude. And then the girl went on again, "After that, there were things that made this place unlivable for families and such. Some sort of oogie fog that went away last year. I'm trying to get things back to that better place, though. The sort that needs a school."

The girl gave him the bright, determined smile of someone who knows not everybody agreed, who was trying her hardest not to join their ranks.

"We don't get ghosts round here" she began and then paused. "Unless we're under attack by the other world, I guess. But I've never seen it happen. Usually it's in other sorts of creepy places all over the world. Here? In the sea there's some big monsters and such, but nothing you can't handle. On land it's mostly shadow critters. And they poof as soon as you hit them, they're only strong in groups which is why..." America gestured to a door labeled BASEMENT, "...you don't ever go down into the basement here, not until I've gotten it cleared."

She led him to a wreck of a classroom, fortunately fairly sunny and well lit compared to some they'd passed. Setting down the cooler and supplies, the girl turned to him and placed a firm hand on one shoulder. "Listen, you seem a bit spooked and I don't blame you, okay? But you're stronger and more durable than most anything that's gonna come your way, and you're getting get stronger and tougher the longer you're around."

She'd picked up on the flinch, the change of tone and wary posture. Dawson, at first glance, was built like a nuggety, rough-and-ready sort of fellow. America had been raised by one such who had a good foot on the boy in front of her, and he was the gentlest, shyest, and most quietly terrified of men she'd ever known. The fact that Dawson was willing to man up and help here anyway already put him a step ahead as far as she was concerned.

Giving Dawson an atta boy slap on the back, America nodded. "You see anything salvageable set it aside, otherwise clear it all out. And if you find anything like say, bits of floor or wall that seem different from the rest?" Her voice grew a bit wistful, "Tell me right off, sometimes there's hidden cubbies and the like."

Setting the odd solo cup configuration down, the girl placed her phone at the center of it, and tapped the screen a few times. Moments later CCR filled the air and America was already putting on her gloves, snapping out a trash bag, and getting to work.

The following time was peppered with her various questions and occasional bouts of singing along. Are you a peach? How old are you anyway? What'dya do before you got here? What's your weapon like? Which room did you get in the basement?

She didn't show any sign of leaving him there to work by himself and had a tendency to be bossy, but generous with praise when hard work was done and done well.

With a wink, America assured him that she knew a lot about that basement and lived in it herself. She gave him an offer of coming by to help him make it nice as you can get in a basement, and that if it got too bad on some nights, he was welcome to visit her and make use of the guest room.

The offer, truth be told, surprised America even as she made it. Her space, her home, was personal and a little bit sacred. Invitations to visit were casual and eager, but to invite someone to sleep there held special sort of weight to it. A sign of trust and welcome into her life. The reasons why it came so easily were likely plenty, but the heart of it was two-fold: Dawson felt harmless and helpless and familiar, he seemed the sort of boy she grew up around, he reminded her of uncles and exes and neighbors; the second was that she wanted to erase and write-over the thoughts and hopes she'd held onto for that guest room, as soon as possible.

America considered her reasoning as much as she cared to (and that was not very much, all said) and then took her turn answering her own questions.

She's nineteen, and was most certainly born on the Fourth of July, so they were both fourthers, weren't they? Maybe they could start a club of some sort. Raised mostly here and there around northern Florida, so she was southern crazy, not Florida crazy, thank you much. She worked all sorts of small jobs and had been fired from a bunch of them, but if she hadn't joined Deus, she'd have joined the Navy.

As far as weapons went, hers is named Stryker, and he's a phoenix as well as a big ol' ball n' chain. The invitation for sparring promptly followed this information, along with the sorts she was familiar with.

Hopping up on a desk, America began to unpack the sodas and snacks, imperiously patting the area beside her as she spoke. "There's fighty spars, of course. Weapons drawn and just attack, attack, attack. Some folks like using charges and going all out, and others don't. Best to make sure before the fight instead of during."

She winked at him and popped the top of a root beer. "There's defendy spars, where one person is attacking and the other just defends. It's not as exciting as the other sorts, gotta say, but it can be important to know how to keep a good defense up against different sorts of weapons and fighters. I'm in Moon, so that sort of thing is all bread and butter, but I was in Sun first so," America grinned broadly, "I like hitting stuff too. The last sort I've had is barehanded. It's a lot less dangerous than the other sorts, cause you aren't stabbing folks in the face n'such. Just punching it instead."

"I've seen a few with guns. Was a bit jealous at first, no lie, but once me n'Stryker started working together and figuring s**t out, I don't got any regrets left."

The division talk had her nodding along, "Yeah, but don't leave off the other sorts entirely. Even if fighting isn't so much your thing." America thought on Taym and his dislike of sparring with a wry twist of the lips. The reminder alo prompted her to sit up, "If you want more information on stuff, like what divisions do and what sorts of things you should learn, you should chat up my boyfriend, Obadiah."

Leaning back, the girl grabbed up a piece of scrap paper and wrote down @tomcatachresis before handing it over to Dawson. "Wordy and weird name, right? He and this other hunter, Cami, do orientation and such for newbies. Dunno when the next one's scheduled for, but I bet he'd be happy enough to sit down and tell you all about everything." She paused and then admitted, "Or at least give you some nice pamphlets and good advice. He's kinda grumpy, but I bet he'll take a shine to you right off and he's in Moon too!"

America quietly preened to herself. Yeah, she was helpful as ********, dang.