Welcome to Gaia! ::

The nervy edge of anticipation had been well softened by that various pieces of affection she'd been given, and the girl who stepped through the portal was confident and happy one. On the other side was Kivi, and middle eastern hunter she was vaguely familiar with in passing, but who spent a great deal of time off-island and overhauling damaged bases. America gave him a chagrined smile, knowing he'd been waiting on her goodbyes, but didn't apologize, 'cause she wasn't sorry at all.

They were out in a forest area, and fortunately no snow waited for them on this base, unlike the last time she'd visited Russia on business. The fortunately turned to a quiet pang of dismay when she caught sight of beautiful little lake. Having a month worth of daily skates woulda sweetened the deal considerably. She'd keep that lake in mind though, maybe there'd be a winter mission in the area and she could take advantage.

Kivi lead her to the entry, a little shack that didn't look reinforced for much more than a stiff wind, but which he happily informed her could withstand a nuke. She listened carefully as he walked toward the small section of the base that'd already been cleared for their living quarters. The man was a field pro at things she aspired to and also it was a distraction from the thought that just after getting out of the basement, she was right back underground within a few weeks. It was a worthless thought anyhow, 'cause even if she was here now, she had a nice place to go back to soon enough.

The halls of the base were cramped and utilitarian but at least they had steady lighting and there were no funhouse mirrors ******** with her mind. She mentioned that mission to the other moon, who sounded interested in the odd make-up of that other base. The phrase dimensional weakspot was issued and America held up her hands as if to block any weirdo science s**t aimed in her direction.

Rooms first, and they each had their own along with one communal shower room. There was a stairway leading down from the cluster of rooms that Kivi pointed out, explaining it led to what was once a division leader's quarters. The two Mists who'd been responsible for getting things set up for the rest of them here had cleared out the bathroom, which apparently had gold fixtures and a tub the size of a small pool. They had a rotating schedule for it already drawn up, and as America was the last to arrive, it'd be a good five days until she got to use it.

Next came the small kitchen and cramped little dining room filled with the eight other hunters. There were two from each division, and somehow (possibly intentionally) the genders balanced out completely. An ark joke hovered behind the girl's lips for a moment before she noticed the blueprints spread out on the table, and realized work was about to start. An eagerness filled her at that as always did when faced with a solid opportunity to prove herself.

Two Sun hunters were talking to each other quietly in Russian when America entered, one large with a curly mop of dark brown hair, the other thin and pretty in an urbane way. Looking up, the larger grabbed the smaller's arm and began outlining the nature of dibs. It was always gratifying when men understood she was hot and that they were ******** lucky to even get a look, and blessed as hell to get anything more. What was less gratifying was the turn their conversation took toward not getting stuck with her as an eclipse team.

Tuning them out, America focused on the other hunters outlining and debating the strategy for clearing the rest of the base.

Dibs having been determined, America found herself assigned to an Eclipse team the larger Russian, whose name was long enough that he tried to just give her a nickname so she wouldn't have to embarrass herself trying to pronounce it. He had a friendly, cheerful manner and it was said without any real mocking, just gentle condescension. He also had no idea she had any understanding if the Russian language, and she was keeping it that way, if only to not miss out on his poetic asides to his friend describing the buoyancy of her tits.
Not bothering with the nickname he gave, America just called him Boris to his great delight and in turn she was now Natasha. In a matter of minutes Kivi and the other sun were dubbed Moose and Squirrel and left to argue who was what.

The first sweep was only a half day, the areas closest to the living quarters already partially cleared. Nothing terrible jumped out at them, though that was mostly due to the crossbows having rotted with age. The bolts still gleamed with dangerous energy, though, their handcrafted runes charged even after all this time. The rest was purely snooping and ferreting out secret areas, which hardly felt like work at all.

It was their day for kitchen detail and the man was an over-sized disaster who thought he was hot s**t. With the added attempts to impress her, the day's meals included: 2 fires, 5 cases of mild food poisoning, 3 ruined pans, and a unanimous vote that Boris and Natasha not be allowed in the kitchen again. Instead they got an extra day of bathroom detail.

America went to bed that night with murder in her heart and woke up to a small bundle of flowers taped to her door. Boris's knowledge of plants nearly matched his kitchen prowess, and he spent much of the day healing up from the attempt at...an apology? Wooing? America was ******** exasperated with the man, but maybe growing a bit fond as well.

She grown long used to missing people who were gone and simply dealing with the absence in a variety of ways, both harmless and mildly destructive. Being the one away and missed was new, though, even going to Deus hadn't been too awful. Though perhaps that was because it'd been forever and when confronted with that sort of situation, America was the sort to pick a direction stick with it; the choice between moving on and forward or a lifetime of pining was easy enough. Done was done and she'd rather be happy. But this temporary situation, not forever but long enough, was a sort of limbo that had America checking her phone like a lifeline.

Glancing at her new pics one last time, America slipped the phone into the pocket of the coveralls they'd been given and finished zipping up. Boris was still asleep when she check in his room, and getting him up involved a lot of pinching, blanket tugging, and literally rolling him out of the bed. The man was all muscle and dark, floppy curls, and warm smiles and objectively a level 10 Get On It Girl; working with the man combined with the distraction of homesickness dropped that down to a lvl 6 Maybe (not to be confused with lvl 11 Maebe).

She got frustrated with how childish and playful he was, normally traits she was fond of, but not in a work context. Today, however, he was the one frustrated by her constantly checking her phone and sending off messages. Today he gave her the lecture on being unprofessional.

Also having the phone at meals is rude, Natasha.

For that she told him fine, and also that she wouldn't show him any of the adorable pictures of her adorable minipet. He hadn't been appropriately impressed with Tubadiah, anyway, claiming himself much more charming and his sad eyes more lovely. Which...no.

Phone rules were instated as were proper wake-up procedures. (Boris had suggestions on the latter, these were filed away in case of Maybe but otherwise ignored.)

America chewed her sandwich for a moment as her eyes went from phone to partner. Her glance dropped to her lunch box and coldly noted that one of her cookies was missing. Glancing up, she noticed Boris's collar was glowing red and continued to calmly chew her bite. This is what happened to cookie thieves.

He noticed that he was on fire soon enough.

She even helped him put it out.

But not before taking a picture for Kostya.

There was the sound of footsteps, and America jolted up from where she'd been leaning against the side of the stall. For a moment, wide-eyed and confused, the girl just sort of took in the fact that she was perched on a toilet tank. That she had fallen asleep in a bathroom stall. ******** Romeo and his need for bathroom dramas, next time she was just gonna barge on out there because 1) three strikes rule 2) she didn't like him anyway and 3) this should not be a Thing.

Hearing her name, America glanced up to see what had woken her, and was met by Boris beaming down at her over the stall door. He stated that if she'd just stayed asleep he would have chivalrously carried her to her room and tucked her in. Which...

America was not at all against getting carried about, a fact which sometimes surprised folks who didn't think to put strong, independent woman and pampered into the same niche of humanity. Probably those people as have never owned a cat.

But being carried from a bathroom stall was a bit much even for her dignity and America shot him an incredulous look before kicking the door open so it slammed right into him. He just laughed, of course. Cause that was a Boris thing. He laughed on a dime where other people'd get mad or alarmed. Even after getting set on fire, dodging bullets, getting hit with an arrow, he just ******** laughed it off. He was, in that way, a very typical Sun in America's (admittedly fond) opinion. The man also cried on a dime over the stupidest s**t; where danger didn't upset him, the possibility of being considered the bad guy was enough to send the big man into a tearful flurry of loud emotion.

He spent the walk back to their rooms exclaiming over how things had been worked out, and see, I am not such a terrible person to be ruining love. And the fire this time vas only very small!

Blearily the girl nodded until she was at her door and then closing it on him mid-sentence. The man could go on for hours and they both needed to get what sleep they could before their shift.

She lists for Taym years' worth of demands, of things owed to her and to him alike; and it is the closest she can come to asking for forever, for the rest of their lives, because to say it plainly feels like inviting the worst kind of lie: one she wants to believe.

She makes a little nest of pillows and blankets until the world is just a small, warm cave that could be anywhere, anywhere at all in the world. Again and again she hits play and every time a small moment of wonder, every time a wordless pang of jealousy. She remembers his tears and regret and hurt and thinks good. Thinks how dare you. Thinks thank you. Thinks of a town that may one day be a place to truly live and a school with a little theatre and how likely it was for the ability to see the life in shadows to be passed down. Thinks of futures seen and wonders if there is confirmation in them. Wonders if he's thought about it.

America has a memory for song and words spoken and by morning could recite most of a little children's play and sing along with them; but every time the girl hits play a small spell is cast and all she has is silence.