Caoimhe - The ABCs of ABVs

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Description: A is for Assault, B is for Breacher, C is for... seven thousand pounds of Compound C-4? Special Forces Sergeant Caoimhe Delaney meets Corporal Minal Panesh of the USMC at a demonstration of the Assault Breacher Vehicle during a conference on the DPRK. There's definitely no awkwardness as the explosives expert and IED victim discuss traumatic life experiences, darkstalkers, Zach, Zack, and extracurricular communications protocol.

As relations between the United States and the Democratic People's Republic of Korea appear to be heating up, the top military brass has been starting to corral forces together for all feasible scenarios. One such scenario would entail a ground invasion of the Korean peninsula -- and that means revisiting land vehicles that had been largely mothballed in favor of naval power.

Top representatives from the US Marine Corps and the US Army have convened in Camp Lejeune on the east coast of North Carolina. New technology has been developed for demonstration, and ongoing discussions have necessitated a "dog and pony show" of the USMC technology. The forefront of the Marine's contribution to the joint effort is the M1 Assault Breacher Vehicle (nicknamed "The Shredder"), a derivative of the M1 Abrams assault tank. Heavily armored, the vehicle was developed to allow combat engineers safe ingress to prepare enemy battlefields for entry by other tactical vehicles. In theatre, the vehicle's forward mine-plough and explosive MICLIC line-charges provide a unique combat capability that is viewed by the multi-service committee as crucial for a land war. Even as the Army declined to pursue the maintenance-heavy hardware, the Marine Corps continued development on the General Dynamics chassis. Accordingly, the USMC higher-ups are very happy to host this particular conference (and in the process thumb their noses at the Army's lack of foresight, naturally...).

Due to heavy crew rotations, many of the officers in attendance haven't even seen the M1 ABV in action, only spending their time mired in discussions about the device at a high level. Tents have been pitched, the thin canvas warding off the North Carolina summertime while large earthen berms -- recently dug -- provide some cover in case of an inadvertent weapons discharge. The M1 ABV continues carving small canyons across the demonstration field, with pre-placed mines detonating in particularly dramatic fashion upon the ABV's front plough. The device can really move some earth -- it takes only minutes to carve a highway for wheeled tactical vehicles into the volatile topography of the battlefield.

And through it all, an Indian-American NCO stands smugly off to one side, hands folded behind her back in at-ease stance as she watches the scene unfold. She's spent all morning in a briefing room, discussing the pros and cons of the M1 ABV's hardware as they might apply to the minefield threats that they might encounter in the DPRK theatre. And after delivering her briefing, the officers sit and nod to themselves, pleased at their own brilliance and forethought and giving little -actual- thought to the ramifications of said brilliance and forethought.

Yeah... Mint has pretty much put all that behind her now. The ABV on display is one of the maintenance officer's "babies," after all -- and after having been stuck in a sweaty and stifling briefing room all morning, she's delighted to finally get outside and watch her hard work pay off. Each staged explosion is preceded by a wince, which quickly turns into a broad smile as the ABV weathers the assault with nary a scratch on its heavy armor.

The events of the morning all seem something of a blur to Sergeant Caoimhe Delaney by this point. As a Special Forces combat engineer specializing in demolitions, her part in the conference was to give a presentation on the Democratic People's Republic of Korea's armament expectations. While it wasn't a region she'd served actively in, her expertise on the broader subject was enough to allow her to assimilate and present the necessary information, especially after the extensive research she'd put in. It would likely have all been something to feel good about if she'd been able to sleep the night before.

The Assault Breacher Vehicle had become something of an obsession for Caoimhe over the weeks leading up to the meeting. It was essentially a measure designed to counteract enemy sappers and saboteurs: in other words, her equal opposites. While she hadn't been specifically tasked with identifying ways to destroy an ABV, she had had the thought - idle at first - how could it be done, hypothetically speaking?

She had a theory: if an explosive buried below a depth of ten inches - deep enough not to be caught by the vehicle's plow - with sufficient power to punch through the ground at that depth, designed not to be triggered by the plow digging above it, it would have the best chance at damaging the vehicle's relatively vulnerable underbelly. If it could then set off the nearly seven thousand pounds of explosives the vehicle was armed with...

As a mental exercise, Caoimhe thought that trying it sounded like fun. Of course, the idea wasn't passed up the chain of command: it wasn't her place to request that kind of testing. As far as she knew, someone might have tried it already. However, the thought had been itching enough in the back of her mind for weeks now that she'd made a passing comment during her presentation about the possibility, then passed it off as something of a joke.

She could have sworn that, not long after, she overheard one of her superior officers whisper to another: "Well, if anyone could wreck it, she could." The other had laughed.

Normally, watching explosives go off from a safe distance would be the highlight of Caoimhe's day, but right now, her brain is too busy picking apart the officer's words, whether they were real or she'd only imagined them. She'd buried them in her mind and been on autopilot since then, and only now, standing in her fatigues and watching the demonstration dispassionately through her shades, is she allowing her brain to dig into them. Her hands are also folded behind her back as she stands coincidentally close to Corporal Panesh.

She finally allows herself to alleviate the thoughts by imagining the next mine to instead be replaced by the high-yield shaped subterranean charge she'd designed in her head, picturing the Abrams chassis suddenly going up in a conflagration as, in her mind's eye, it's blown through from below.

The strange smile that slowly creeps onto the underslept Sergeant's face might be a little disconcerting...

Corporal Minal Panesh has no urge to get up close and personal with explosives again. Her mechanical hands, though painted to look like her dark-skinned flesh, can in no way be misconstrued as organic. She'd found through experience that if her hands resemble hands but aren't -obviously- mechanical, then people will spend several minutes trying not to stare before coming to the proper conclusion. If they just up and -look- obviously fake, then people can reach their conclusion in a fraction of the time and she can get on with her day sooner.

Her disability would have become obvious in her earlier talk -- as would the fact that the corporal has engineered herself out of the disability by making her prosthetics almost as fully-featured as real human hands. Tactile sensors and fine motor controls are features of this set of prosthetics, and unlike the ones she wears into combat, these actually allow her to wear her camouflage utility uniform without rolling up the sleeves.
There's a reason the young woman is still a corporal, and it has a lot to do with her respect for Marine regulations.

Prior to the ABV demonstration, Minal had not really paid much mind to anyone else in the room; the 'speak when spoken to' rule has been beaten into her almost as much as uniform regulations. Minal was a bit too focused on her glorious 72-ton warhorse to pay attention to other conversations, at any rate. So it's only in the less formal context of a demonstration that she even allowed herself the luxury of looking around.

And she just happens to notice an Army sergeant standing nearby, with a giddy smile. She notices the arm patch first -- the extra stripe means that technically she should be -more- respectful to the sergeant.
Maybe she will -start- being more respectful.

"Sergeant? W-wow, you're really into this demo, haha!" Mint practically beams, rocking back on her heels as she casts her eyes upon the ABV as it rolls up a hill, preparing for a long stretch of grassy field marked off with red flags. "She's a beaut, huh? But gosh, you haven't even seen the best part. They've authorized us to bust out the line-charges for this show..."

A mechanical finger stretches out towards the field. "Yep... my girl's pretty much unstoppable against whatever they got in store for us. You can't even get an MRAP on the shore, they'll break an axle just trying to get close to those hills, but not -these- rockstars..."

She smiles inwardly, not even realizing that she and Caoimhe aren't even on the same page, it's questionable whether they're even reading the same -book-.

"Oh, they're getting lined up now, check it out...!"

Mint's voice snaps Caoimhe out of her demolition daydream, causing the Engineer Sergeant to blink behind her sunglasses. The grin quickly disappears, and Caoimhe's lips purse for a moment before pulling into a much more reserved smile. "Sorry for that. Got a bit caught up in the pyrotechnics. Corporal Panesh, isn't it? Sergeant Delaney, Third Group."

Delaney decides against clarifying the fact imagining the forty-foot vehicle being reduced to salvage was what put the big dumb smile on her face. She raises one fist to cover her mouth as she clears her throat.

"Demo'ing the line charges, huh? That's seventeen hundred pounds of C-4 per line, right? I'd definitely skip date night to see this."

There's a bit of an awkward nervousness in the chuckle that follows the comment, despite its sincerity; perhaps because avoiding social interaction to watch things explode, make things explode, or think about things exploding has steadily become more and more a part of the demolitionist's life in recent months. She finally goes quiet, flashing one more tight smile at Mint before turning her eyes to the testing field.

Caught up in the pyrotechnics, eh? Minal's eyebrows arch in surprise but so does her smile. "Yep, that's right -- 2nd Combat Engineer Battalion, based out of here in Lejeune. I'm in charge of making sure these rustbuckets keep rolling no matter what gets thrown at 'em!" Mint grins like mad, nodding her head with enthusiasm. "Pleased to meet you, Sergeant! We don't see many folks from the Army out this way."

While the officers' attention is focused upon the impressive assault vehicle as it treads its way into position, Minal relaxes her guard, resting her mechanical hands upon her hips as she, too, watches the assault breacher. "... That number sounds right, I'd have to look it up. Might be a smidge more than that though..."

After a moment, Minal blinks and looks back at Caoimhe. And squints -- the nervous smile and the sunglasses trigger a memory from a while back.

"... Hey, you know... you kinda remind me of someone..." Panesh looks back to the ABV, if for only the reason to not be staring back at someone in rather close proximity. "... I just can't remember wh-"

The syllable falls silent, as the ABV is beginning to raise one of the large assemblies on the turret frame. A door flaps open. Hydraulics angle the assembly upwards. "Oh, here it comes..."

With a loud hiss and a plume of smoke, an M58 MICLIC charge comes flying out of the assembly, bearing more than a passing resemblance to a whale-hunting harpoon. A wide C4-laden cord trails along behind it as it sails outward, landing at the full extent of the area marked off with red flags. And then... Nothing happens.

Corporal Panesh giggles somewhat. In a hoarse whisper, she notes, "Check out the lieutenants, they think it broke..."

Three, two, one.

*BADDA-BADDA-BADDA-BOOOOOOM* The charges ignite in a chain reaction sending up multiple plumes of smoke flying upwards. Not only has the C4 detonated, but the multiple mines place beforehand have as well.

One second lieutenant, thoroughly unprepared for the sudden shock, literally falls backwards off her feet. And Mint, clenching her hands tightly to keep from rolling over with laughter, just looks back expectantly to Caoimhe.

"... Oh! Now I remember. Was that you, on that island with the bombs going off?!"

"It's good to meet you, too, Corporal." A slight look of worry crosses Caoimhe's lips as the charge hits the ground without any immediate impact. It'd be common practice in war time to have an engineer manually attach a fuse to the charges if they had failed to detonate properly, while at risk of having them go off after all - not to mention the problem of the consequentially undetonated land mines. Here, at least, the situation is more controlled, but the idea crossing her mind is enough to draw a shudder. When Minal explains the situation, though, her expression changes to a grin that only gets bigger when the payoff finally comes. As the smoke trails into the air, what could easily be taken for a contented, or even romantic sigh escapes the Bostonian demolitionist.

The question about the 'island with the bombs going off' throws Caoimhe momentarily for a loop. "Island with the bombs going off?" Caoimhe's brows knit. Technically she was on an island some time ago. And technically, there were bombs that went off - both improvised weaponry that Caoimhe had set off, and at least one depth charge.

Ultimately, the place was a bittersweet memory for Caoimhe. She'd had time to relax, made some side money from a reality television deal, and just maybe met the man of her dreams. She'd also been party to a meerkat massacre, literally and unintentionally destroyed a hotel building, and had to put up with Tia from Breakers. The worst part, though, was that after it all, the guy she'd become enthralled with had disappeared - perhaps for good, lost at sea along with his island namesake.

"You don't mean... Zack Island, do you?" There's a little hesitation in her voice when she asks the question, as she tries to keep the feelings welling up beneath the surface under control.

Minal doesn't seem concerned -at all-. But this isn't the first time her experience as an ABV mech has brought her to one of these dog-and-pony shows, and the expression on the junior officers' faces has never once failed to bring a smile.

... Really, though, if it weren't for the very expression on Caoimhe's face when Panesh looks back to her, the corporal might not have made the connection. Video of the young sergeant at the Trouble In Paradise event -did- make their way around, though -- especially in the circles that the repair technician hangs around with.
Particularly with expressions similar to the one on her face at that moment.

Mint will be damned if she can remember the name of the event though. She just knew it was an island. "Y-yeah... that... that place. There was some... fighting or something." Minal waves her prosthetic hands from side to side. "I don't really keep up with it much. There was a boxer there, I think her name was Vanessa, but... I don't remember much else, to be honest..."

Caoimhe then supplies the name, and Panesh claps her hands together with an audible *clank!* "That's it! That's the one. Man, I gotta go back and dig up the videos. But if you were there, that... that means you're into fightin', huh?"

Mint raises her balled fists in a mock boxing stance. "Me too! I show up in Saturday Night Fights whenever I can... There's just nothin' like the thrill of fightin' other people, y'know?"

Mint hasn't considered the possibility of anyone thinking differently than her.

Of course. The videos. Half the reason Caoimhe couldn't forget what had happened on Zack Island was that there was video proof of it all. She had adopted the stance, when amongst her squadmates, that she had seen it all as part of a big joke. While this may have been true, the joke owed more to the cruelty of almighty God than to Caoimhe, the production staff, or any of the other participants. To admit that Caoimhe had taken everything in complete seriousness would be to open herself to ridicule, or worse, pity.

"Yeah, I was actually in a match with Tia Langray, Johnny Cage and Lightning Spangles," Caoimhe claims - truthfully, as it happens - with a half-smile. "I'm... not sure that that one was actually allowed to air, though," she adds darkly.

Brushing a stray strand of auburn hair from her face, Delaney smiles. "I do love a good workout, but I'm not much into combatives as some. Most of the Zack Island work was done using improvised non-lethal ordnance. I don't think it'd be suited to professional fighting regulations, you know? Zack Island was fun, though. It was a good laugh."

Caoimhe had never laughed about Zack Island. She may have cried, but she had never laughed.

"I did make a request for assignment to Major Nash's martial artist control unit, though."

It's not like Mint really sat down with any of the videos -- it's just that footage of a rather attractive Army sergeant taking great delight in causing ordnance-based mayhem tends to get a lot of mileage in a Marine unit. Even if it -is- another service entirely.
Heck, for all her squadmates care, she could be part of an -enemy's- army and it'd still get passed around. *shudder*

There is some glimmer of recognition regarding Tia Langray -- some of her videos had -also- gotten passed around her squad. Johnny Cage rings a bell -- far off in the distance, anyway, as Panesh feels like she -should- be able to place the name, but doesn't really.

Lightning Spangles, though, causes the corporal's brow to crease and her lips to fall into a frown. "Lightning Spangles? She's, like, fourteen though..."
It seems fairly clear that Minal's not really a fan of popular Western television and movies as one might expect.

"I mean, I fought her once a couple months ago. She seemd a'ight, but... still lots to learn, heh."
Perhaps she got her wires crossed.

Minal relaxes somewhat, though. The smoke cloud surrounding the ABV has more-or-less dissipated, and the vehicle is on the move again. The officers are chatting amiably while the ABV pulls away, and a small fleet of other tactical vehicles begins to drive up along the newly-born highway.

"Non-lethal ordnance... Oh, yeah, I guess you're used to using the big bombs and stuff, huh? You really know your stuff about bombs and mines and such. Learned more listening to you than I did in like..."
Without realizing it, Mint had started to count off the years she's studied. On her mechanical fingers.
Mint laughs uneasily. "Iiinn... the School of Don't-Pick-Up-Live-IEDs. Real prestigious degree, heh. So anything you can teach me about making lethal ordnance into -non-lethal ordnance'd probably be 'ppreciated." A self-deprecating laugh follows, as she hooks her prosthetic thumbs into her pockets. "Major Nash, huh? Is... is he someone famous?"

"Fourteen...?" A genuinely bewildered look crosses Caoimhe's face at Mint's words. "No, no, Lightning Spangles has been around since I was - did they make a new Lightning Spangles? Did Lightning Spangles die?" Her mind drifts back to the moment in her battle with the cowgirl, Cage, and Langray, when she had detonated the explosive pineapples attached to her own makeshift combat harness in an attempt to take Spangles out with her. Everyone had been fine after that, though, right?

Caoimhe is as out of the loop regarding the Lightning Spangles of the present as Mint is of the Lightning Spangles of yesteryear, as it turns out. It's not really the time or place to dwell on the possible death of a childhood hero, though.

A slight smile is offered in acknowledgement of Mint's self-deprecating joke, and little else for a moment. "Well, we all make mistakes," she adds, her quiet statement carefully phrased. "Sometimes we pay for them, sometimes other people do. For what it's worth, I'm sure you probably saved someone else from having the same or worse." She makes an active attempt to shift her tone to a lighter one as she looks down at Mint's hands. "I've heard, though - aren't you the one who designed your prostheses? That's incredible."

The Marine corporal blinks back at the Army sergeant; the pair shares a look of mutual cluelessness to what the other is talking about for a moment. Though, it does jog Mint's memory. "... I guess this a new one, then? I guess she's like Ronald McDonald, anyone can put on the boots and the terrible accent or whatnot with enough training." She laughs, rubbing the back of her head -- not wanting to be -too- dismissive, and yet, not really comfortable letting the topic just die.
Like Lightning Spangles, possibly.
... She didn't die. Right? Whatever.

The reassurances from Caoimhe are appreciated. But, as was told to Mint by a confidante not long after the incident: if she hadn't jumped on the IED, everyone else was at a safe range from the explosive. Her sacrifice, quite literally, was avoidable.

She smiles brightly, and nods. "You're probably right."
A long time ago, she used to get upset when people would make those kinds of statements. She's moved past it now.

"... Th..these old things?" She pulls her hands out of her pockets, holding them up as if they were a pair of gloves. Which, in a way, they are: further inspection will show that the minor three fingers of her left hand are not actually bionic. "Eh.. I mean, thanks! But really, I got a head start from some plans I found on Makerplanet. Of course I had to upgrade the servos to something a bit more accurate for the work I do, and added some sensors and a microprocessor to make sure I didn't accidentally crush things. And I got a -nice- stipend to help fund these, so there's that." She grins more wholeheartedly, now that the topic has moved past the icky matter of her disfigurement.

"I'm -really- proud of my latest set though. It's got all the nice stuff. Dart guns, gas turbines, piston actuators..." She raises one metallic finger to underscore a point, her brow lowering in mock seriousness: "No bombs though."
Her smile cracks wide a moment later. "And... it's even got a comm system and a GPS, so I don't even need to carry a phone around!" The corporal gets a far off look for a moment, before adding: "So I suppose it could function as a remote detonator, if push came to shove..."

"... A-anyway. I mostly built that set in case darkstalkers show up and start harassin' us. Er. Sorry, I guess we're s'posed to call 'em 'aberrants'. You ever run into one of those before? My buddy Zach has, and... wow. They're serious business."

Caoimhe listens and observes with clear admiration as Mint speaks on the subject of the mechanical hands. She considers, briefly, commenting on the fact that her expertise lies strictly in how to destroy things rather than repair or improve them, but decides that the thought is too many parts crass and sober for the conversation at hand. Instead, she just smiles - until the mention of two words: 'Zach' (which happens to be a homophone of 'Zack') and 'Darkstalkers.'

"Oh." Caoimhe raises a hand to her face, thumb pressing against her jaw as her forefinger taps her lips. "I... have, actually. I was approached by an aberrant once. It was... unsettling." Especially the part when her bedroom wall had started to bleed, she opts not to mention. Mentioning it during her report on the incident to her superiors had turned out to be a mistake. "Your friend... Zack, you said?" Caoimhe folds her arms across her stomach, shifting her weight slightly. "You're not talking about... he doesn't have an island, does he?" It doesn't hurt to ask, right?

Mint smiles brightly -- it's contagious! She's more than happy to 'talk shop' with someone on a casual basis without needing to flowchart her thought processes into easy-to-follow bulletpoints. She isn't quite sure what to make of Caoimhe, other than her... pretty intense fascination with explosive ordnance. And Mint's not even sure what to think about that.

The gearhead does notice a tangible shift in Caoimhe's expression, all over the course of one sentence. The smile fades, replaced with an apologetic look. That -name- again, and that -island-. Oops. "... No, uh... No, sorry, I mean Captain Zach Glenn. ... Was, I guess he left the Corps. He'd gotten deployed to Metro City as special forces, I think, I guess it got to be too much for him. Rescued a friend of our family, whole bunch of people."

Mint laughs somewhat, not really because she thinks it's funny -- far from it. But just out of a perceived need to lighten the mood somehow.

"I, uh. Well. He might've mentioned Major... Nash, was it? I'm not sure. I figured if you were into aberrants you might have run across him..."

"Oh! Of course." Caoimhe punctuates the thought with the sort of nervous laugh that's never as dismissive as intended. Her head cants slightly to one side at the mention of Zach Glenn. "Zach... Glenn? Oh! Yes, I've met him," Caoimhe says with a much more confident nod, clasping her hands in front of herself. "He and I both volunteered ourselves for Major Nash's task force. As I recall, he was quite skilled in hand to hand." A slight frown crosses her features. "I... didn't deploy to Metro, myself. Too much risk for collateral damage."

The explosives expert's expression dims, devoid of the nervousness from before, now simply cool and subdued. "I haven't had much contact with either of them recently. I understand that Nash has been participating in a martial arts tournament overseas. I'm not sure whether it's an official assignment or not."

Too much risk for collateral... Mint pales considerably, as the snippet of conversation from the earlier officer finally clicks into place with the statements Caoimhe herself has made.
And Mint no likey explosives too much.

"Y-yeah, he's great," she stammers, taking a couple steps backwards. "He knows how to blast people and stuff too..." She pantomimes an empty-handed strike, with her hand shuddering to imitate how -she- feels an energy attack would be unleashed. "... I mean, I guess he does. We were kinda fightin' for our lives in Mexico, I didn't get to really -study- his style too much. But yeah..."

As her hands return to her sides, she blinks back at Caoimhe. "... Oh. I -did- see some news about that... Was that -him?- I mean, gosh, that fight was just a massacre." She laughs somewhat, rubbing at the back of her neck. "Also heard something about some crazy merc group rolling transport trucks around in the background all menacing-like. All seems like one big publicity stunt to me, but what do I know? Hahaha..."

Caoimhe slips her hands into her pockets, taking a moment to glance over toward the convoy rolling past as Mint takes a step away from her. "Mmm. I seem to recall being stabbed with some kind of energy sword when I was sparring with him," she muses, "In a... non-lethal way." The vague explanation is honestly the best that Caoimhe herself understands the occurence. "It hurt."

The sergeant looks back at Mint. "Hmm? Interesting. I haven't been following it very closely, but... if there are mercenaries involved, maybe I should get in contact with the Major... see if he needs a hand with -" Caoimhe hesitates a moment, before finishing her thought, "- anything."

Mint nods her head with a broad grin. "Energy sword... yeah, that's definitely his style." She seems a little hesitant on the sergeant's notation that the blade was non-lethal, but then she comes to realize that, yes, something like an energy sword could definitely have had serious repercussions. "Well, hurt is better than dismemberment, I guess?" She laughs -- and for once, she's not -intending- to make fun of her own disability.

As for the King of Fighters tournament, Mint does not seem to have a whole lot to say there. "... Well, yeah, I haven't heard much about it. Just... y'know, some other of the guys in my squad are. And they know I'm into fighting an' stuff, but when I'm on the hangar floor I've got too much crap to deal with as it is."

Mint arches an eyebrow at the pause. But then she realizes that it's kind of difficult for an explosives expert to start getting involved in other people's affairs -- not unlike the problem she faces with her mech MOS. "You're waaaaay too serious about protocol, haha. Just call 'im! Or drop him an email or something, I'unno. Doesn't have to be official!"

And on that note, the officers are starting to make their exit. The corporal reaches into a pocket on her thigh, withdrawing a fine-tipped marker and a business card. She writes 'Mint' over her name in quotation marks, and holds it out to Caoimhe. "Like me. You wanna bounce some ideas off me? Or heck, just shoot the shit about anything, really? Just drop me a line. And whenever the boring guys aren't listening in, you can just call me 'Mint'."

One of said 'boring guys,' a Captain, passes a look Mint's way as he walks past, but the corporal's quick salute and a stern expression keeps the encounter from turning into a reprimand.

Mint turns to salute Caoimhe as well. "It was nice meeting you... " Slight hesitation is offered along with a wink of her eye. "Sergeant Delaney."

"Just... call him?" Caoimhe taps a finger against her lips and furrows her brow. She hadn't considered the possibility of just calling a superior officer (even one from a separate command chain) on unofficial business. On the other hand, she technically wouldn't be committing any kind of regulatory infraction, would she? "I guess that I could try doing that. Yeah."

As the officers begin to depart the demonstration area, Caoimhe glances after one of them - the one she's fairly certain had made the comment earlier. The greying man notices her gaze and offers a half-smirk and salute. Caoimhe returns the gesture with a plastic smile before turning back to accept the business card from Mint. "Oh. Thanks," she says, sounding pleasantly surprised. "I won't bother writing my name down. It's Caoimhe, but it's Irish, so..." She lifts her shoulders slightly. "Lot of people think there's a 'cow' in there when they've seen it written down. Most of my friends call me C.J."

She returns Mint's salute with a much more friendly smile than her previous one. "Good to meet you, too, Corporal." She slips the card into her pocket before turning one last lingering look to the blasted patches of earth in the demonstration area.

Log created on 12:56:47 06/27/2016 by Caoimhe, and last modified on 19:12:30 06/28/2016.