Who: Civilian, Open
Where: Battlefield outskirts
When: Feb. 11, Late Afternoon
What: Just after a robot ruckus, Civy looks over the damage for the new monthly base repairs. Bother him at will.


Reduced to a fine lot of burning bombshells, bullet-ridden barriers, and bloody bluffs, the long path from the usual insertion point of the robot carrier to the mercenary's headquarters had once more been beaten, battered, and blown apart. Many of the landscape's natural shields, the rocky outcrops that rose up from the dust like jagged teeth, were all that often remained standing after a fight, and even they were beginning to chip apart gradually. Still, this meant Civilian's new position of maintenance man (i.e. janitor) kept him blessedly busy, giving him ample chance to lend a hand to the effort. He didn't always love his job, but a man of high work ethic he was - his hale professionalism meant that he felt better about himself the more occupied he was.

There he stood, in vest and pressed trousers, one hand holding a clipboard while the other busily scribbled away with a sharp pen. Wood for new barricades and building walls needed ordering. Metal and rivets too, and some of the light wiring needed to be replaced. His jaw was squared and slightly clentched, his green eyes focused as he scrutinized every object in range.

The reason for his engaged expressions? The coffers built up from the team buying upgrades acted as their base's repair budget, and though they weren't dry, they weren't exactly overflowing either. He needed to be very selective about what was fixed and what could be held for another time. It made things all the more challenging - both a blessing and a curse.