[color=plum]They had been here over a week and she was still pissed about being drugged. Shipped off to another planet, no qualms, trudging around the hot as hell jungle in douchebag approved pink camo, totally fine, but for some reason she was having difficulty letting the drug thing go. She didn’t wear this mellowing displeasure on her features; she was born with a face that lacked overt expressions. [Unless liquor became involved.] And she wasn’t about to start whining to a bunch of people who seemed to have accepted it as either completely fine or a minor inconvenience. She wasn’t much for complaining anyways.

Either way, the whole alien roofie cocktail hadn’t pissed her off enough for her to leave, obviously. Here she was in what she assumed Alien would look like if Mattel bought the rights and started with the prequels or remakes directed by Walt Disney. But of course she stayed, like some of the others she’d signed on because what the hell did she have to go home to? And unlike those with families of their own she was pretty sure hers would get along alright. They had each other.

She’d always found a comfort in replicating the family bond among her platoon, and generally she liked the men and women that she’d be spending her unapproved acid trip with. A lot of them reminded her of people from home. Serious when it mattered, but not so much that their muscles bruised from the ass clenching required 24 hours a day. She detested people that had no off switch for the anxiety inducing control and focus during missions. It was likely this reasoning that had endeared her to the man she followed now. Danny was easy to respect, capable, yet without the machismo she had initially expected. One day they would have share a beer in a bar that wasn’t fuchsia infused and talk about the god awful heat.

Someone had once told her that plans for the future were a jinx to the squad, but she disagreed. The worst way to go into a firefight was with nothing to lose. 

Danny held up the signal for everyone to freeze and she did, mimicking the signal as her stance settled into a crouch amongst the foliage. One of the truly bothersome things that had nagged at her since leaving Rio was the lack of noise. It had started with the stealth training missions, and then the ships were quiet, even the fucking Pilavians spoke quietly, as they trudged through the ‘rose colored glasses’ inspired landscape their steps were quiet, and now, now she was even paranoid to take a breath. Sao Paulo had been bustling, and even it had seemed quiet compared to the Rio she’d grown accustomed too. Rio was anything but quiet. It was disconcerting for someone who associated that chilly lack of ghetto ambiance to something akin to the grave.

She was thankful now to Danny’s added training in Guyana. She had no lack of confidence in her skills, to be sure, but there were many things about this terrain that had only been briefly covered in prior training. The few times she'd been on missions involving drug lords in the jungle had always been the worst. The last time she hadn't shit right for weeks. The jungles she was accustomed too were spray painted concrete and reclaimed tin. But the enemies, the enemies in her jungle looked like her father, her mother, like her sisters, and that could make all the difference.

Confirmation of the monster bastards came from Danny and was passed down the line. Her crouch settled into a kneel as she eased the SCAR MK 20 onto an overgrown toadstool of some misbegotten genus. [She’d sat on one earlier and convinced herself of their surprising stability.] The rifle was a cream color that neither blazed apparent in the surrounding terrain or became completely muted. She’d contemplated painting it with some nail polish, but, randomly that accessory had not found itself into her possession and she couldn’t rightly slip into the drug store and grab some. Worries for a later date. She forced a breath, and then let them come easily, naturally, finding comfort as she drifted towards the scope and began to release a prayer that even the bulking metal would fail to hear.
[center][color=pink][h3][sub]Ajoelhou, tem que rezar.
[the one who kneeled, must pray][/sub][/h3][/color][/center]

As she stared at them through the scope her previous assessment rang true. They were God awful, and she had seen some of Earth’s true monsters. But these fuckers took the cake. There would be little guilt in slaughtering these beasts. Humanity been trained from birth to associate the monsters with something evil, something to be put down, and that is what they would do. The Grathik should have touted this as one of her species great accomplishments, for discrimination was always valuable in war and it truly was a speciality of their home world.

[color=lightgray]"Butch, Hammer shots on these fuckers."[/color] She had made the same observation as Koh, third from the head of the column, enemy leader. Not only did the other beasts seem to keep with her movements, as Butch had been watching her through the scope she’d noticed her claws curling and gesturing to those around her. She quickly released the safety and began firing at her mass.

Soon the others joined her and shots began to ring out from around her. A smile crept upon her usually stoic features. Finally. God she hated the quiet.[/color]