[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=DC143C]Thalia Carmichael[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/e4117d5f-65c8-4b8e-98df-5810a59267c5.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=crimson]Location:[/color][/b] Near Eden
[b][color=DC143C]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A[hr][hr][/center]

	Lacking the option of yet another sharp item in the back of the truck, Thalia had to remain content with the machete on her back, her survival knife, and (in a pinch) her E-tool. Though there was always room for more. Thana insisted on taking the axe, which was well and good. An axe was a hell of a tool, even made a pretty good weapon for those with the preference, but it was hardly her go-to item for personal dismemberment. A little too overbalancing for her tastes. 

	Thalia was occasionally fond of military types. They had their little proclivities and rituals, not unlike the way in which Thana and Alexander saluted one another before heading out. She was tempted to make note of it, but considering she was neck deep in little rituals and quaint, ancient practices herself, she felt it might be a touch toward hypocrisy to mention anything aloud. It wasn't exactly the vision of normalcy to paint a skull of one's face with ash and char while reciting a prayer to the female representation of Death in Spanish, all after supplicating the ancestors of a friend while sending them to Valhalla. Thalia wasn't military. But, feeling the mood of the day, she had to admit she was something similar. 

	Without a pack to weigh her down, Thalia could travel light and quiet. This was the benefit to leaving it behind, in the tank. It also allowed her to strap Astrid's shield to her back without much fuss. She kept her shiny, new Beretta at the ready, round chambered and ready to make some noise. She hoped it wouldn't come to that this early in the game, making noise, so kept it at the ready but did not plan on using it unless thee was no other option. Her machete, though, found a place in her hand. That, she had no problem making liberal use of. 

	What she [i]did[/i] have a problem with was that she could hear singing. [i]Singing.[/i] Cole Porter to be precise, so she was pretty sure where the idea came from. Lola wasn't here, and that wasn't a female voice belting it out. Nope, it was Alexander. She could only hope that, if they were caught, the bad guys would eat him first. She could also hope that they were spread out enough on their approach that attention called to him did not effect her. She shot a look over in Alexander's direction that promised horrifying things if he kept singing, but in their present position she could not ensure that he would notice, nor comprehend the murder in her eyes.