[hr][center][color=bc8dbf][h1]Frankie Cabrera[/h1][/color][/center][hr][sub][@Alfhedil] [@Cuddles 1438][/sub]

The sheer hulking size of the Power Armor was much more prominent as she drew closer to Khaliya, once summoned to her position. Frankie could almost smell the chemical compounds used in the smithing of the metals for the suit, that, and a mixture of hydraulic fluids and grease to keep the gears and other mechanisms in check. The young girl had always been shorter than most others she'd stood next to, but this time around, she felt more like a dwarf amongst iron giants. Speaking of which, the older man in the “medieval armor" reminded her of such a race in the old fantasy graphic novels she'd come across as a kid, except they never carried around a submachine...

Turning to the Paladin, Frankie couldn't help but arch an eyebrow at the commanding woman’s request to administer a quick assessment of the dark-haired girl who’d flipped out moments earlier. However, she suspected it wasn't just a physical exam that was being asked of her, but a psychological one as well, considering the detrimental effects radiation -and festering wounds, if any were present- would have on the fragile mind. Emotions already ran high within the group, giving way to paranoia in some and a myriad of other effects in others that made them seem less stable than they were. In either case, the medic was rather relieved to be of some use now, if for no other reason, than to keep her mind focused on why she was placed here to begin with. 

“I'll do my best, ma’am.” She said in a confident tone of voice, although still unsure of just how Monika would react to such an [i]impromptu exam[/i]. “But, ah, keep an eye out.” 

Dealing with an unstable mind certainly wasn't new to the sixteen year old Medic, who’d seen more of her fair share of children and grown men and women slowly descend into maddened states that were near impossible to pull out of without days, weeks, or even months of therapy and medication. Sadly, in the wasteland, finding such meds for psychological ailments was about as simple as finding buried pirate gold. What hadn't been stripped away by time, was surely taken and hoarded by scavengers and the like. With a deep breath taken through the helmets oxygen supply, Frankie made her way over to the girl, who appeared to be keeping to herself as much as possible, perhaps out of habit, but the medic guessed it was out of embarrassment that may have stemmed from her sudden outburst. I mean, who [i]wouldn't[/i] think that someone like that was deranged?

“Hey there.” She waved. “Monika, right?” Frankie stood a few feet from the other, holding tightly to the shoulder straps of her camo rucksack which held just about everything near and dear to her profession, and then some. “I-uh, just wanted to see how you were doing, and, ask if there was anything I could do to help.” The young girl smiled through the glossy faceplate of the helmet, unsure of the other could even see a genuine expression in the midst of so much uncertainty.