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---
Tristan
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No sooner than his boots had crunched into the snow on the helipad back at Eagle Point was Tristan taking the first drag off a cigarette. He would have done so on the flight back if not for the mouthful he got from Wraith about it. "Light that on my bird and you'll be walking your sorry ass back to base," she'd said. At the moment he'd rolled his eyes and pouted, but now he thought back and it brought a bit of a smirk to his lips. Destroying a monument to the ancient world and flying away as it collapsed on itself seemed like a situation that deserved a smoke. Not to mention he could use it to ease the tension a little. His eyes periodically flicked on and off Bear's massive, hunched over form. The man didn't seem to move at all the entire flight. Tristan snorted at him. Whatever, he could wait until they got back. Wraith's virtibird, Wraith's rules.

Following the armed hellfire troopers to their little reception he realized just how sore he was becoming. He was beginning to feel every little bump and bruise and scrape where the adrenaline of battle had once numbed them. To top it off every muscle in his body started to ache and his joints felt stiff. Just another day's work. When they came upon their welcome party he almost bit the filter off his cigarette. Like everybody else he spent the debriefing uncomfortable with his hand on his weapon. Normally he wouldn't be one to stare but this was a monste-- moment that just plain made him forget his formalities and manners. It was almost as if they hadn't been greeted or congratulated at all. It was just noise in his ear. Briefly he registered the President's lousy consolation for Icarus' death, this was Eagle Claw after all he guessed. Nothing against the President, or the Enclave or anybody involved, it's just that it was talking. It was fucking talking. He didn't snap out of it until Dimitri came by to shake his hand. Finally he remembered himself and shook the strange cyborg's hand firmly with a smile and nod.

[b]"I'll see you two there,"[/b] Tristan waved at Andrew and Mel as they left then turned to Harrison [b]"Could use a drink. You comin'?"[/b]

For now he made his way to the barracks to get out of his armor. He now realized there were light burns on his skin in places. Nothing too serious but he made a mental note to suggest adding a little extra insulation to the inside of the prototype before it's next mission. His left arm was still shaking from the shoulder down from his encounter with the Overlord. A few stretches and movements did nothing to settle it. Even with the technology the human body could only take so much. He would be sore in the morning. No more complaining. Tristan slipped into a t-shirt, a well worn jump-suit (which he left hanging from the belt up) and pair of standard issue combat boots. He washed his face and quickly examined the gap where a tooth used to be. Smiling to see how noticeable it was left him with a small comfort that it somehow suited him. Then he packed up his gear and headed for the new quartermaster in the auxiliary barracks. This should be quick. Going to see a deathclaw on purpose no matter the circumstances seemed like one of the worst of his bad ideas... And that drink was really starting to call his name.

Cautiously, carefully Tristan peeked into the room. Armor and weapons and augmentations and various field gear of all sorts lined the walls and tables and shelves in the large room. There weren't many signs of life here however. He took a few tentative steps inside until a spectacularly shined and polished heavy incinerator caught his eye. A few more steps in and he was able to easily reach out and touch the handle. Several tantalizing notions, all of them involving everything being on fire, drifted into his imagination. He had half a mind to pull the weapon down and see how it felt in his grip, but...

[b]"Good evening,"[/b] the strange voice came from behind.

[b]"Ah! I was just--"[/b] Tristan jumped and turned, [b]"AAAHHH!!"[/b]

This was going to take some getting used to.

[b]"Can I help you with something?"[/b] the deathclaw asked him ever so politely despite his rudeness.

[b]"I- I'm sorry,"[/b] Tristan stammered, [b]"You just... You know... You're..."[/b] he paused and took a deep breath looking the new quartermaster up and down a few times. It merely stood there patiently with its arms folded behind its back expecting a reply. [b]"Tristan,"[/b] he introduced himself holding out a hand, [b]"Code name Ginger. Good to meetcha."[/b]

The massive gloved talons engulfed his hand causing him to flinch, but it was no worse than shaking hands with a man. [b]"Leinhart Roosevelt. Likewise."[/b] though his tone of voice was not convincing, [b]"Now, may I assist you? Or were you just leaving perhaps?"[/b]

[b]"Oh, uh, yeah. Just droppin' off my gear. And I was wonderin' if, uh..."[/b] Tristan gently set down his rifle on an empty table and dug through the very large duffle bag full of his armor and pulled out his helmet, [b]"I was wonderin' how quick you could fix this,"[/b] he traced a finger along the crack in the visor, [b]"It's just that it's--"[/b]

Leinhart turned his head to one side and cut him off, [b]"I am offended you would dare to ask,"[/b] Tristan thought he could almost see a smile, if deathclaws could even smile at all, [b]"It will be ready for your next mission, of course and I will take care of the rest to be sure."[/b]

[b]"Uh, cool. Thanks. For that,"[/b] Tristan grinned and clapped his hands together. 

Then came one very long and very tense and very awkward silence... Leinhart was tilting his head again. Tristan nodded.

[b]"Bye,"[/b] he said and started his walk out of the room.

[b]"If there is any way I can be of more assistance to you in the future or make any suggestions or take any requests for equipment you think you would have need of in the field,"[/b] the deathclaw stopped him and briefly glanced at the incinerator, [b]"Please, do not hesitate to ask. Enjoy your evening."[/b]

[b]"Yeah,"[/b] he replied not being able to hold in a little smirk, [b]"Thanks. And uh, you too."[/b]

He left at a walk, stretching his arms and upper body out a bit as he made his way to the cafeteria. Leinhart didn't seem so bad. However he did still intimidate the hell out of him even though he would never admit it. Did he say he would be coming on their next mission with them? He'd never seen a deathclaw go at it with another mutant (in fact he had never seen a deathclaw in person). How fantastic would that be to watch, he wondered. When he got to the cafeteria he didn't quite know where to start. However difficult the training and the fighting and however high the expectations The Enclave sure spoiled them when it came to choices here. He'd have to think about it for a moment over a glass of scotch.

---
Ozymandias
---
The door of the virtibird had closed and Ozymandias still stood watching where the tower once was. Great and ancient and glorious. Now annihilated. No longer there to remind those of what was. No longer could it even spark the wonder of those who wandered by who had no knowledge of what had once been. No more monument. No more memories. No more mysteries. Just a desert. He frowned deeply and finally took his seat last of all the others. He uttered not a word.

Now, Ozymandias had heard of the Enclave's past experiments with mind controlled deathclaws and the deadly potential they posed when in the right hands. He had also heard of accidents regarding this that were all too terrible to speak of politely. Regardless he had taken into account the possibility that one day he may run into an Enclave deathclaw during his time in service. But to put it simply he didn't imagine it quite like this. He simply raised a brow upon being introduced. He couldn't say he enjoyed being dwarfed so easily by the creature but he could say he didn't feel quite so put off about the experience as the others seemed to be. If nothing else the experiment piqued his interests immensely along with the augmentations possessed by the enigmatic Dimitri. How amazing to see the brilliant and technologically geared minds the Enclave had access too. Too quickly they were dismissed to go about their business. He would have to take some time to speak to the newest members of Eagle Squad sooner or later.

The assistant to the quartermaster could not have been faced with a worse task. A giant of a man had strode into the auxiliary barracks to unload yet more gear on them. With all the damaged good that had come in so far, he could tell it would be a long night. But there were no words for this. Hell's sake, he could smell the man before he could see him. The set of colossus armor was dinged and scratched here and there, sure, but it was also drenched in a discolored, slimy substance that burned his nose and mouth and made his eyes water. The giant left him with all the work, but not without some very insightful, well thought out, advice that was absolutely going to be the best of help.

[b]"Don't get any of that on you,"[/b] Ozymandias said.

After getting cleaned up and getting all of his effects in order, he found himself wandering Eagle Point. At least the areas they were restricted to that was. He didn't much feel like food or drink at the moment, though he was growing hungry, and found his thoughts constantly returning to the day's mission. A somehow utterly unsatisfying, disappointing, destructive and substantial victory, as the President had put it. He understood what was expected of them and he knew what to expect. And yet after all was said and done... He felt restless.

Eagle Point wasn't his home any more than Novac, or the desert, or the frozen Canadian wastes, or Vault 100 had been. For a moment he considered that the only way out of this place was death. The Enclave made that quite clear during their training. It didn't bother him though. If the time came he must leave this place he would figure something out. He thought of the one who had managed to leave them today. Death was just another everyday reality, he just wasn't sure how to look at it yet. It was a terrible death to be sure. Yet it was also a good death. He died fighting after all. Nobody makes it out alive and in the end even if all goes well time will waste everyone. That man was no longer living, but even if there was nothing to look forward to after life he could no longer be suffering either. Such a strange thing. Ozymandius wasn't particularly filled with sadness nor joy. He wasn't even sure it was in his best interests to mourn and he didn't feel like any part of this deserved celebration. What then was he to do with all these thoughts of his?

The tower fell again in his memories and that saddened him. If they all fell who would remember or ponder the glory of the past? Ozymandius paused. He was standing by a small window, leaning casually against the wall, somewhat watching the blizzard as it raged on outside. He discovered that he had been tinkering with the little scraps of things he carried with him while deep in thought. 

In his enormous hands he held a pair of delicate wings. The lights glinted off the metal like flames.

He decided it wasn't best to think about such things and put the little wings away, wondering if anything more would become of Icarus. It was about time he went and got something to eat.