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[color=Silver]	The wait was long and quiet. Even with the passing of Hueys and F-162s higher up in the humid stained air only a silent mumble could be heard not too far away. To avoid dwelling upon the blackened thoughts he'd been accustomed towards, he tapped the table with his fingers, creating an additional ambience to surround and shroud himself in. Managing his thoughts was important. Every second that he let his mind trail into that unforgiving darkness was another second closer to insanity. Lucas couldn't even tell if he was already insane. He'd become acquainted with the war, the death and the violence that had been brought into his daily life. Death was around every conceivable corner with disease and murder holding closely onto his collar. In the frantic heat of his dissonance, he swore beneath his breath and felt his hands scavenge around the gear he'd laid out for their new arrival. A flak vest and helmet, something that was intended to keep the correspondent safe. That was the idea of it. It was more of an environmental protection, maybe something to dampen any nearby explosives as well. Chances of her surviving any sort of direct impact was minimal at best. Hell, he hadn't even thought about who this journalist truly was outside of her name and her career. After a while he began to fiddle with a firearm laid upon the table. It was there purely for the photographic aesthetic she may have wanted upon arrival, all neatly kept and assembled as if it were ready to kill. All that was missing was the addition of a human hand to pull its trigger.

	Eventually, his lonesome voyage into procrastination was finally put to rest when [i]she[/i] walked into the tent. Ms. Ward, striding in with a full load of confidence empowering her entrance. A sudden flash of brightness entered the loosely held-together room he resided within. It was indeed a luminosity he hadn't seen in well over a year, maybe even two. A pure, crystal whiteness from her blouse, topped with the alienated addition of makeup, tore his expectations in two. In the seas of green foliage, orange sunsets, fiery yellow napalm strikes and brown flickers of mud, blended with a final topping of crimson blood, her attire was more than a refreshing contribution to the day, maybe even the year. None of the people in Saigon came as close, though he didn't expect them to. It was as if Mother America herself had just came to remind the world what nation they came from, and how incredibly pointless it was for them to fight a war in a nation so separated by culture, ideology and style. Well, at the end of it all the spread of Communism [i]was[/i] their final goal, wasn't it?

	Lucas found himself returning the smile to hers, albeit a little less perfectly and with a rugged complexion struck with fatigue. She was seemingly tired too. Those clear marks of irregular travel must have taken a large toll on the usual sleeping hours, something she'd have to get used to. Originally, Lucas pictured a military fatigued, weapons trained fighter with a camera, but the idea of someone straight out of the newspapers was almost too hilarious to be true. It wasn't that he minded her sudden presence. After all, he needed to freshness of newly untainted faces to differentiate the war from the world he'd left behind.[/color]

[color=07D389][b]"I'll tell you what, this was not the kind of correspondent I was expecting, not that I'm against it."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Through his faint grin he extended his own hand, at least the cleanest one, and returned the friendly gesture with a small ounce of respect for her confidence. In reality though, he knew a cocky reporter with an attitude like that was only days away from getting her head placed on some shit-stained punji spike. After their soft, tender shake was concluded, he looked back at his hand, suddenly feeling the rush of a freshly dressed citizen arriving within his presence. He hadn't seen a single American not dressed for war or war-based business. This...this was something new, to say the least.[/color] [color=07D389][b]"Nice to meet you, Cynthia. Would say I'm glad that you're here to follow and document my Squad's journey, as well as whatever else you find, but you know...you're going to hate it here."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	He laughed to himself, before turning around and pointing towards the tables and chairs left barely arranged. Atop of the wooden counter was her new gear, coated in a layer of bagging to [i]keep it clean[/i]. There wasn't much point in doing so considering how easy it was for clothing to stain red, but perhaps it was simply made for the kind gesture towards their sweetheart guest. Either way, Lucas still had a bad feeling about her arrival.[/color]

[color=07D389][b]"So...New York Times, huh? I probably have read some of your work a few times then, not that I can name any of it."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]He made small conversation with her, at least hoping to prove to himself that he was as capable of conversing with the Western world as he remembered. If things were okay between them then maybe, just maybe, he could go home someday and face society again. Until he could confirm that, he retained his killer instinct and peered outside of the tent several times, knowing that keeping his eyes off of his surroundings at any moment would bring nothing but fear and confusion if something [i]did[/i] break out. He hoped she didn't notice his anxious spying of the exterior world, not that it wasn't subtle at all.[/color] [color=07D389][b]"That's some lovely clothing though, but I hope it's not from your best wardrobe. The shit here sticks to you. Either way, here's some of your gear. Feel free to take any pictures you want, I guess. And...well I guess I'll be here for the next while. I can introduce you to the rest of the Squad if you really want, or what's left of them. I won't keep you too long though, you'll need your beauty sleep ey? Especially with what we're doing tomorrow."[/b][/color]

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