OfWindAndRain — Roleplayer Guild

	Elena gave the man a smile, straightening again in a makeshift salute. She refused, however, to even consider giving him a literal salute, with her hand, as she would any commanding officer. Those were reserved to those she respected or those who were her literal superior; this man was just a representative, and a civilian at that. 

	Without another thought or word directed at the rest of them, she found a vehicle that didn’t appear to have anyone’s stuff thrown into it, and claimed it for herself. She noted the vehicle’s supplies, though- best to know where extras are if she loses any of her stuff. That taken care of, she threw off her overcoat, stowing it with her pack, and began a check over her weapons, all of which were already slung at her hip (minus her rifle, which had its own sheath with the pack). 

She took off the sheaths that kept her machete’s and tactical axe’s blades dry and protected. After pulling each out and inspecting them, carefully, she practiced a few swings and then returned them to their slots. Next, she checked her knives, going over them for the same reason for her longer weapons. Satisfied they were ready, they were returned.

	Next, she drew her handgun. Unlike the others, this one wasn’t actually loaded; none of her magazines were, besides one, at the moment. That would be asking for trouble. She slipped the current magazine out, and replaced one of her current magazines in her chest rig with it. The one she now held had ammunition- checking over the nasty, controversial ammunition gave her a brief chill. She had used the ammunition before, and she had to admit that it was maybe some of the nastiest ammunition she’d seen outside of military-grade 12.7mm+ weaponry. The eight ‘petals’ of the slug looked menacing enough, even without the knowledge of what it’ll do to a man. She slid the magazine smoothly into the handgrip, but didn’t load a round into its chamber. Safety on, no round in the chamber; safe. She returned it to its holster, and clipped the securing strap back around the top of handgrip, another precaution to keep it from being accidentally ejected.

	Next, her rifle. By this time, anyone watching from the coast would have to use binoculars to make her out, so she didn’t feel quite as apprehensive about drawing the weapon around civilians. She’d had the aim to be a designated marksman; let’s hope that it paid off. Drawing the bolt-action rifle from its sheath, she checked it over like all the others. The weapon would do much more than the handgun; it had greater power, range, accuracy. For a moment, she felt a brief pang of loss at the fact that she had to use this thing, rather than her M4. She could’ve bought a semi-auto rifle instead of the bolty, but she had already spent a pretty penny on the rest of the gear; either it’d be downed by the bolty, or she’d use her sidearm. 

	She attached its sling, and threw it over her shoulder, muzzle pointing into the air. Satisfied that it’d sit correctly, she adjusted the straps slightly, and left it.

	Now, she began loading all her handgun magazines with the G2 RIP ammunition. With 7 rounds per magazine, and making sure that the gun had one already chambered, she was officially 'locked and loaded.' She retrieved her rifle's small magazines out of her pack, and began sliding those into their respective slots alongside her M1911's magazines. Satisfied that everything was loaded and ready, besides being on safe, she turned to her other tasks at hand.

	Content with her weapons during her weapons check, she did a cursory check of every item on her person at that moment, from her shemagh scarf to tactical vest to combat boots. Now fully satisfied with her gear, she waited leaned against the hull of the ferry, and hung out slightly over the water, watching the waves twinkle in the sunlight.

	It took some time of slicing through the water before the ferry finally arrived at their destination, traveling on its best course at its top speed. The utility docks- those that the public never saw, because of how utilitarian and not-utopian it appeared- were just as overrun as what the video cameras of the tourist streets showed, before their feeds were cut. She had been watching the attacks live, there for a little while, when the news of Jurassic World’s downfall reached her. Trash scattered everywhere, alien feces here and there, small flashes of movement out of the corner of your eyes, and shifting in the jungle beyond the docks left no doubt that the dominant species here weren’t human.

	Elena unslung and set down her rifle for a brief moment, as she retrieved her pack. Slinging it over her shoulders, she let it settle before she did the same with her rifle. Satisfied with her gear, she approached the rest of the team at the front of the ferry, where its ramp was lowering down to bridge the gap from port to ferry. 

	Drawing her M1911, she flanked the team to their left. Her sharp eyes scanned the distant jungle, the clear skies, and the utility buildings alike for any contacts, hostile or friendly. Right off the bat, their guide or hunter- she did preliminary reading on their team back home, so she knew who was who- started babbling about there being a survivor nearby. Glancing at the man, she saw that he held a broken watch in his head. Elena remained quietly skeptical; glancing around found at least three more similar watches on the ground, a variety of clothing and shoes, and other junk tourists or workers might’ve left. There’d undoubtedly be more in the more populated sections of the island; finding an item like that wasn’t anything special.

	She kept her peace, however, and stayed at the ready. As a hired guard and medic, her job was to keep their people alive; her description never mentioned a leadership role, and it appeared the hunter-guide and the representative filled in the role of field commanders. Instead, she’d just issue warnings. 

	“No one wander off on your own. Stay in pairs, at least, and keep an eye out for both dangers and your fellows. If someone’s missing, report it immediately, and if you’ve got a problem, don’t hesitate to tell me. We want to return home with all our people alive, and then some- let’s not lose anyone. Eyes sharp everyone, and remember to look up.”

	A thrill ran threw her. The shaking that had plagued her hands ever since she had returned from active duty had ceased an hour before her plane touched down; now, she felt more stable and focused than ever. She was going to see a dinosaur! And maybe kill it, too...

	"If you see an animal, call it out! Rough height, length, legs, let us know what we're dealing with if we can't immediately look for ourselves. There's a big difference between a tiny compy and a big Utahraptor." She may not be an expert, but she knew some dinos- especially the raptors.

@Drache
By no means was I demanding that he change it, or that he was required to change it. I was simply stating, with no other action, how the vast majority of major dinosaur finds are unearthed in the modern world. I was stating what I thought, and how something actually works in the real world. If I'm not allowed to state my own opinion and thoughts on any matter, then what is the point of having an OOC, beyond a place to post a CS for the GM to review. 

If I post something in the thread's OOC, I do so with the intention to both submit it to the GM for review, and to see if any member of the roleplay has suggestions or thoughts on my character. If I refuse to let anyone see or comment on my work, then I could miss a mistake, or a detail, or an opportunity to make it better. I use OOC for discussion.

I am not trying to beat him down with my criticism, but rather point out something that doesn't entirely make sense and could be clarified on. Constructive criticism, in other words.

Please stop trying to pick a fight. (<- And this is not a demand or order, this is a plea.)

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