[Log] "Haulin'. I'm good at haulin'."

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Grace O'Malley, Cargo Bay [Haven]
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At the given moment a fellow in an armored space suit, with the helm sitting nearby is perched upon a crate overlooking the cargo bay. It's hard to tell who he is at first, with all the gear laden upon him, the goggles, and his head being dipped down. If not for the familiar white braids hanging down into the back of the suits collar, well and that he's not shooting up the place with the rifle thats sitting along side his leg things may be a bit more troublesome. Truth be told he seems to be either taking a nap, or waiting for something. He's been here most of the many hours sense the ship went down.


It is nigh on nine years since the war, but Saienne slips back into old habits as though no time has passed at all. She is again going through the supplies they have so far piled up in the cargo bay, checking and re-checking - and occasionally moving things between piles. The consumate corporal, following the practical orders issued by her current commanding officer. She is enveloped by her heavy coat and her crimson scarf is wrapped around her neck and tucked into her collar to ward against Haven's unseasonable chill. Her canvas satchel is slung across one shoulder, the crushed brim of her hat - not entirely suitable for this weather - poking out from beneath the flap.

Hatch 's voice lifts from his stagnent figure, "Going to need a bit more then that if we get stuck going outside Sai.. back left of the bay is where the artic gear is stowed behind the second pannel." His head lifts not at all, but one could assume his eyes have already passed over the woman once or twice as she moves about the bay. "I'm thinking about welding some plates onto the MULE incase we gotta run.. with all this interference, can't fly."

Saienne looks over her shoulder at Hatch. "Oh, I realise that," she says evenly, and in agreement with his assessment. "Just dealin' with water at present." She looks back down at the little piles on the floor - mostly containers and canisters of some kind. "Tryin' to apportion things so as no one gets overloaded." The bruise on the side of Saienne's face is swelling darkly, forcing her left eye to squint a little as she regards him. "I was of the impression runnin' was our only option," Saienne says, straightening up. "Or are the folks above makin' some headway with figurin' out the situation?" She looks up at that, at the ceiling above, to those currently higher in the ship. She nods. "An' yeah - havin' the MULE'd help plenty, particularly if Aden don't show signs of wakin' up any time soon."

"Lemme stow this.." He says getting up from his position and walking over to the weapons locker to stow the alliance made rifle. "I've got all the mre's stockpiled, artic gear opened up and settled in to pick through, survival packs.. well packed. How you holding up?"

"Ain't entirely able to say I've been in a worse fix than this," says Saienne, with a lop-sided grin. "Although plenty have come close." She turns serious then, the smile fading pretty quickly. "I reckon what's worryin' me is the exit strategy." A pause. "In that there ain't one, I mean." She turns around, and looks at Hatch a little grimly. "We ain't able to fly, not least on account of the hole in the hull. If we have to run... where exactly are we goin' to be runnin' to?" She shakes her head. "Don't get me wrong, I ain't bein' a defeatist. Whatever we have to do, I'll do it an' willingly. Just... a little worryin', you know?"

"If the ship ain't goin' nowhere, the shuttle sure as hell ain't... An' not all of us are soldiers..." She trails off, shakes her head. "Sorry. Ain't bein' construcive, am I?" She draws in a breath and scrubs the stubble on the back of her head with a long-fingered hand. "Anythin' you need doin' while you check on the Captain?" She grins crookedly again. "Haulin'. I'm good at haulin'."

"They ain't Reavers Sai.. whats the worse they are gonna do." Hatch responds with a similar but almost bitter smirk, "We do our jobs.. it's what we do. Aye?" He pauses to press an hand to her shoulder, giving a bit of a squeeze. "Your welcome along, if not, just check over our stock and keep an eye out." With that said he starts for the med bay proper.

"They ain't Reavers," agrees Saienne, "But they got guns an' they're pointin' them at folk we care about."