Participants:
| Scene Title | Unwitting Hospitality |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Someone's been raiding Company stores without permission. |
| Date | August 11, 2009 |
Kayla grumbling as she walks down the hall is not a new sight. Rather, it's commonplace to happen across her in the corridors of Fort Hero, most people having learned by now that it's best to give the secretary a wide berth at such times. She's dressed in her usual suit-that-might-as-well-be-armor — black jacket, plum-colored blouse, black pants, hair knotted back, and the facade of isolation that the healer never really seems to relinquish.
She carries a clipboard in one hand, forms and a list attached; strides at a brisk pace down the concrete tunnel, ignoring the dank atmosphere, the lack of natural light or even windows, the other people traveling in either direction on their own business. There aren't too many; the base is bigger than the group that occupies it. Which isn't a bad thing.
Leaving the central corridors, Kayla moves into ones that are less well-lit, less frequently traveled. They're not dark, but gloomy is an accurate description; there doesn't have to be an approximation of outdoor light here because this isn't where people live and work. Just where they store things which aren't immediately needed.
Finding the door marked with the address she wants, Kayla lowers the clipboard and spins the wheel to open. The door refuses to budge, the hinges of the heavy metal panel still stiff from decades of disuse, partially coated with rust from the damp underground atmosphere. Kayla sets her shoulder against it and shoves.
It opens, and the woman walks in, spending only a brief moment to brush dust from her jacket.
Inside are boxes. Stacks and stacks of boxes, some of them taller than others; some piles have been whittled away over time. That happens with supplies.
The bits of debris on the floor cause Kayla to stop and look more closely. Cardboard and cardstock scattered about, ragged-edged as if chewed upon. Chewed by something bigger than a mouse, at that; something with the ability to tear off hand-sized scraps.
She kneels to pick one up, turning the bit over to look at either side, all the edges. Places it back where it was before. Rises, picking her way through the stacks to find the boxes that have been ripped apart.
Someone — something? — seems to be raiding the dry goods.
Kayla taps one finger against the button on her headset.
"Central, Reid. Something's been making a mess of our supplies."