theatlas | (no subject)

Who: Elma (

bladebabysitter), Open
When: Late Day 11
Where: Just inside the ruined ship.
What: Sheltering from the storm, Elma works on a project.

As the storm rolled up, Elma hauled the last of her rather gruesome haul through the slash in the side of the ruined spaceship: slabs of the Trilobite Queen's chitinous exoskeleton. Sand practically cascades off her body as she gets out of the wind, her jaw clenched against the stinging pain against her face. Sometimes she thought these Mims could be a little TOO realistic.

At least the suit hadn't allowed grains to creep inside it and rub her raw. Small blessings, she supposed.

Tucking herself out of the way as much as possible, Elma sat down with her back to the ship wall and pulled out the curved bone she'd salvaged what seemed like months ago. Lopping wire over both ends of it, she tied it in tight knots with a frown. She'd only read about this technique, never applied it herself, but it wasn't as if she had many other options. And right now, the whole group appeared to have all the time in the world.

The center of the wire, she wrapped around a straighter piece of bone, and then set the whole contraption up with a rock on the very top to protect her hand as she pressed down. A few quick motions, side to side, with her improvised bow and its purpose became clear: she'd constructed a drill, and was settling in for the long haul of putting holes in the chitin.

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It figured that when McCoy finally gets up to exploring the the discovery, the blasted planet itself would whip up a storm. The emotional doctor took it as a rude gesture directed personally at him. A totally rational attitude, honest. Either way, it meant he needed to hunker down in the remains of the ship with little to do but wonder about the hulk's history.

He spent a lot of time sticking to whatever he could find that still resembled a wall, one hand raised to try shielding his eyes. Stumbling upon someone putting together a rudimentary drill, of all things, is the last thing he expected. But there she was.

The filter between his brain and his mouth ran short, because it was barely a moment between recognizing what the bow was meant to be before he asked, "What are you planning to do with that?"

"This exoskeleton is very strong and difficult to damage," Elma explained calmly, as if every part of this was perfectly ordinary. "Running some holes through it ought to allow me to fasten it to myself using some wire and other supplies like armor, without weakening it too much for it to actually serve the purpose."

With the very basics of a hole started, she lifted her apparatus to brush a few grains of sand into the impression, for extra friction and grit.

A peek around, in part to see if anyone is going to chime in on this plan. It felt ridiculous to him, just to imagine what the end result would like like. The problem was that McCoy's instinct isn't to jump to arms and armor -- but if he took some time to think about it, he could see where it would be useful. Things clearly weren't entirely safe on the planet.

If the storm wasn't going to pass quickly, he might as well find a place to settle across from her and watch her work. "It'll make quite the fashion statement."

"I've worn combat gear designed by xenos that took their sensibilities and overlaid them on the human frame," Elma said, with a real smile of genuine humor. "'Insane' was charitable, for some of them. Others would have gotten me banned from conservative establishments. It doesn't bother me. Even if we weren't far beyond any questions of fashion."

"Xenos, as in aliens?" He'd never run into a culture that wore something like this, but he could imagine some that would absolutely go for it...even if Elma's smile prompted him to make a face.

"No, I suppose there isn't exactly a dress code in these parts. Should I take it you've dealt with similar situations before?" There was that suggestion that she's used to working with combat gear.