by Caroline Tigeress

Created on: November 18, 2009

Family Values, Part Three
Thursday, November 26th, 2054
Gteams Heartland Division, personal quarters of Crone. 17.45

Crone hobbled about, using the Staff of Ages like a cane. She'd elongated it's normal hook and split it in places to work like a walking crutch which caught her arm and allowed a place for her hand to go. She looked at herself in the mirror and wondered if she'd forgotten to polish something.

She looked striking in the dress blues of the Marines. Her white hair, pulled back, French braided and bobby-pined into place, not a single strand missing. It'd taken her three hours to get it right, and another forty minutes to get the dress uniform on.
While she had the rank of Commander, rarely, if ever did she use it. In fact, she wondered when the last time she wore this uniform was. Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. She gave a half smile and said, 'enter.'
Her granddaughter opened the door and peeked in. "Grandma?" She asked. Then her eyes got wide. "Grandma?" She said quizzically.
"Yes little one. Do come in." She turned, and winced as she did. Magic was great stuff for healing, but when you're old, you're old, she thought.
Her daughter followed the little one in. "Wow, mom. You look fantastic. I can't remember the last time I saw you looking this sharp." She grinned. She was wearing a slinky black spaghetti-strap dress that was high enough to be interesting, and low enough to be tasteful.
Crone reached out her hand and the Cloak of Shadow wrapped around her, hood falling back against her cervical spine. She fastened it's silver fabric with a Celtic Broach.
"I must say, I've never been to a military thanksgiving." Jennifer said.
"Nor have I. But with your father on Terror Alert Orange, and his sister's cooking, well I felt we were safer eating here." She said.
Jennifer cocked her head at her mother. "What is wrong with Aunt Selma's cooking?" She said as they walked out onto the airfield, and toward a well-lit Quonset hut.
"Nothing a good Chinese take-out couldn't cure." She said, dryly.
"Moth-ther." Jennifer squalled.
"Shush." Her mother said.
The guard did not recognize Crone at first, and looked at her ID on her breast, and the looked at her.
"Commander?" He quizzed.
"Yes, Lieutenant?" she looked at him, expecting a question.
"I guess I've never seen you in dress blues before, ma'am. To be honest, I didn't know you were a Marine. I thought you were a grunt, like the rest of us." He smiled.
"Oh, no. I'm a jarhead." She smiled

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