Woman to woman, Marcia would have loved to sit down and spill her guts to Corporal Perry. At times she wanted nothing more than to talk about inconsequential things as she sat back and relaxed, but with the way the world was now, such things couldn't come to pass. On the bright side, this meant that the quiet moments spent talking about friends and family back home weren't just cliche, tell-tale signs that someone was about to kick the bucket. Now they were bonding material and messages of hope. Marcia hesitated with her answer, as if choosing the right words, before finally speaking.<br/><br/>"I'm doing alright," Marcia lied. In truth, Marcia was worried, and it showed in how she stood as if she was expecting a mortar to come crashing down on her at any second. "From the looks of things, our defensive line is set and the men are loaded for bear. It's only a matter of when and where the enemy decides to hit us, or if they bother in the first place."<br/><br/>The Latino came closer and got down on her haunches in a squatting position so she could speak to Perry in her personalized trench. Her brown eyes flicked over to the sandbags and supports, then to jury-rigged dummy machinegun in that flimsy dugout. From a distance, the foxhole looked impressive enough to be targeted by indirect fire, but from up close, Marcia figured it was more of a grave with a broken gun as its motif. Having dug a few trenches and foxholes herself in basic, Marcia had a rough idea of what Perry was doing and allowed a smile to form on her lips. She nodded, hummed in thought and then turned back to the Corporal.<br/><br/>"Nice work, especially with that plate."