Justina kilcolum watched with hawk like eyes outside the rather dusty windows of the van. It was logical that where they were headed seemed to get more and more remotely abandoned. Almost as if the people of the city of EastNighton just up and left. It wasnâ€™t that unusual however fires still glimmering and toasting to the sky was just a little peculiar.  She is a thoroughbred Irish mixed with a slab of French for a women. Her sandy wavy long hair adorned the red velvet dress that slid over her body nicely and ended at her mid-thigh. Most men took pleasure in seeing her, but they didnâ€™t expect the caliber of her ability with a gun, nor her oddly good eyesight.<br/><br/>Give or take her aim was always almost right on, and even though she was in her mid twenties didnâ€™t mean that she didnâ€™t know the superstitions of Americans that women even in the army should handle the smaller jobs. Oh the exasperation they put in their gender non biases only to realize how truly bias they are. It was plainly obvious how the lower class, upper class, and middle class were handled by the structures of the homes, placement of statues, and other such stuff. Oh it wasnâ€™t as if the Americans werenâ€™t kind to her. Hell they gave her Two very highly made guns. One a sniper rifle that is a newest model, the other an EXACTO which was much like a hand gun except it could shoot at a particular distance. The gun hadnâ€™t even goon through mass production. Silly Americans trusting the French with their secrets. One day that will back fireâ€¦maybe ..it depended on how she was feeling at the moment.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"Okay ladies and gents we are approaching the area, expected time six minutes then you're on your own"</span>The driver a rather gruff looking man spoke while a cigar clung from his fingers. It wasnâ€™t atrocious , at least from her point of men. Men had to release their stress somehow and what better way than smoking a cigar or drinking a cold one.<br/><br/>"6 nÃ³imÃ©ad go leor freisin san Ã¡it seo" (6 minutes too many in this place) She ran her fingers over the fluffy black pirate hat she wore. She could speak French, and English to perfection but sometimes her voice muttered in her native landâ€™s language Irish. She was born in Ireland, and then grew up from 10 till 22 in Parish. After that she landed herself the perfect scouting job in America. Of course being trilingual was often frowned down upon by Americans the so called land of the free.<br/><br/>The chitter chatter  in front of her aggravated her, stories of how everyone landed here and what not. Whatâ€™s to tell they all fucked into a rather expensive pay for some fucking stupid job. Letâ€™s get real there is no other reason everyone could be here. She heaved a sigh glancing at the Englishman that was to be leading them and smiled. Oh the Englishâ€¦this could get interestingâ€¦