Alastair spent a goodly amount of time staring out into the darkness that was Exurbia. At some point, he’d forgotten just how long he’d been sitting, staring, but it was becoming a bad habit-- and he thought he’d left most of his bad habits back on earth. Well, he was comforted by the knowledge that at least one bad habit was hurdling towards him through space-- his cigarettes. His mouth itched now, the urge hitting him in the gut. Was he experiencing withdrawal? Probably, but he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that-- damn-- he was an idiot for putting his cigarettes in another ship.

All he had was a can of coca-cola and a hunting knife. While one was more effective than the other when it came to defending the colony, Al got the feeling that neither would carry any weight when a real threat attacked Exurbia. No matter how highly he thought of his own fighting skills-- there was no knowing what was hiding for them. Stab in the dark or not, Alastair knew that at least a few of the creatures on P.E. weren’t...herbivores.

Which, he figured, was why ‘they’ made them patrol in pairs; the ‘they’ being whoever had claimed leadership over their motley troop of Watchers. He hadn’t really been told who he was patrolling with, just where to wait. So, periodically, Al would look around, kick at the dirt and gravel, maybe whistle a little bit-- waiting for who knows how long because he hadn’t even thought to bring a watch.

He was broken out of a train of nonsensical thoughts at the sound of approaching steps, and he turned-- expecting to see one of the other blokes he was used to ‘Watching’ with. His eyebrow inched up a fraction as they settled on a woman before his mouth pulled into a thin, slightly curved, line. It could be called a grimace... or a smile... or both, though Alastair didn’t really mean anything by it.

“Evening.” He called as soon as she was within earshot.