A blast of dry heat presaged the arrival of the Queen of Summer.
Circe is warmly dressed though she need not be in her opinion. The brown, hooded jacket has its zipper left open to show off a rock and roll T-shirt. Dirty black boots cover her feet while a brown belt secures the jeans hugging her hips. But of all accessories Circe could wear to carry stuff she had a fanny pack.
Circe walks in quietly, unfazed by the decayed landscape. She'd done business in worse. She didn't care for the mood. Sadness wasn't her thing, too mellow.
But Ingrid is there with the kid, um Katty? Kappie? Whatever. Circe leans on her right shoulder against the ramp, in plain view of both Ingrid and the younger Lost she is sitting with. Arms folded, she gave a little wave with her right hand, "Sup? Hiya kiddo. Ya know Ingrid but ya don't know me right? Right, course not. I'm Circe. How ya doin'?" her tone was chipper and friendly.
Circe is packing. Shoulder holster for the Colt, a LED flashlight, light kevlar under her shirt, and a cell phone. Extra ammo is 1 clip for the Colt plus 25 loose rounds.