"What doing." It's a sudden, short statement, not a question, from behind Rex as he's crouched over a hole. "What are you doing?" it comes again, a proper question this time, a little boy, no older than eight, standing nearby with a garden trowel in bright green muck boots, already covered in dirt and mud, his little camouflage jacket reading 'Romero' on the pocket stained and well-worn. "Are you digging? I didn't know grown ups dug for fun. Daddy says if I keep digging holes the groundhogs are gonna come find me." That doesn't seem to stop the kid, who sticks out one muddy little hand in greeting. "I'm Robin. Daddy says if you try to touch me bad I should scream." It's only a few moments of... unintentional babysitting, really, before a voice rings out in the distance.
"Robin!? Dammit... I look away for two seconds and- There you are." Another shock of bright red hair, braided into a single short plait bounds up- her jacket not far off from the boy's, though clearly proper military fatigues- "Romero" once more on the pocket. "Hi- sorry. He didn't like, do anything weird, did he? Or like... interrupt... What you're doing? What are you doing?" She questions herself, now, taking the trowel from the boy- presumably her brother. "Stop. Stealin'. Daddy's. Gardenin'. Equipment."
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