[ Major is used to large crowds and the noise of them, and while it's certainly not the large, looming network of a city she's used to, the life the celebration has is a small comfort, a reminder of the place she was before, even as she feels adrift and alone, with no net or Section 9 to connect to. It helps, in it's own way. She stalks through the crowd like a tiger, lingering here and there to listen to conversations, but mostly taking in the buzz of the background noise of dozens of voices melding together into one pleasant (to her, anyway) sound.

At one point, she lingers around the tables piled high with dishes brought from almost everyone in town, but she doesn't take a plate or try to eat. Most of it smells delicious (although there's a plate of burgers she makes a face at — she hopes no one is eating those), and she even reaches out at one point to grab a piece of fried chicken, holding it up to her nose to smell it before putting it back. ]

[ Later that evening, she can be found making her paces through the crowd gathered to watch the fireworks; she's a police officer here, a pale imitation of the field leader she is back in New Port City, but that, too, is a familiarity she'll grasp with both hands. A lot has been taken from her, and if she can keep it, then by whatever, she's going to do it. Mostly she's keeping an eye out for rowdy kids, but she's not adverse to stopping to chat with someone, if they're inclined. Unless you're Linda or Jerry — she's really tired of listening to them complain about having to trim their neighbor's bush.

She does stop when the fireworks start, staring up at the sky with a faint smile on her face. ] Beautiful.

A public service announcement: The police station will no longer be taking calls about flower beds possibly spilling over into a neighbor's yard and demanding arrest of the individual in question. Please resolve neighborly disputes in a calm and rational manner.

Thank you.

[ she's not saying it's jerry but — ]