"Specialist, we can requisition you a tooth brush. We didn't really leave with advanced notice." Jeryn chuckles and remembers what it was like to be so green. Half pissing your pants when someone Gunny or above spoke to you.
It's endearing. This is a problem she can solve. So many crumbling pieces around her, but this she can manage.
"I have the forms in my cabin," Jeryn tells her.
"Oh, no, you don't understand, Commander." She gives a very lengthy and detailed explanation of her toothbrush, which sounds more technologically advanced than the scope on Jeryn's sniper rifle. "It cost six thousand credits," Traynor whispers.
Jeryn's eyes widen slightly. "You … well. Good dental hygiene is a commendable goal. You … uh … you're on your own for that one, though."
She thinks the galaxy might be worse off than she originally thought.