"HEY, HURRY THE FUCK UP! I'M KIND OF RUNNING LATE HERE!"

Scott Riley, his tall and slender physique hunched over in the back of a compact taxi transport, had been yelling like a madman for nearly the whole trip. Today he wore a rather expensive-looking suit complete with tie and leather shoes, the works. Between his awkwardly parted legs (which had no room to stretch at all) was an average-sized briefcase, a sleek black metallic case that made a distinct low thud with each bump and shake of the cab. To add to his frustration the gyrating of the vehicle caused him to bang his head on the roof. Definitely no good for the noggin.

"We're almost there, relax!" the driver shouted back.
"Look, Tony, or whatever your name is, I am heading off to space to go on some crazy mission I know nothing about. SPACE, DIPSHIT! I sure as hell am NOT going to be late for fucking space, got it pal?" Scott leaned over, in between the driver and passenger seat. This particular cab didn't seem to have the protective gate to prevent such behavior.
"Hey, you wanna come up here and drive? 'Cuz I'll come over there and show you how hard it is to drive one of these things!" the driver turned his head to meet Scott's fuming face.
"You know, if I was allowed to fucking drive then maybe I would do it myself. I hired you to get me there pronto, and I don't see pronto right now!"
"I'm over the speed limit by 15 units, you gotta be kidding me! And sit back down, you're distracting me!"

It was at this point that the cab had reached the road to turn on, leading into the forest housing the (in)famous Frontier 60. However, they simply passed it, continuing on the main road. "OH, COME ON! YOU MISSED THE TURN!" Scott yelled as he slapped the dashboard repeatedly, turning his head to look through the rear-view window. The driver promptly slammed on his brakes, jerking Scott forward until they stopped short. Needless to say this caused yet another head injury for Scott. "Gee, I wonder why," the driver remarked sarcastically. "Get out of my cab."

After a pause and a moment of disbelief, Scott angrily stumbled out of the taxi, reaching back to grab his case. It was the only item he brought with him, along with its contents of course. As he passed by the driver window he reached into his pocket and pulled out some coins, mixed with it some scrap paper and lint. In a careless swipe of the hand, Scott flung the contents of his balled up fist at the cab, clearly not intending to aim at the window itself. "Here's your fare, go fuck yourself!" he shouted at the closed window as the cab drove away. A good ten seconds passed by before Scott finally started the arduous trek into the woods. It would be at least a half an hour to walk there, and he didn't have time for that. Realizing this, he reluctantly picked up the pace to a "healthy" jog. Somehow it didn't occur to him that he was still wearing a several hundred point suit as he sloshed through the muddy trail leading to Frontier 60.

Finally arriving at the damned place, his suit now ruined by mud and sweat stains, Scott proceeded through the front door. Wiping the sticky sweat from his forehead using his tie, he made his way toward the receptionist. She glanced at him from where she sat, with a look that clearly read "wait, they're not all here yet?" As she opened her mouth to greet him, Scott loudly initiated conversation instead. "Hey lady, files please, chop-chop." He rested one arm on the desk, and then eyed her up and down before cocking an eyebrow and donning a smirk. "So what's a little thing like you doing in this dump, huh?" Attempting to ignore him, though visibly annoyed regardless, she relinquished the files. "Here you are, Mr. Riley," the receptionist said in as professional a tone of voice as she could manage at this point. She had clearly had enough with today. Gently taking the files between the thumb and index fingers on his free hand (still holding the case in the other), Scott changed the tone on his voice to match hers as if to mock her, "Why thank you, miss. I am ever so grateful to you for providing your humble service." He rubbed his chin and added a question, "By the way, where are the guys n' gals, huh? Please point to the direction they went." Before the receptionist could so much as lift a finger he began again, "Oh, so that's where they went. Thank you for showing me the way. Have a good one, Nancy!"

Leaving the receptionist flabbergasted, Scott began to make a beeline for the Medusa when he spied Thomas still sitting at the cafeteria table. He stopped briefly, pointing to the man and calling out loud, "Jar-head!" before moving on. Upon arriving at the Medusa he continued straight through the small group of people that happened to be his crew-mates. As he passed each one, he called out more names while gesturing to them:

"Psychopath!"
"Pirate!"
"Quiet Quincy!"
"Hulk Smash!"
"Trigger Happy!"
"Klutz!"

Stopping an arm's length away from Caelum and extending his files toward her (practically shoving them at her, actually) he finished his slew of nicknames. "Aaaaaand Take-a-chill-pill. Scott Riley, reporting for duty."