When you're a fresh face straight out of basic who's squad you'd barely just met a day ago has a plaque in their dropship that made it abundantly clear that the outfit most likely saw a fair amount of combat, your first instinct probably shouldn't be to let out a laugh. That'd drawn some weary glances from Private Winoda's new-found teammates, and he'd since exiled himself to the unoccupied corner of the troop bay, making sure all the systems were functioning on his helmet and extending and collapsing the stock on his E-11 even though he'd run the necessary checks more times than he could count over the last few hours. 

Rian didn't pay much attention to the general banter of the First Platoon's Second Squad; he knew a scare tactic when he saw one. What, did they think he hadn't gone through hell already at the Academy? He'd show them that he belonged, he wasn't just a farmer hopped up with courage after firing a blaster for the first time, he was an authentic member of the Empire's finest. It wasn't until he felt a hand on his plastoid covered shoulder that he looked up from his helmet, which he'd been mentally preparing himself to wear for the first time on an actual assignment on an actual alien planet. It didn't help that the sight was what he'd assumed, but never had the courage to outright ask, was the squad's resident leftover from the Clone Wars.

"Hey, as long as one of them isn't me, I think I'm gonna be fine."

Rian didn't know what possessed him to think now was the time for boasting, but Emperor knew he needed to boost his confidence somehow.