[center][h1][color=Teal]Agatha Smith[/color][/h1][/center]
[center][b]Depot Station, New Anchorage[/b]
[/center]
[hr]

Agatha stepped off the train and into the buzz of activity that was the unloading of a half a dozen NC's and lord knew what else from the train. Lights flashed, sirens wailed, and the shouts of foreman coalesced together into a nigh incoherent assault on the senses. A sharp inhale brought with it the scent of oil, slick and permeating the air of the platform. 

[color=teal]"About damn time."[/color] Even on it's busiest days the scrapyard never felt so active. There was an air of uncertainty that hung heavy on the platform, falling upon her shoulders like a familiar coat. What was life if you could see if from start to finish? Certainty of your future was infinitely worse than uncertainty. A bit of fear can serve as an excellent motivator. A dash of desperation pushes people to their limits and beyond.

She acknowledged the situation must be grim if they'll take an aged lion like herself when every other independent couldn't show her the door quick enough. However, even if the New Anchorage was on the verge of collapse, she was going to fight so long as she had fuel and munitions for her NC. If Anchorage would give her a shot, she'd be damned before she proved them wrong. 

Spotting someone who carried himself like the man in charge, casually perusing a datapad amidst the hustle and bustle, gave her cause to think he would be worth talking to. Breaking into a brisk jog she was before him shortly. There was a click as she brought her boots together and stood proudly at attention. Face stern, severe, and struggling with every fiber of her being to contain her excitement, she proudly declared, [color=teal]"Agatha Smith, Pilot of NC Charon, reporting for duty."[/color]

It may have made her look eager, but she wasn't going to make an effort to lie about that. Agatha was living the dream, and wasn't going to let the other's pilot's reticence hold her back.