[center][h1][color=17A589]Carla Lobo[/color][/h1][/center]
[center][img]https://media.giphy.com/media/AlgqrF5ontmmc/giphy.gif[/img][/center]
[hr][center][color=17A589][b]Location:[/b][/color] Conference Room -> Bridge[/center][hr]

The hum of the controlled explosion lifting the ship out of the planet's atmosphere echoed through the trembling metal. Carla took the slightest of deeper breaths and counted from one hundred. [i][color=17A589]Ninety nine. Ninety eight. Isn't blasting off great?[/color][/i] Quinn wasn't secured and walked with the quiet confidence of a seasoned veteran of many ship launches. Her arm still reached out slightly to catch him if he'd fall.

They walked onto the bridge and Carla began continued to count. [i][color=17A589]Twenty five. Twenty four. The pilot isn't a bore.[/color][/i] She fished her gloves out of her jacket pocket and deftly slipped them onto her hands. The ship was out of the bosom of Persephone and into the Black. [i][color=17A589]I'll never get used to someone else flying.[/color][/i]

Carla regarded the dandy on the bridge directly addressing Quinn with the same disinterested look she had on her face when she was told her superiors were killed, jailed, or Alliance dogs. [i][color=17A589]Death would have been cleaner.[/color][/i] Carla took a step back from Quinn's side and found a home leaning against one of the ship's navigation monitors. She turned her back to the assorted personnel on the bridge and studied the deck. A brief thought ran across her mind: Death. She was going to be set up for a suicide mission or strangled in her quarters. She shrugged at it and lifted her eyes to gaze out of the ship.

Carla stared into the space of nothing that made up most the 'Verse.