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[right][hr][color=gray][b]Smith's Rest, New Anchorage | Convention Center[/b]
March 26th, 2677[/color][hr][/right]
[indent]Despite his eighteen years of experience living in fringe settlements and piloting his mech, Harrison Kane wasn’t quite sure what he had just witnessed.

Smith’s Rest was a settlement comprised of good people – people who had been weathered by the rough environment of the wild frontier. He didn’t blame them for being [i]scared[/i] and wanting answers. He was pretty sure that following the attack that Graham was adamant about making sure nothing like the attack happened ever again, so much so that he was willing to lose countless hours of sleep to ensure that fact. But that didn’t justify putting each pilot through a grueling public interrogation. Especially considering it was these very pilots who pressed their backs against the walls against forces that intended to execute them in the darkness of the night. The reactions that the pilots had to the public’s questions were on full display for all to see; it didn’t take much effort to see the issues of his fellow pilots underneath their answers and expressions. He just hoped the public saw something different than he did and that this conference was not as much of a disaster as he thought it was.

It was a disaster he was glad to be done with. During the break Graham had told the rest of the pilots to move over to the canteen to relax until the conference was over. It was an order Kane was more than willing to accept given his current mood and surprising appetite. He knew that the conference’s canteen would likely have a menu larger than his usual field rations and mess hall standards, and he was more than happy to spend a few credits on a half-decent scotch and grilled sandwich. Once he arrived at the canteen he sat down near the bar at one of the open tables before waving over a waitress. It took him a few minutes to properly look over the menu, though he knew full well that he was going to order a scotch and grilled sandwich.  

He smiled warmly, [color=954f4f]“Scotch, cold. Grilled vegetable sandwich, as is. Thank you.”[/color]

As the waitress walked away he slid a pack of non-synthetic cigarettes on the table followed by a old flip lighter, deciding to take a quick smoke to take the edge off. A nasty habit, but one that persisted for him. As he moved a cigarette to his lips and lit it he noticed the other pilots had entered the canteen as he had. If his fellow comrades wanted to sit next to him he would welcome the idea, but he didn’t think it was worth much waving them over; especially when they likely wanted to take the edge off. A lot of them needed to steam after how poorly some of the interviews went. He was sure of that.

It was to his surprise that the first pilot to take a seat at his table was in fact the most temperamental one – Kathryn Dradht.

[color=f7941d]“Yo. They got anything good?”[/color]

Kane smirked as he removed the cigarette from his mouth, the smoke exhaling from his nose. The first conversation between the orange-haired pilot and himself being about the quality of food. It was funny, especially in spite of their circumstances.

[color=954f4f]“Don’t know. Just ordered mine. Guess we’ll find out.”[/color][/indent]