"You gonna sit in the co-pilot's seat all day or are you gonna get some damn lunch ya moron? Clock's tickin'," came Dizzy's voice from outside the vulture, along with the dull thud of a helmet on the aircraft. Henry reached back and unhooked himself from the onboard computers, the wire breaking free and whirring back inside the seat. Henry coughed slightly at the sudden disconnect from the machine. For some reason disconnecting from "the aether" caused him to lose his breath. Henry forced himself out of the seat and onto the ground, disconnecting his helmet and leaving it on the seat. As he exited the vulture, he let out a chuckle before saying with the thickest, fakest scottish accent he could muster, all through a smile,
"Which clock? Your biological one?" Henry chuckled at his own joke. Dropping the fake accent he said, "Yea, lunch sounds great. Although I'm thinking I'd like a buffallo chicken caesar wrap." His own accent seemed to be a mix of the western seaboard of the US, with a slightly stronger hint of a washington accent. The second his feet hit the ground he was bombarded with a series of scans and questions. Henry droned them off as he usually does, thinking mostly of his old 1970 Dodge Charger that he was fixing up in what little free time he had. His stomach growled, and his thoughts quickly changed back to that wrap. Henry was a few steps behind Dizzy, and took a quick glance at her ass before looking away and giving a sly wink at one of the deck crew. "Oh by the way, take a quick look at the aft starboard thruster, has a bit of a hickup, less efficient than the others. Probably just an exposed wire." Henry remarked before walking off towards the mess hall.