[b]"Late again, Sven"[/b] Troike chastised him, Sven's eyes sealing shut as the words played over in his head, his fingers curling as a touch of rage blossomed in the back of his mind. Troike made no effort to so much as look at him either, that is until the door slid open once again and Ralen came through, taking the opposite side of the door from Sven. She seemed to be hiding something behind her arm, probably some of her usual witchcraft or whatever it was. Sven would've been money she was keeping it hidden to try to surprise some of the new blood once the meeting either warpped up or we got into introductions. Though, Sven's introduction had already gotten started and he was in no mood for Troike's typical shit. [i]The fucking cunt doesn't even have the gall to look me in he eyes.[/i] "Oi, Troike", Sven spat out, the words rolling off his tongue as his accent turned Troike to [i]Troy-keh[/i], "Perhaps you're confused again. I'm here for Orion. Not you, you fjolla." He knew Troike didn't speak his birth language, not many did after Terran Common replaced all native languages in the largest cultural and linguistic genocide seen to the known galaxy circa 3300's.

Sven was now halfway across the room, his bright blue eyes almost glowing, "Orion. I'll be in the bay getting prepped. Send..." He paused as his eyes scanned the room, "Ralen and, I guess, one of the greenhorns to give me a briefer brief on whatever it is we're doing." Sven spun on his heels and made his way to the door, fully aware of how he now appeared to the fresh meat. Not that it particularly mattered. They'd probably lose on of them this mission. Razlo piped up now, calling out to Ralen about beauty sleep or something equally stupid. "Find another room to stroke yourself off," Sven shot over his shoulder, looking toward Ralen then. "Get your gear before you come to the bay. I put together a new way for you to get deeper into the battlefield undetected. We're testing it today since there shouldn't be risk." The door slid open no more than half way before Sven was through. By the time it had slid closed he had already rounded the corner on due course for his room.

His room was a testament to his spartan lifestyle, a metal box of a room with a bed, a cabinet for clothes and amenities, and a deck of playing cards. All the booze, smokes, and other gear was holed away in his workshop, sharing a drawer with the tools that rarely needed to be used. He stripped, grabbed a handful of clothes and crossed out into the hallway, completely in the buff, and slipped into the communal shower giving himself a two minute scrub down and wash before throwing on his clothes without bothering to dry off with anymore than a few jumps and a shake of the head. Typically he'd dry off in Mjolnir. It tended to get in the low 110's in there and operated more like an oven than a sauna.

Sven now in the mechanics bay wasted to time getting everything up and ready for whatever shit was on the menu today. He grabbed onto the crane operator and put the Ichaival into position, dead center of the bay, three meters off the ground, and moved a dolly with nine large cylindrical canisters underneath Ichaival. Eight of the canisters contained enough explosives to turn the entire ship into a blazing inferno. The ninth canister was rigged with advanced suspension, heat dispersion, and force distribution technologies, as well as a seat, a harness, and a communications system. The ninth canister was how Sven wanted to get their teams not-so-friendly little ghost Ralen deep into enemy territory. [i]Hope she's good at dealing with vertigo.[/i]

Sven checked the clock, guesstimating that he probably had another ten or so minutes before the meeting wrapped up and his debriefers were sent over. That would give him enough time to do some last minute changes to the Ichaival. Another recent innovation he had made; he was to swap out part of Ichaival's cockpit with Gungnir so that he wouldn't have to fly back to the cruiser to get into one of his mechs. If the option we available Sven would've rigged Mjolnir into the Ichaival, but there was no way to do that without making Ichaival so front heavy that she could only fly downward.

A bit of work and a few burns later, Gungnir was hooked up to Ichaival and the canisters were already for loading. His current get up, baggy gray fatigues, boots, and a gray t-shirt with a small hole in its side from a recent torch-related incident wasn't the most 'hardened mercenary' look, but it'd have to do since he didn't have the time nor care to change one more.