Laying back on top of one of the crates, Tom Trent was probably the only member of the 7th that didn't care that the rookie was green.

He'd said as much on the walk over, but it was easy to talk over the soft-spoken rebukes from the slouching pilot. What did it matter if she was green? They all had been at some point or another, and it wasn't like the rest of the team couldn't pick up the slack. Trapp had already replaced Astelion--well, the female Astelion--and frankly if anyone should be under such scrutiny it was [i]him[/i]. He's the one they would be stuck with.

If the rookie couldn't hack it, she'd die. Simple.

The faint trail of smoke from the cigarette in his lips was one of the only things that showed he was still alive up on a crate of his own, trailing off to the metal ceiling. It was strange for him to really feel the death of another, but it was different somehow now that Tori was gone. They'd made a great team on more than one occasion, their MAS units well suited for the high-risk, high-reward roles of the missions they undertook. It was a loss of direction more than anything else, like a compass left to spin searching for North. It was the most Tom could say that he'd really felt about anyone's death, and if he hadn't said much about it he'd raised a shot in a soldier's salute every night for the woman. He didn't really believe there was anything left of her out there to see it, but it felt good.

At the sound of Wes introduction he sat up and pulled the nail from his lips. Crushing the cherry out on the bottom of his boot, he pushed off and dropped the few feet to the floor, boneless. Good Ol' Wes. Big man, bold man, heavy drinker, heavy hitter. Tom had always liked him in the same way most people did--there was something to be said for his gruff exterior and heart of gold. As he rattled his way through the squad, Tom was busy watching the newbie. She was, he had to admit, [i]exactly[/i] the kind of green the others had been worried about. She saluted, she stood at attention, she [i]radiated[/i] inexperience, but there was a reason she'd been assigned to them.

And if it wasn't a good enough one, it wasn't like they'd have to deal with her for very long.

The AI chimed up from behind a crate just to the side and, not for the first time, Trent wished she made noise like a normal human being. It was the most disconcerting thing about her, the discrepancies--she walked, talked and acted like a duck...almost. Ironically it was her emulation of humanity that caught his attention, pinged his perfectionist tic. Not that he didn't appreciate her, just that he didn't see why she couldn't just be what she was.

Though he supposed it could be argued that none of them really could.

And there was Delecroix, the charmer. A Frenchman in so many ways and a pretty-boy to boot. Though in many ways they presented themselves similarly--relaxed, relatively affable--Tom remembered a few too many pulled punches for his taste. He'd gotten better about it, but if he was the sort of person to do it in the first place he was the sort of person to feel the strain when he didn't. Time would tell if the stress would bend him or not, but Tom always kept an eye on him when he had one to spare. 

Maki's barb drew a slight smile from the older pilot, amused as he watched her throw out her father's name again. As irritated as she was at the mention of him, she [i]did[/i] always seem to make the relationship clear. Not to say that she hadn't distinguished herself, of course, though the loss of her old unit had hit her hard. She was still a firecracker, however, still saucy and fun, and if she couldn't be more different from the other Japanese lady in the group that wasn't a bad thing.

Yuu could make even Tom look serious, already starting to wander off in the middle of introducing herself. She was good at what she did, he'd give her that, but there was something about her that rubbed him the wrong way and had since she'd joined up with the team. It wasn't the kind of thing he'd ever mention, but for whatever reason that whimsicality about her just...made him twitch. When she fell silent he took up the mantle, continuing the barrage of information with a wry half smile.

Good Old Mr. Wizard.

"Thomas Trent, nice to meet you." He offered with an idle two fingered wave, his voice an easy drawl. "Don't let these bozos scare you. Some big boots you're stepping into, but my money's on you."

And that was that, though he had to hide the quick flick of his eyes and a slight smile. If the Captain didn't want them sounding off, he wasn't about to call her out on it.