Wes rubbed the back of his head where a can had phased through the transdimensional rifts in time and impacted with his skull, still slightly sour about Maki's ribbing. She knew damn well he got plenty of action from the ladies. Chicks dig marines with scars. And big muscles. And side burns. Don't forget the side burns, those were the most important aspect of anything. 

Though, he really didn't feel anything. His thick skull meant anything less than a hammer braining him went mostly unnoticed, he only rubbed it to show his squad mate he cared. Or something. He was amused at least, but his role in making the recruit uncomfortable had been stolen as everyone crowded around her, stealing his joy of taunting. Wes took his damn time as the group split up, heading to their stations and preparing for something. No doubt it was combat soon. 

Watching the outburst from Eric was a bit uncomfortable. The man needed to calm his shit and get over it. People died in war, and there was no doubt Astelion hadn't made a few widows or ruined a few families with his thirty-five kills. Sure, Wes would be pissed if his dear old Dad had died, but he wouldn't piss on a poor recruit who didn't even know the damn man. Hell, he thought it was a good idea to give her the old Sparrow. The spirit lives on through her and all that shit. 

Passing by Eric, Wes jerked his shoulder into the man, knocking him out of the way and daring him to say something. Wes had a good fifty pounds and several inches on the man, so the chances of Astelion taking Wes out were zip to none. Eric growled, but did nothing as he walked past Wes, walking away from the group. 

As Delacroix' Marauder went through the motions of swinging that hefty axe of his, Wes grinned as he watched while walking to his own machine. In his own head, Wes was going through all the ways he could take it down in Disposal. In a straight melee fight, Marauder had an advantage because of, well, the axe, but Wes could see a few weak points in his system. Getting past its reach and straight into its face would've easily taken it down. Then again, he didn't really want to test the effectiveness of its scattergun. 

Finally Wes reached his own beauty of a machine. Its [i]fifty-one[/i] feet in all its glory stood before him, the white paint covered in blast marks and scorches, gouges and cracks. The only bit of paint perfectly intact was the skull and bones on its midsection. Engineer Tark simply nodded slightly as Wes passed. The man's overalls were covered in grease, but his bear like figure was similar to Wes'. A scratchy beard covered his face, barely hiding the missing front tooth Tark had. He and Tark had a bit of a complex relationship, in that they barely talked at all. Wes had his job, Tark had his. 

They were good friends. 

Stepping off of the lift, Wes descended into his own cockpit, eyes adjusting to the slight darkness that surrounded him before firing the system up. He blinked quickly as the screens came to life, the same time a small cord pricked the back of his neck, hooking him up to the system. Wes ignored the sound of the male voice, [i]"Hello. My name is RALF and welcome to the B15-7 MK.II Heavy Class MAS,"[/i] it said, repeating the same damn tutorial it did [b]every single time[/b] he started Disposal up. He knew every single word it said, going over munitions counts, operator status, and 'taught' him how to drive. 

Wes had no idea why it still kept playing. Countless techs and computer freaks had looked into Disposal's hardware and software, but none of them could find where to turn the damn thing off. Eventually it became sort of a ritual for Wes to hear it, even though it still pissed him off.  He chocked it all up to a test of tolerance. 

According to his systems, hydraulic pressure was at one hundred percent, stabilizing cores were at maximum, and his seat was slightly uncomfortable. Unlike the others, he really didn't pay much attention to the numbers and dials that tried to make him give a fuck. Either Disposal was working or it wasn't working, that was it. Let the grease monkeys pay attention to that stuff. 

Keying in the radio, Wes spoke up. [color=662d91]"Tagg. Squad Leader. Big Honcho. I got a quick question for you."[/color] Wes asked, the machine rocking as he reared backwards with a yawn. [color=662d91]"Why're we all hopping in our machines for? Are we going to be doing anything or are we just showing off our firepower boners to the newbie?"[/color]