The golden rays of the dull, early morning sky danced along the low horizon as white clouds floated around the young pilot veteran and his airplane, "Der Hammerklavier," as he flew amidst the crisp morning air. A bright orange sun boldly emerged from the lands of the east as every passing moment glided by, exposing in every direction the lush green Scottish landscape of the north. The morning voyage to Scotland was long though not quite as tedious as Lennard might expect such a journey of four hundred miles from London might be. Just as long as he could get up early for a nice ride along a green landscape, it was certainly no burden. 

[i]I'm late.[/i] Lennard realized once again, although he had already sent a dispatch to his soon-to-be employers who had hired him to set part on a voyage to Old Vegas, or "Neon Haven" as many liked to romantically emphasize prior to his tardy arrival. A city of great promise and the main goal of Albion's Avengers who sought to free themselves from the binds of what they considered tyranny and thereby implement their own democratic society upon migrating there. The way Lennard saw it, none of it really mattered to him - only the money which would be promised after the job was done and this particular man, Roland, would pay that handsome price for his services as a fixer. It was certainly much better than being a low-life, petty criminal. 

Lennard's ship, the "Hammerklavier,' rode just fine as it usually did, apart from the occasional hick-ups due to its old and ancient age, it served quite well on most days. The old plane descended slowly into the hangar bay, just barely touching the concrete floor of the platform below. Outside, Lennard took a breath the crisp clean air of the damp Scottish countryside just after opening the cockpit while throwing his veteran Royal Air Force boiled leather jacket over his light brown, wool cardigan sweater to brace himself for the northern winds of the lands beyond England, a land he had not known too well compared to the lands of eastern Europe. 

Before entering the common room, Lennard began to hear the voice of a man address everyone who seemed to already be antiquated with themselves. He could hear the voice of Roland Shaw, his employer, as he took a moment to listen up before entering the room. Not soon after his introduction came a short rise of pilot's voices who shared their opinions on what course of action to take. This perfect opportunity to sneak into the room without appearing rude, though from the looks of it, Reggie had already seized that opportunity for himself. What a character he was, he reminded Lennard of his friends during the war, a memory he sought to drown with large portions of booze and alcohol. A memory the former captain chose not to return to. Lennard waited for a moment before speaking his mind just after entering the room casually while grabbing a cup of fresh, hot coffee. 

[color=bc8dbf]"Well, I'm okay with any route we take, although it's better to be safe than sorry in my opinion. I'd say the longer route just in case."[/color] Lennard had already known Iceland having already being familiar with the country during the war, though the years may have changed the place from the rumors which spread over those years and Philadelphia had already been known as a land of Gangsters and Sky-Pirates who sought to plunder those in and around their territories even before his time. Alone, a man even as experienced as Lennard could be easily afraid, with a team however, the chances of survival could be assured especially with the pilots he was going to travel with who all looked as if they could take care of themselves. Yet, they were still ragtag pilots from the looks of it despite their looks, and as for the coffee; It was definitely was some [i]gourmet shit[/i], as Reggie put it.