Lakon looked around, but did his best to keep it subtle. He took stock of his surroundings, and wondered what was going to happen now. The Watch-Commander hadn't said much before leaving, but he hadn't been executed just yet, so he supposed things were going well. He was dressed only in the flat black bodyglove he would have worn under his power armour, if he had any. By the time he'd been retrieved from his "transport" there had been nothing left but ashes and dust. Now, though, he was wondering if maybe he should have kept his equipment. At the same time, he supposed things might have gone worse if other Astartes knew of his origins. Content to keep such things a secret, he fought the urge to double-check the shiv he'd tucked up his sleeve. It was probably a stupid precaution, but he would rather be called paranoid than end up on the losing end of a fight.

The hangar itself seemed fairly typical, if larger than most, but it was the presence of the Watch Chaplain that really made the place stand out. The black armour and skull helmet gave the man away immediately, though the marine supposed that everyone would be dressed in black armour around here. The Blood Angels pauldron gave the Chapterless Astartes a ray of hope. He'd had no dealings with the Blood Angels before, but he'd heard stories, and just the presence of such an obviously hallowed warrior lifted the warrior's spirits, if only a little. As the Chaplain began his speech, however, Lakon's gaze went dead, and he stared idly at the far wall. There was a trio of blinking lights at roughly eye level, and he began attempting to discern a pattern in there blinking simply to keep his mind active.

He heard the holy warrior say something about the unspeakable horrors they'd encounter, and exhaled a little harder through his nose. The apparently-perfect Astartest before them requested far too much information for the foundling-Astartes' liking and he waited until the black-armoured super human approached him to speak. "Well met, Chaplain. Brother Lakon." his voice was low, and he spoke with a stilted force, stopping just short of over-emphasizing any given syllable. Every word had obviously been thought out. His gaze still hadn't strayed from the blinking lights, though he'd given up on finding a pattern in them...