Of all the assembled people in the Chimera, Jericho Cross seemed the generally most pleased out of everyone riding the rolling coffin to the warzone. Out of all of them, granted, he had faced far greater perils in training than many of them likely ever had, and had found himself isolated from most of the others within the Chimera as they rode. After all, he was not even part of any locals of this taskforce, about the closest one to his own plight was the Jannisary, and, well, they would likely not see eye to eye. Not because Jericho had any particular issue with them, no, no. His condition as a Sanctioned Psyker in the service of their God Emperor, whom orbited the star of distant Terra's home system, tended to breed distrust and even outright hate from his fellows in arms. Commissars especially watched him closely, for one step out of line would invite the executioners touch, for the safety of all around them. Even his own comrade in arms, a fellow survivor of the doomed 8th Macarian Rangers, was equal parts protector for him, and those around him. Should he go too far, it fell to her to put him to the chopping block for the good of all.

Thinking of her, Jericho glanced over at his comrade, Tasha Dominov, who was working on final checks of her equipment while they rode. She felt the psyker's gaze and shot him a narrowed gaze, shaking her head briefly before going back to focusing on her equipment. A feint smile lingered on the psyker's face as he leaned back in the Chimera, listening to the back and forth chatter amongst his newfound squad. The Ogryn gave him the urge to laugh lightly, which he suppressed. Such were simple, humble beings that often suffered prejudices when no psyker was near, for merely being different. Jericho held no distaste towards the mutant, after all, he himself was often seen as an aberration of the blessed purity of humanity. But the psyker rediverted his thoughts to the others, the heavy trooper who seemed to earn the ire of their glorious leader as he kicked the man's companion awake, the psyker rolling his eyes once the man turned away and started towards the front of the Chimera again. No, it was his job to be such a figure, so Jericho paid little mind to the situation.

"Such is the life of a Commissar, making sure we fear him more than we fear what we face. I envy him not. But what's to say, my brothers and sisters in arms, that..." The psyker grunted as his friend and comrade, Tasha, elbowed him roughly in the ribs to cut off that particular train of thought. Nothing good was to come of it, and despite the man's friendly tone, he was far too loose with the fact he would gamble with fate and try to bring a pair of loaded dice into the affair. The woman never could have imagined how she would have been saddled with safeguarding a gambler of a psyker against himself and everyone else, and have it turn out that he would save her life from the near destruction of the 8th Macarian Rangers. So she quietly put up with his antics, writing off most of it as the eccentricies of a psyker coping with the maddening power of the warp, and kept him in check the best she could, warning the others in the Chimera of his habits. [i]"Don't mind the Psyker, he likes to talk a little too much. And by that, he can't shut up once he gets started..."[/i]