The Squat yawning walked out of the ship, stretching his hands and by reflex his mechadendrite too. Eyes hazy, he looked at the Sisters of battle. "[i]The nutters,[/i]" he thought. He was quite faithful to the Imperial Cult, but anyone with five minutes outside of authority's influence would guess that, much less someone who grew up outside of direct Imperial authority. Lighting up a pipe and pouring down a bit of Lho-stick powder into it, he nodded approvingly at the shooting. A sign of soldiers not slacking, he thought. 

	"Oh just mole-morta...." He started and nearly instantly stopped as the flame cult in the Executioner's Square came up. "[i]You've been out of the guild for decades.[/i]" he thought to himself. He really needed to work on getting those habits out of his system. Yankel would listen intently, and go into the Rhino as instructed. It seemed one of the members of the party was already talking to the Inquisitor, so the half-man would have to ask for slightly larger quarters later. His face would go into an expression of digust and contempt at the sight of the Tech-Priest. If he was like any other of his kind, they would not get along well. 

	When the topic of sleeping quarters came up, he perked up. He had to ask the Inquisitor about some more room for his "projects." After all, the space for his tinkering is where the 'magic' happened. Besides, he need it for his personal... projects. The legacies of his people that he still had, and must work on. He knew he was speaking out of place, but better now than never. "Oh err, can I have some more space too? I need it for all the repairs and things I do, what." Finishing his words, he would let out a thin ring of smoke into the air, satisfied and lean back.