Chief Warrant Officer Merlin Bastion looked operator-esque, not formal, not even like he was trying to make an effort, his long, black curly hair poking a little out from the back of his beanie, his blackbeard at full drive, to Hell's Angels extent with a simple ponytail knotted in at the chin, wearing a blue thermal shirt and a pair of MTP-fatigued trousers. And being on the carrier already, sent ahead of the Captain, he had acclimatised to the excess that was an American aircraft carrier, the USS Washington no less. Everyone kept ranting an raving, and he'd been on one before, it was too fucking much. He would rather prefer a smaller ship, a smaller place, more basic. That way, you could actually smuggle a box with a couple of bottles of cider in, the decent tipple. This place was too locked up, in it's own ass, he thought to himself.

He headed down into the bowels of the ship, past the armouries he'd been sitting in for the last three hours, adjusting his weaponry, past the enormous aircraft storage and barrack areas, and past at least a few dozen people already, all shaven, all formal. Then there was him. He knew he didn't fit the usual remit of a soldier, but nobody would dare question him when details were presented, not when the record and track details of who Chief Warrant Officer Merlin "Wizard" Bastion was shown. He headed through another corridor, close to the briefing room, the noise of footsteps behind.

Walking past, Ed bumped into the large Warrant Officer, Merlin looking down from his stout frame, through the narrow corridor. Ed was not as tall as Merlin, and wearing a Auscam shirt and trousers, a boonie hat slung around in his hand, he seemed rather different. Slim, and young, he was newer to this, clearly.
"Shit, you're Merlin Bastion, right?" Ed asked, as Merlin chuckled in a brushing-off tone, Ed sounding confident and keen, already aware of who Merlin precisely was.
"Nah, we get confused a lot. Sorry mate." Merlin said, as he was about to walk away, not really rating the Kiwi he had just spoken to, as Ed ran ahead.
"No, it's definitely you! I've been told you're 2IC of the team, we're meeting in five minutes! Couldn't mistake you, could I?" Ed was keen, too much so, filled with the energy that came with being put into Echo, with the big leagues. The stories he had heard about Merlin were enough to really keep him interested, though Merlin seemed to not care.
"Mate, I've heard the stories, you're a fucking legend in the SOF circles, and-"
"Close to ventilating your eye socket. Calm your shit." Merlin sighed to the Kiwi's keenness, as he turned back to the New Zealander.

"We are meeting in five. You seem like you're gonna be fresh meat, so don't get fucking fried on the fire too fast. What's your name, lad?" Merlin asked, as Ed stopped, taking in the stature of Merlin. They weren't joking, the man stood at least six inches taller, but it was the sheer frame on him, he looked like he could pick up a Minimi and handle it like a rifle, probably terrifying it enough first.
"Cpl Edward Thatcher....they call me Wraith in my old team." He keenly said, still a little enthusiastic at it all. 
"Well, you appear to be anything but fucking one, because it's difficult to bump into someone like me." Merlin chuckled slightly and yet sounded terrifying in his tone of voice, his normal sound carrying through the corridor with ease. The Devonian was barely even caring at this point, knowing he was scaring the everloving shit from the younger soldier, sighing, his West Country drawl coming through clean as day. If this was a different era, he'd be a pirate, no question or doubt about that, he already sounded half like one.

Turning back, Merlin kept walking, Ed following behind, as they headed towards the briefing room. Ed seemed to calm himself, as Merlin looked back, feeling a little bad for what he did. Poor lad, he didn't really deserve that. Merlin was like that, he could be a little wrathful at times, well, he could just blur out and not really care at times, he didn't really have a respect for what Ed seemed like he could be at times. He had to at least keep the conversation going.
"I'd suppose you ended up here for good reason then. Haven't really seen Kiwis deployed much."
"Couple tours in Afghan, nothing like you though. I heard that story about that IS executioner, did you seriously decapitate him or-"
"I don't know really, I mean, I think that was the second one that week. I mean, I can't really tell you the truth, or I'd end up in some fucking court somewhere. Let's keep it at rumors, yeah?" Merlin said, knowing that well, a few good people he trusted knew exactly what the last trip to Syria had looked like. Bloody, bloody mess. Though that said, there was a hardened terrorist cell that didn't want the bearded Brit to come and back and hang them in bits on wooden crosses again. Things like that, Merlin didn't enjoy telling people.

Entering the briefing room, they took a seat near the front, Merlin nodding to the Sergeant, as he leaned back in his chair. He turned and saw a woman in a dress of all things, an African-American, and a Pole. He gently locked eyes with each person, his dulled brown eyes firm, and they seemed to take in the mind of every pair of eyes that they saw, weighing them up, evaluating them, processing them analytically, in how they outwardly projected, and seemed to already be. Merlin liked doing that, just knowing what he had on side.