[b][center][color=#50C878]Cyneric Abelli[/color]
Scout
[u]Near the [i]The Sky Mariner[/i][/u]
[/center][/b]
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	Cyrenic scanned his new allies as they lined up into the Sky Mariner, a rather modest ship with both passenger sections and cargo sections. Several massive crates had already been locked in onto the railings, heavy equipment and supplies the scout assumed. He guessed their tonnage by the size of their containers and the heavy duty forklifts that were lying around, airport ground crew using them as seats while taking a break. EXOs and MEUs. Cyrenic knew that some of those could carry some serious firepower. He wondered if they were getting air power, VTOLs, bombers or jets, to fully transform this rag tag group of people into a combined arms force. Most of the others had no patches or insignias that gave away their former allegiance, and even Cyrenic was told to give up his patches. He touched his shoulder plate where the emblem of the Snowstone would normally be attached by velcro, instead, there was the understood patch of a combat controller. A globe behind a parachute, lightning bolt, and a star. Of course the job description of a combat controller was a little esoteric, but anyone who knew their special forces groups would know. The scout examined the others carefully, looking for patches, signs, equipment to see who was from where, but more importantly he was looking for other former-Snowstone troopers, and other combat controllers. He didn't do a very good job, a good portion of his new allies were in casual, formal, or semiformal clothing, only a few kept their armor or battle dress uniforms. Cyrenic himself was wearing his full kit.

He sat on the floor, his L90 LBR resting on the ground next to him to his right, unpowered, and a small expensive cooler in front of him. His group was called up to board the ship next, and Cyrenic got up on his feet, pulling his rifle up and pulling the sling over his arm and neck. It was a simple, one point sling. He let it rest on his chest. Next was the cooler, he carefully squatted and picked up the box, like it was the most valuable thing in the world. The scout pressed it against his rifle, ensuring that the weapon wouldn't sway from his steps. Then he took off towards the ship.



[b][u][center]Aboard the [i]The Sky Mariner[/i][/center][/u][/b]
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	The interior was chilly, but he was comfortable with the cold. His scout armor was plenty warm anyways with all that heavy fabric on. It was one of the more fancy flights he had ever taken. He took a seat, as there weren't exactly seat assignments, resting his rifle between his legs and placing the cooler on his lap. Shortly after the vessel rumbled as the engines flared to life, and then take off. Pleasant acoustic music filled the mostly awkward silence. Only a few people quietly chatted, having found friends quickly. The music wasn't too loud as to drown out chatter, but it was audible enough. The ceiling lit up, displaying the ground underneath them. Cyrenic looked at it in wonder, and if he could whistle, he would have let out an impressed whistle. A few moments later the captain of the Sky Mariner spoke up into the intercom, [b]“Hey there, folks. We've just cleared lift off, so you're free to roam about the cabin. Restrooms are in the back. If you want some refreshments, make an order using the interface on the arm rest of your chair and the drones will bring it over. We've got aqua fresh from the Guidewater, along with a decent liqour selection from the finest Oasis vineyards and breweries. But, uh, I'd chug those to a minimum. Don't want the God Child to wake up to a bunch of glazed drunks now, do we? We’ve got about an hour or so before we reach The Lotus Mirage. Sir Elric will be waiting for us at the hangar bay."[/b]

He rested his head onto the headrest of the seat, looking up at the holographic projection of the canyons. Captain Elric Zaitsev. Cyrenic pursed his lips, the Captain must have recognized him as Snowstone special forces. Cyrenic had no idea what other tests his new allies went through, but the grueling tests of endurance, agility, strength, marksmanship under stress and even specialized tests targeting his skillset specifically made him think that the Captain purposely bumped up the difficulty of the tests. There was the possibility that everyone had to go through the same things he did, but Cyrenic doubted that. Maybe the Captain wanted the best out of his former troops, Cyrenic blinked at that thought. He knew that soldiers who had particularly tough drill instructors ended up as exceptional warriors, even though they hated their instructors at the time of training. Perhaps Elric Zaitsev wanted to push him a little, sneak in a little bit of training? Cyrenic mentally shrugged at the thought. Maybe.

[b]“Hey, what are you giving the God Child?”[/b] Someone asked him suddenly. Cyrenic, pulled out of his train of thought about his former Captain, looked to the voice quickly, taken aback by the sudden interaction. He blinked at the woman, she looked rather unprofessional. Haircut not to regulation, visible tattoos, but the massive scar across her face implied something else. If she passed the trials, then she must be an experienced hunter or warrior of some sort. He glanced down at his grey and white colored cooler, back at her, then at her capsule. Was it some kind of ancient scroll? A lost piece of art from a long dead artist worth untold amounts of wealth? Was it incredibly rare? He had heard of flowers that bloom only in specific conditions, spices that take a full decade to fully be completed. He looked back down at his cooler, he had a cake anyone could get at a bakery. He looked over his seat, arching his back to get a few more inches, and tried to glean what the others had but at a glance he couldn't tell much. Despite his face being concealed by his helmet, it was clear that whatever certainty he had of his gift before was now shattered. He slowly turned back to her.
[color=#50C878][b]"Ah-"[/b][/color] He inhaled, [color=#50C878][b]"Uh. Well,"[/b][/color] he glanced away for a split second, [color=#50C878][b]"A cake."[/b][/color] He blurted out. The scout cleared his throat, [color=#50C878][b]"It's a [i]really [/i]fancy cake."[/b][/color] he followed up quickly, trying to find the words to make his cake sound more impressive and exotic but failing. He looked away sheepishly and paused, [color=#50C878][i]well that went well[/i][/color], he thought to himself. [color=#50C878][b]"... Why, what did you bring?"[/b][/color] he asked, a little defensively.