Kinsley listened to the Harakoni with an expression of mild interest, pretty much forcing himself to listen and nodding at the appropriate moments, wanting to retreat back into the darkness of his helmet and sleep off the rest of the trip down...but this Warhawk would just not quieten down like a good gentleman, insisting on yapping like some Guardsman fresh out of basic training; best to indulge him supposed the broad veteran, never did to make enemies among your own formation.

"You got anyone gon' miss ya? Any bastard kids you've 'ad? I'm pretty sure I don't. Too much time fighting tha fuckin' greenies."

Bought back a little to the present, his mind having wondered somewhat, he shouldn't have been surprised to find the grav-trooper wearing his gasmask [i]inside[/i] the lander, nor to find him talking about women and bastard children...no, it didn't surprise him at all.

"Firstly, it is Colour-Sergeant, I am no-ones 'sarge'," it was a statement completely without threat or malice, his tone even-levelled and one hand rubbing his impressive facial hair in thought, eyes never leaving the lean and lanky conversationalist, "I did not spend most of my life in the Guard to be addressed in such a colloquial manner."

Leaning back a little in his restraints and seat, he nevertheless gave another short shrug as he answered the others latest question, "I joined the Guard at eighteen years old and have never left since. There's been women, of course, even loved a girl once - she died of the Black Fever not long after I left Praetoria - but I've not been back there since I was a lad."

Mmemories of his home planet were as vivid as if he had left only that day - of seething masses of humanity, of his own family sharing three bedrooms between two dozen of them, of the very air you breathed being rationed by the wealthy aristocratic classes...it was no wonder at all that so many joined the Praetorian Guard, the quality of life went up exponentially, three meals a day and even pay.

What else could one ask for?