[Color=#cd7f32][h3][center]Hassan Ahmad[/center][/h3]

Hassan looked over to see Benjamin coming over, sleeves up and greased out.

"Unfortunately not. No one asked me to make my kebabs today! Travesty, I tell you. And no, HQ didn't get me to work today, just wanted to check on the [I]Jinn[/I]," Hassan said, shaking Benjamin's hand by way of greeting. He could clean the grease off later, no worries.

"And I've told you, Ahmad is my dad. Call me Hassan.

"Anyway, kebabs. Know any hungry pilots who could do with some?"[/Color]

[Color=#7aa7dd][h3][center]Natalie Martell[/center][/h3]

Natalie's attention was drawn from the floats and real Walkers to the woman Beryl was closing out to. She didn't envy the pilots in the Walkers, having to carefully maneuver their war machines through the streets. They weren't narrow by any means, but, the crowd was spilling onto the street.

"Beryl, that might have been a little rude," she whispered.[/color]

[Color=#44bb44][h3][center]Mikhail Brukhanov [/center][/h3]

Mikhail watched in awe as the procession of Walkers lumbered across his view, the entire formation visible from his spot. He'd only rarely seen Walkers back home in the Free Territory, the Federation hesitant to add possible fuel to the diplomatic firewood of the region. As a pilot he'd only seen training Walkers, rudimentarily painted and battered after years of trainee abuse. His own [I]Tachanka[/I] had been, and still was, a sight to behold. Here, as an entire squadron paraded in ceremonial colours and arms, it was a truly impressive sight.[/color]