The pale-skinned man gulped anxiously as the Rogue Trader approached him and gaze upon him and his dishevelled uniform. Sweat had begun to accumulate on his brow as he did his best to display himself proudly in front of the older man. His heart sank, the pit in his stomach grew deeper, and the first few beads of sweat dripped down his brow as he was chided for his dishevelled appearance. [b]"Are you not ashamed?"[/b] Oh Goose was. Lesser men would be blushing as red as a tomato by now. Not only was this their first meeting with one another, but this was also going to be the lasting impression he would give to the Rogue Trader. And by the Emperor, he screwed the pooch on that aspect.

[color=steelblue]"Apologies, Lord Rogue Trader. I will do my best not to do this again."[/color] The statement was completely and whole-heartedly true. This was akin to his first day of training when he was still a fresh recruit. Unprepared, dishevelled, and disrespectful. He was lucky that the training officer thought him more valuable alive than dead. She only had him beaten bloody and senseless in front of the others for an hour and a half. A far better alternative considering he saw some other schmuck act up later that day and he got a laspistol blast to the head. Though one thing was for sure about the two events. 

Goose learned from it.

As the rogue trader explained their first stop was some dustbowl planet named Nionus - 712. Great. Of all the conditions he had ever fought in, Sandy environments were only second to places with salty water. To normal folk, sand was simply something course and mildly irritating at times. Not for Goose. Having a bionic arm meant that it was routine for him to maintain, clean, and lubricate it three times each week. Not only is sand a difficult substance to remove from the nooks and crannies of his bionic arm, but it also causes malfunctions when they get into the more delicate parts of his arm. Random contractions/extensions, delayed reaction, and even outright failure of response. Shit on a shingle, this was going to be a rough first mission.

The rogue trader then finishes his briefing and tells them that they will meet in the bridge of the ship once they have found their quarters in the ship. And with that, the veteran guardsman leaves and heads back to gather his belongings. Once he was sure that he was out of sight and mind of the Arbites guarding the junction, the man bolted and ran straight back to his rented room. There he finally relaxed and removed his medals and ribbons and returned them to their case before removing his parade uniform. It was barely the echo of the pristine condition it was an hour ago. Goose let out a disappointed sigh before sitting down on the bed and takes out a sewing kit from the large olive-coloured duffle bag at the foot of it. He was surprisingly dexterous with his hands, both organic and bionic, as he stitched up the tears and cuts of his uniform. In a few minutes, the physical damage sustained was now near impossible to notice unless you actively looked for the stitchings. The stains could be cleaned on a later time.

Satisfied, Goose tucks the uniform away and brings out his BDU and begins to don it. Admittedly, the former guardsman felt more comfortable in the standard-issue uniform than any other clothing he owned. Afterwards, he gathers his things and heads out to the Rogue Trader's ship. There was a map given along with the paperwork to help them locate and navigate the ship itself. Good thing Gustave was taught how both read and write back when he got his first promotion. Can't have a squad leader who can't read orders and write reports, you know? It takes the man longer than he wanted to but he eventually finds the docking station for the ship. Now the hard part: Navigating a ship itself and finding his quarters and the bridge.

Seeing the, almost literal, labyrinthine halls and corridors of the ship discouraged the man. [color=steelblue]"Emperor, guide me..."[/color] Gustave uttered as he steps into the ship and does his best to understand the map before promptly getting lost for the next hour.