[right][h3]Interrogator Stanislaus Di Felice
[sup]In orbit above Yunnalin V[/sup][/h3][/right][hr]Was she being sarcastic or not It was certainly difficult to tell, but undeniably foolish to assume. 

Where Hera allowed herself the small luxury of a dry smile, Stanislaus was unmoving strict and stiff in his expression alike. The motley crew of Imperial personnel behind him, almost complete in their assembly, had about as much enthusiasm as he did. They all knew the score, so much so that Birgitte had already begun scouring for information through the cogitator of her tome while Enginseer von Toor, clad in red robes and with his Omnissian Axe stood up in hand, peered over her shoulder expectantly. 

Stanislaus bowed his bald head, presenting the ink-clad canvas of saints and scripture that was his bare scalp to the Inquisitor.
"I bid you only name the station so that I might seize it in your name." The affirmation was near-monotonous and certainly direct. Not one man of the retinue mistook the Inquisitor's curt briefing as an act of negligence; it was for that very reason that Birgitte and von Toor had already begun to prepare the briefing for Stanislaus. Stanislaus had much to prove as an interrogator of the Inquisition and that task began with asking the questions himself; or, perhaps, by the extensions that were his retinue.

Behind the party, a cascade of staggered footsteps heralded the hissing of the airlock door. Even before the door slid open, the eyes of the Sergeant Agletdinova and Sister Hellenboldus already bore into it, both pairs to the likeness of meltas in themselves. In the open doorway 'stood' - if you can describe the ungraceful lean as standing - Parasha, with a bag tossed over her shoulder and a yet another fluorescent color spread through her disheveled hair. Perhaps 'talented individuals' referred to only most of the retinue. With an expression that quickly twisted into guilt, Parasha thumbed at the door controls to close the door, where she would - God-Emperor willing - wait patiently outside.

[hr]
"How many times, Parasha? How many times have we had this conversation?"
The cramped interior of the boarding torpedo, utilitarian and lacking as it was, did little to make its payload feel welcome. Sergeant Agletdinova's chiding did little to help either. Parasha, the very same hungover chirurgeon, rubbed at her eyes with a quiet groan. 
"Sarge, man, c'mon, can we just wait until-" she protested, hardly managing to open her eyes partway. 
"Stanislaus lets you off with being an oaf when you do it quietly," Agletdinova interrupted, seizing the conversation again. "But really? You had interrupted us with the Inquisitor? You know that you're in [i]her[/i] retinue, and that [i]she decides[/i] what happens to you? Do you think that-"  
"Look, Denis, I know that-"
"-that she decides what happens to you? He values you, but he won't protect you if she gives the word."

These sorts of exchanges were fairly common between Denis and Parasha. Parasha was young and eager, clad with potential but a little wild. Denis, on the other hand, was a man of many campaigns, a veteran Inquisitorial stormtrooper and, if broad suspicions are right, a man with a secret desire to be a father. It's only natural that he would try an guide her. It'd be concerning if he didn't, as that'd probably mean she's lost her value to Hera and Stanislaus by extension. Intentions don't change the throbbing of her hangover, though.

"And what's this, then?" Denis continued, reaching out to brush her lopsided hair aside. A series of bruises lined her neck, none too subtle once exposed past her hanging hair. "On a voidstation requisitioned by the witch hunters? You're not serious?" With a grunt, Parasha lifted an arm to swat his hand away.
"I get it, enough, just leave me be for a minute, okay?" Parasha retorted as she shifted her hair back into place.
"If you're sharp enough to go into operation, you're sharp enough to hear it." he asserted with a quiet huff. Behind him, Sister Allane glared over Denis' shoulder. The very drive of the glare was enough to make her shudder. If Denis was the stern father, Allane had to be the drill abbott mother-from-hell that made it a good-cop-bad-cop dynamic. As if Denis wasn't bad enough.

The crew in the front of the boarding torpedo made an effort to block out the lecture, if it hadn't become a habit already. As the boarding torpedo continued on his course, the trajectory traced out on a cogitator, Birgitte and von Toor both sporadically worked at cogitators of their own. Stanislaus, standing behind the pair with Scrutiny quietly roosting on his shoulder, stood behind the pair with eyes closed and arms crossed.
"There's no records of the station, interrogator, even with Inquisitorial ID." Birgitte explained, her lips pursed with frustration. "This is absurd. What sort of station eludes the Administratum and the Ordo Hereticus both..."
"Likewise, there is little I can determine from afar, interrogator." von Toor concurred, his voice stained with the mechanic hue of his clustered robotics. "Should you will it, I would examine the station personally."
"Let it be so, once the station is seized." Stanislaus announced, his body still bar what little is needed to speak. "Our priority is taking control of what may maintain the station's position in orbit. To that end, I will be placing my faith in your skills, von Toor and Mellem." From behind the trio, a fourth figure stepped into view: an armor-clad man of red, black, and steel, carrying a tall shield adorned with the inquisitorial I. 
"I need only know the way, interrogator." Mellem affirmed, with a small nod to von Toor. While his enclosed helm did little to portray his emotions, his reliability is undeniable. The crusader, with his shield and sword alike, will undeniably be in his element in the corridors of a space station.
"And should we meet a foe like the less disciplined our own kind, Bruna, I will be relying on you to aid me. Likewise for you, Third Thorn." Stanislaus continued, drawing more figures from the shadows of the dark boarding torpedo: two women, once concealed betwixt ornate robes, breastplates, and masks, and another concealed betwixt all-encompassing dark clothing and armor. While one carries a stave bearing a symbol of the navigators and a laspistol.
"Like always, interrogator, we shall not be taken by surprise." Bruna confirmed, her emotions likewise concealed by her mask. The Third Thorn, on the other hand, offered no visible reply. Her silence was answer enough.

"Very well." Stanislaus annouced, bringing the collective payload of the boarding torpedo to a hush. "We seize the engines, then should the God-Emperor will it, we seize the station or we seal its fate. Take your positions and make ready."

The movements that followed were well-practiced: familiar and well-drilled, even for the motley crew. At the front stood Crusader Mellem, with his sword and shield at the ready. Behind him, Sergeant Agletdinova, with his meltagun in the fore, with Enginseer von Toor besides him with his Omnissian power axe. Next stood Sister Allane, combi-bolter in hand, who stood guard over the valuable and the inept: Stanislaus, Birgitte, and Bruna. Finally, in the rearguard stood the Third Thorn and Parasha: one with the mobility to guard the rear and the other in position to mend the injured.

So the retinue stood ready for the shudder that would follow: ready to enter the breach and face the unknown.