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If it were in any other place, surrounded by a different set of strangers, it could be said that Hugh had just “done fucked.” Yet somehow, it didn't feel that way. Could be because he was no stranger to roughing it for as long as it took in musty, out-of-the-way places like this. Or because despite being more than capable of ending him right then and there, this motley group of offworlders gave off unassuming, down-to-earth vibes. Including that rough yet handsome woman who he took for a seasoned veteran, as she was quite relaxed like a cat about to pounce on its prey even as she toasted him. 

He'd have toasted her back too, if only he had a drink in hand. But more importantly, if the boss-man and his crew weren't staring him down right at that moment, eager for answers.

The [i]Lumberjack[/i] pilot was more than happy to oblige. After apologizing for [color=fff200]“moseying on in”[/color] uninvited, Hugh told the chief and everyone present his full name and how nobody refers to him by that anymore, and then his callsign which doubled as his new proper name ([color=fff200]“it's a long story”[/color]). He saw that he piqued their curiosity at the mere mention of the word “callsign,” and so he told them that he was part of a citizens' cell of guerillas opposed to both the old corrupt regime and now the current brutal one – with special emphasis on the word [i]was[/i] – and that he was perfectly fine drawing away fire for his erstwhile brothers-in-arms in his souped-up IndustrialMech until he found out that the “old college friend” he grudgingly took orders from had plans to sell him out for political gain.

[color=fff200]“And just like that, I up and left,”[/color] Hugh said as he accepted a glass of water, which he gulped down greedily. [color=fff200]“Ah, that sure hit the spot, thanks much. Just so you know, I don't really mind getting shot to shit by small arms fire and missiles and such if it's for the sake of friends, but I won't ever abide being set up as a sacrificial lamb just for a fucking leg up. But I digress. I know what y'all are really wondering right now – it's how I found this here place, isn't it? More like how I found the red bastards, actually. Those cocky pricks must be feeling invincible that lately they've been getting sloppy, and I'm sure y'all here would agree. Just followed them on foot, reckoned it wouldn't occur to them that some rando in the bushes was watching them from a safe distance at every turn. Reckoned you might show up to kick their asses, too. Goes without saying I was right on both counts.”[/color] He grinned. [color=fff200]“Then I followed you right back here the same way I followed them. Not that hard really if you do it the old-fashioned way, like hide your 'Mech in the woods and go it alone on foot, but yeah, I understand it's also a very stupid way of going about it since either you or they could've easily squashed a suspicious stranger like little ol' me like some bug.”[/color]

Hugh's gift of gab took with the mercenaries as far as suspicious yet well-meaning strangers could be taken – that is, with the glaring exception of one. He could see that the foreigner wasn't that much older than he was, younger than the boss-man even, but already his dark hair was turning grey in places and his face was creased with so much worry and disquiet. Perhaps not a little distrust and anger too, from the way the mercenary kept looking at him. He could tell that the man wasn't from here, from light years away even, but clearly something was eating him anyway. Right now Hugh might be as free and unmolested, comfy too, as someone taken into custody could be, but he wasn't out of the woods just yet.