[center][b][h2][color=f26522]Jonathan McCord[/color][/h2][/b][/center]

Jon studied the strange woman from the corner of his eye. She didn’t seem to be a regular smoker. Her bandaged up head gave her away. Of the mechs in the Knights’ roster. The Raven was clearly the one still taking on the majority of repair work. He would have bet she was its pilot which would explain her injuries in comparison to most of the others that had started to gather. A mech like that didn’t come into the possession of just anyone and most assuredly not through anything close to honest business which only meant one other thing: [i]pirate[/i]. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he was sure of it. They all had the same look. The same spiel. He knew it well. Like a song with one note. Drink, fight, fuck and steal, and act like fools inbetween. The little court jester facade was just the act that covered up the rot underneath. He’d seen them kill women and children out on the frontiers of Taurian space. Still crying as they’d gunned them down without a thought, taking pleasure in it even. Jon hated pirates and he’d killed them by bushel. Still, some part of him tried to remind himself that he could be wrong. He hoped he was and turned his glance back to the others while Cassandra and the Colonel spoke. 

Again he looked over the tracks inside the cave. The placement of the mechs and the vehicles and how they had moved without being disturbed by rain. The stolen transports were awkwardly parked close together to save space and the cabover hood of one of them was tilted up on its shocks, probably for scavenging parts. He kept the same neutral expression as the others as Cassandra and Gaius departed to talk business. On the trek out, he and Cassandra had already worked out that she would do all the talking and that he was to divulge as little as possible, which was just fine by him. He regarded the first outstretched hand momentarily from the one calling himself Rivers before matching the grip and noting the wedding ring. The man was awkward and presumptuous. Jon was not “with them” and when Raven mentioned a “mess hall”, he couldn’t help but arch his brow strangely at the other man, being as they were in a cave… [i]underground[/i]. He talked unusually as well, unlike anyone Jon had ever met, like some knight of old and Jon wondered if he might have a screw loose- there were plenty of those among mechwarriors.

What was a surprise was the one who approached next and offered her hand with a polite smile. Her eyes were still young and bright and at thirty-five, he felt old and worn in her presence, like she was a visitor in his reality of war and destruction. His hand was bigger, but her grip was surprisingly firm, which he liked. “[color=f26522]Jon… and don’t worry about it.[/color]” He said and gave a small shrug. “[color=f26522]Not the first time I’ve had a gun pointed at me.[/color]” He looked over the other crews and staff, all a mass of commotion, but his eyes shifted back to Marit before Raven and before he spoke again, keeping the conversation mostly about the Green Knights: “[color=f26522]Yea, we’ve heard a lot about the ‘month’ you’ve had for sure.[/color]”

[@Starlance]
[@Letter Bee]