[hider=Hamazasp Sulser][img]https://images.evetech.net/characters/2112987026/portrait[/img][/hider]

The Leopard which carried Hamazasp was typical of Rasalhague's present catalogue: old, musty, discourteous, but functional. The metal frame's rickety movement didn't ease him, but this would be far from the first or the most dangerous deadly experience he faced in his lifetime. He savored the thrill of being lurched upward, then forward. He quite relished this rarity.

Once the transport was well underway, he opened his backpack and parsed its contents. The fifteen books he brought were accounted for. As expected, a few straggler ants crawled across their spines: residue from his evening of sleep beside the queen. He contemplated cracking open a novel, but he didn't wish to accidentally crush an unsuspecting insect. On the other hand, he couldn't exactly unbuckle his seatbelt and freely roam the cabin. She wouldn't mind, would she? He sighed. Without adequate food or oxygen, their lives were forfeit anyways. He quietly mourned their loss, then pulled out a fresh copy of [url=https://www.sarna.net/wiki/Adam_Rasalhague][i]Dateline Destiny: Strange Tales But True[/i] by Adam Rasalhague[/url], a book he'd picked up from a gift shop just before departure. He'd considered [url=https://www.sarna.net/wiki/Yuri_Gamato][i]The Philosopher And The Space Traveler[/i] by General Yuri Gamato[/url], but his new employer's cultural heirloom felt more appropriate. Of course, the slow reader he was, he'd barely finished the third chapter when he reached his destination.

The vessel was ancient, centuries older even than the original manuscripts of (the majority of) his novels. Braving a potential slew of long dormant diseases, he brushed his fingers against the wall's rusty frames as he strolled through them. Not much survives from yesteryear; what remains ought to be prized, no matter its condition. Perhaps he'd spend some time polishing its sides in periods of pause. Regardless, he needed to stake a bunk. He wandered his way to quarters, selected the bottommost bed, and set down his current read to claim it. An ant obliviously traversed the cover. That duty complete, he slung his pack over his shoulder and headed for the briefing.

The plasteel seat was unruly but serviceable. Hamazasp had employed worse, including (shudder gasp) regular plastic chairs. Still, he figured he should requisition a pillow for his 'Mech to maintain this posture on this material for hours if not days. He positioned himself near the room's rear if only so that his comrades could take the front and pay better attention. Alas, he miscalculated the [s]edge lords and lone rangers[/s] lonelier individuals coveting the distant seats in the corner, crowding Sulser beyond comfort.

He studied his superior, then his colleagues. Lichen was good for natural dyes, especially since they required no [s]urine[/s] mordant to fuse to cloth; he dabbled with it while experimenting on his farm. He hoped to obtain a sample, though he wouldn't leave his cockpit except under utmost necessity. Mäkinen's cynicism was unwarranted but tolerable. His peers, however... "Babysit captives," "Ex-Mistress," alongside the tone: not signs of proper integration. Hopefully team cohesion remained intact. He supposed he shouldn't overly rely on them; emotional compromise was a liability.

He waited for a second, then arose. [color=aba000]"Black ops? A particularly tough Lance simply means higher quality loot upon survival, I reckon."[/color] Pessimism was best countered with optimism. [color=aba000]"For either ourselves or Republic stock. I myself have a question, Sir Commander. I presume that the landscape is fairly flat, with nuclear bombings and all. Nonetheless, are there local terrain elements to denote?"[/color] He wasn't one for intense maneuvers, and he preferred to keep it that way. He implied but didn't outright state his curiosity about the mercenaries' cut of weapons and parts out of his strict sense of professionalism.