[color=6ecff6][b]Ximena Huang[/b][/color]

[color=6ecff6]"It's admittedly concerning that I was what gave you the will to survive, but hey, if that's what it takes. One casualty is probably enough for now."[/color]

It was two, actually, according to what she heard, but it seemed in poor taste to bring up the KIA pilot. Bringing up the WIA one was also in poor taste, but significantly less so. 

Ximena waited for Yuna to get comfortable before beginning her opening statement, laying out the accusation like a lawyer looking to get famous by securing a significant conviction. Scott, the scoundrel and criminal he was, squirmed under the weight of his crimes. 

[color=6ecff6]Hell yes I want to know! An attack craft that was outdated during the Gulf War, moving with all the speed and wherewithal of a drunk tortoise, scored a kill on what is essentially invisible greased lightning equipped with sensors advanced enough to spy into heaven? I am outraged, sir, outraged."[/color]

Yuna brought up good points, Ximena nodding sagely as her assistant prosecutor laid out all the possibilities.

[color=6ecff6]"It was all of the above most likely, and of course the fight still had to be 'equalized. '"[/color] She let the word slide off her tongue as if she were describing one of the more distasteful bodily functions, practically spitting it from her mouth. [color=6ecff6]"My guess is that the glorious and tragic hero- the mighty Raptor, king of all birds!- wasn't allowed to fight in the way that suited it. I bet that the rightly named Devil Dogs arranged for it to be chained, to be denied the use of its elegant stealth hunting tactics in favor of brutishly trading punches like some backalley brawler and you, Heartbreak, were merely the man assigned to pull the trigger. It was not a fight but an execution and I demand-"[/color]

She was just getting into her persona when Aurélie came rushing in, Jefe glancing at the rapidly approaching figure as a diatribe died on her lips.

[color=6ecff6][i]Son of a bitch...[/i][/color]

How very unlike a Frenchwoman to be the one suggesting they get to work. Still, there was no need to be unprofessional. Ximena returned the nod and gathered around the table, whistling appreciatively at the photos.

[color=6ecff6]"Looks like you guys did a number on them already. I'm not the one who signed the contract, but I'm sure the Maltese would appreciate it if we finished the job on the ground instead of waiting for them to take a crack at this place."[/color]

Granted, it was easy to suggest that when you piloted a stealth fighter. Why would she be afraid of a little air defense?

[@Rhona W] [@Kensai] [@Finetales]


[b][color=00a651]Fuka Nakano[/color][/b]

Honestly, she had slept better than she had in weeks. There was something about the post-firefight glow that soothed her, the sensation of her muscles loosening and the adrenaline draining from her system. It was like a reverse runner's high, a dogtiredness that permeated her bones and made a chunk of ground with a tarp over as inviting as a bed at the Ritz-Carlton. It had to be similar to what bears felt at the end of fall: a deep satisfaction at having proved herself dominant over those who would hurt her, and an all-consuming need to hibernate.

Waking up with the sun gave her maybe five or six hours of rest, not ideal but nothing that she couldn't deal with. She couldn't have gone back to sleep anyway; her arm was flaring up. Her flesh and blood, a piece of her very identity, had been abandoned to the medical waste bin and was now tormenting her from beyond the grave. It was strange to feel pain shooting through what she could see was empty space, an ache emanating from nothing. Attaching her prosthetic didn't help, her exeminatory flexing of false fingers doing nothing to dispel the phantom sensation.

There was nothing to do except get to work. 

She usually started her day by running, but Fuka needed to feel something burn. The gym was utilitarian but about as well stocked as any other she had seen, and as long as there was a barbell she could get what she needed out of the experience. She had no goal, no number of reps to meet or any intention of beating a PR. 

She just needed to drown out the arm. 

She didn't know how many sets she had done or even how much weight she was lifting when she spotted the new girl, but her body was properly sore and not just enthralled in psychosomatic nonsense so Peacenik chalked it up as mission accomplished. She set the bar back on its rack before approaching her new squadmate.

[color=00a651]"Hey, new girl- it's Sparrow, right? Good shooting last night."[/color]

[@Damo021]