Lance Corporal Keris was there enjoying fine Navy chow. 'Jackie' or just 'Jack', as she preffered. Not precisely all-around Marine; that one. Raised on a drifter colony; that alone made her scum in some eyes. Drifters were - litteraly - massive chunks of collected salvage from stations, ships, satalites, whatever. Welded together and powered by peicemeal systems; their inhabitants were near-lawless unless there was a nearby garrison.

Add to that she was a criminal serving her sentance in the Corps rather then a cell, and that even now her record had a few suspicious gray-market warning flags... But you couldnt fault the woman's skills. She could hotwire anything with an engine, and make alien computer systems dance a jig on command.

She was huddled in tight over chow with a group around her, hands outlining some no doubt grand scheme with a contraband cigarette hanging out of her mouth. Numbers made it easy to hide; and blending in she could do.

Glancing up at a passing Sargent, Keris catches sight of the Lieutenant. Snapping the 'rette out of her mouth with a sleight of hand that had it disappear into some fold of her uniform, she murmurs something to the bargaining Navy types around her and stands, ditching her tray at the wall on the way.

It doesnt take her long to cross the rest of the distance, grinning lopsidedly as she always did when conditions (such as being indoors) meant she didnt have to salute.

"Evenin, Lieutenant."

Her hair was regulation, at least; but only because she'd always kept her hair short and feathered. Blue eyes were always taking in what went on around her; absorbing every detail and filing it away. When her mouth wasnt occupied making sarcastic and slightly insubordinate remarks; it was usualy smiling as if the whole world were her joke, even when previous commanders had attempted to PT some discipline into her.

Keris wore the standard uniform; a bit rumpled, but presentable. Her hands were nicked with countless old scars from mechanical work; and even now her fingers sported the occasional white bandage from touching the wrong wires. Small and unassuming; she could fit through crawlspaces a child might envy, but she had a junkyard dog's mean streak in her.

"I'm guessing it's too much to ask that you're just down here to join the mortals for dinner."

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