(sorry, i had/have 2 consecutive finals weeks, one final left. it really vamps my energy, creativity, and ability to stay enthused, im sorry if iv'e caused any issues in my absence.)

Nawlin lined up with the others, opened the cockpit for a breeze, and drank down a canteen, waiting for everyone to show up. During thier arrival, he stayed quiet, letting the newcomers introduce themselves, and offered a professional, if not exactly warm, welcome. while he waited for debrief, he rested, near instantly entering a light sleep as only felines soldiers could. soon enough, it was time to head back into the claw.

The Gear techs immediately tore into Prowlers legs the second it was in its bay, composite ceramic armor carefully stacked between honeycomb cardboard. 
"Do you have any clue, any at all, how much stress your legs can take?" the older raccoon snarled as he pulled a PDA from his thigh pocket. "this line is the maximum safe load your rig can take" he said jabbing at a orange dotted line. "while [i]this[/i]." he growled. "is the asinine stunt you pulled, flying to the rescue!" he yelled, throwing his arms up. "our [i]SENSORS[/i] don't even go that high!" he goaned in frustration. 

"i didn't thi-" mike started, only for the raccoon to cut him off. 

"yeah, i know, pilots usually don't, specially this outfit, that's why we get paid so well. to help us through the anguish and all that comes with working with you hamfisted ingrates" he smirked as the crew finished the armor and began to inspect the internals. "give us a few hours, it'll be right as rain." the tech said, diving into work himself, as mike sheepishly grabbed his gear and walked to the armory to drop off his weapons and munitions, then to the bar.

walking up to the bar, mike ordered a hard cider, and retired to a corner table, overlooking the entrances to the room. takeing a short pull from the bottle, he nodded those in the bar he knew, and enjoyed the A/C, cold drink, and relative calm.