Myrina had apparently had enough of talking, so Blade excused himself with his drink and moved away from the bar, circulating amongst the rest of the now-expanded squadron. Everyone seemed to have grouped into small huddles for discussions and chat, and were engaging well with one another. Feeling a bit like a third wheel, the fox drifted on the edges of the conversation, catching snippets of other peoples' discussions and feeling quietly glad that everyone was managing to get along with each other well, and seemed to be gelling into a group.
Except him. 
Forcing himself to remain smiling, the fox finished the last of his drink and stepped out.
Taking himself on a walk,the fox went up a couple of decks and aft. Stepping to one of the outer hatches, he unsealed it and stepped onto the outer deck. A warm night breeze buffeted the fox as he stepped outside, and the scents of the night-time badlands assaulted his nose. Nearby one of the security team turned to regard him, saw the insignia - and the fact he was very distinctive - and then nodded to him and carried on with his patrol. 
Digging a lighter out of one of his combats' pockets, he lit the cigar he'd been coveting inside and leant on the railing around the land-ships' upper decks, and watched the land roll by.