Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside of Pavon’s day-cabin, as the crew prepared for the jump to ITS (Interstellar Travel Space). Responding to the steps, he stood up, walking up to the door and opening it, seeing the young ensign that stood, his fist raised as if he was going to knock. Quickly, seeing that if he was going to knock his fist was going to hit the chest of his superior, he stops and salutes. Pavon looked over the man in front of him, “At ease, officer,” he remarks with a nod, “Is there any trouble?”
The ensign lowers his salute, and shakes his head. “No, sir. However, your presence is requested in the hangar. Priority alpha.” He says, looking quite nervous about something. “Top secret.” “Thank you.” With that, the Captain dismissed the ensign, closing his door and walking to the hangar. What was it, now? He thought over various incidents happening in the galaxy, as well as thinking over happenings within the Forces. There were some things that he figured they would be dealing with one way or another eventually, but nothing requiring this much security surrounding it.

The hangar was filled with activity, electric forklifts moving around, crew securing cargo, dropships moving around, and one daring pilot using his craft to help maneuver some crates, moving the craft down while others moved around it, and ropes being attached to the crates beneath. The dropship then moved carefully to a corner of the hangar, laying down the behemoth of a crate with some others. What looked like a log flew into the hangar through one of the massive airlocks for the aircraft, however it was a troop transport, which was used in friendly space as it would be impractical and cumbersome in an actual battlefield, unless being used for invasions. As it passed through and landed carefully in a predetermined spot, another ship, this one a shuttle, flew in and landed in an open area, which was marked for crate storage. The hangar chief walked over angrily to the shuttle, waving his hands furiously, even though the shuttle was marked as ‘VIP’.

Pavon’Echa took a look around. He would never get over seeing the ship, his ship, in such a flurry of work and how wonderful it was. He took an interest upon the VIP-marked ship entering, and walked down to meet it. “For now, it is fine.” He mentioned to the chief. There were bigger things to worry about at the moment. The hangar chief was about to say something in protest, but he stopped himself, and nodded, quickly running over to the hooligan in the dropship, looking as if he would personally grab the ship and lower it onto the deck.

The shuttle’s main hatch began to ease open, and out stepped a lady with long, blonde hair, and sharp, red eyes. Her head turned to look around the busy hangar, and then her gaze finally rested upon Pavon. “Are you the captain?” The woman asks. She doesn’t bother to hold out her hand for shaking. Pavon gave a curt nod, “Yes. Captain Pavon’Echa-Dachan.” If the IAIF chose her for intimidation, they made a good decision. “Major Irona.” Irona says, her voice sounding unsatisfied about something, though it was not clear what. “Intelligence committee. How do you like your new ship, captain?” Irona, even though Pavon outranked her, was acting tough. “Seems like your hangar chief dislikes one of the pilots already.” Wonderful, Pavon thought, the intelligence committee was paying him a visit. “The Midnight Rain is wonderful, thank you.” He gave a polite smile. He shot the hangar chief a look that could melt souls, if only for a split second, before returning his attention to Irona. “Not everyone is agreeable, but it doesn’t interfere with the work.” Irona gives him a stern look, before nodding, and reaching behind her to pull out a suitcase. She held it in front of her. “Do you know what this is, Captain?”
“I cannot say I do, ma’am.” He almost wished he did, so at least he knew what was going on, and nothing would be sprung upon him.
“It is a suitcase, Pavon. Humans use it to carry items such as clothing if they are going on holiday, or are going to stay somewhere a while.” She gave it a little nudge, and the wheels extended from the bottom of it. “I’ve stored my clothing in here, as well as my personal effects.” Irona cocked her head. “Do you know what that means?” Her voice had turned into a purr, like one of a cat. She took off her duty hat, to reveal the ears of a cat. She stuffs the hat into her pocket. Pavon kept glancing over to the suitcase as she talked, remembering what one looked like. So, pretty much just a bag on wheels. Simple. To her question, he paused before nodding. “It means you will be staying with us, yes?”
Irona nods. “Correct. So, you better put a damn good show on while I’m here. Everything I see will be recorded.” She pulls on the handle. “Now, where is my room. Chop chop. Find me a fancy cabin.” She locks eyes with Pavon, as if a good cabin meant everything to her.

Pavon nodded once again. The day just kept getting better and better. He wanted to ask how long she would be staying, but then again it might just be better to go with it. “Of course.” As he led her out of the hangar, he did a quick mental rundown of the ship. Thinking of a suitable one, the Drozi led Irona to a cabin, first class, looking as if it came out of an old human design. “Would this be suitable?” He asked, bringing her in the room. Irona walks into the room, looking around. “Yes, it would.” Irona’s eyes rest back on Pavon. “Get the ship en route. And my visit is secret. Yes, the crew may know I am here if they see me, but you are not allowed to announce I am here.” With that, she walks to the door, and closes it.
Dismissed, Pavon moved to the bridge of the Midnight Rain. What a weird feeling, to be taking orders from someone lower than him. But Irona being on intelligence, he wasn’t about to complain. He checked the time - 19:50. He walked over to the intercom, “Currently, the time is 19:50. Once again, we will be departing for the star system Epsilon Hydrae at 20 hundred hours. Make sure all final preparations are made.” He had made an announcement much earlier in the day, but he’d rather be repetitive than have an accident. As the ten minutes passed, Pavon made his own preparations for interstellar travel, setting and fine tuning.
Within the ten minutes, at exactly 20:00 as promised, the Midnight Rain was en route for the binary star system. Not too long after, the vessel reached a steady speed. "Proceed as normal." Pavon'Echa announced, and took to walking the halls of his ship, checking in on things.

"I hate jumping." Katrina Eisenhauer groaned quietly from her place in her quarters. It wasn't an uncommon complaint, although she'd never heard anyone explain their reasoning for it in any way that made sense, and she couldn't either. Some kind of barely palpable wrongness to their bodies as the ship accelerated beyond the speed of light. She'd done it enough that she was used to it, but she still didn't like it very much. Eisenhauer rolled off her bunk, she knew it'd be a good hour until the jump unpleasantness subsided, and got dressed, pulling on her PT gear - boots, a white short-sleeved shirt, khaki pants. She hit the deck, beginning to jog down the hallways towards the commissary right around the time she felt the ship enter ITS.

As she jogged she felt the faint nausea and discomfort gradually fading, the ship's acceleration slowing and finally stopping, leaving the ship at a steady if massive velocity. She wondered about the cause of it - she was subject to some pretty nasty inertial effects in the cockpit of her seagull, and despite the dangers of g-loc and other, similar conditions if her inertial compensator should so much as hiccup she didn't feel anything like that sensation in the cockpit. But then, who really understood ITS?

Her reverie came to an abrupt end as she noticed the Captain up ahead. She came to a stop a bit in front of him and saluted. "Captain." After a moment, she continued. "Maybe I'm misreading you, but you look a bit pissed. Sir."

The day was quiet, or at least the area of the ship he was in was. Akhtar was walking the hallways of the starboard side of the ship, shirtless, wearing nothing but a baggy, navy blue pair of trousers. At times like this he had nothing to do, he was done training, the nurse was on break so he could tease her through the infirmary window and civilian signals were unreachable in ITS, so he couldn't get any tunes on his holopad. As he walked he dragged his paws across the walls, both arms out stretched and blocking the rather narrow hallway, he did this because he was bored and to a certain extant to hoping to stop someone and have a scuffle, or a chat, or anything really.

Turning the corner, Akhtar found himself in one of the wider corridors, one end lead to the cargo dock and the other deeper into the ship. Looking down the hallway, he spotted one of the air crew stopping and chatting with the captain. He could smell the sweat on her from a distance, raising his snout he took a deep inhalation and savored the scent. He walked towards them and from half way called out to the captain in agreement with the airlady. "Yes captain," he began, his soft, british accent showing up a bit, "You do appear quite, pissed." he said the last word sarcastically. He often found English words funny, like bowl, which was coincidentally slang for piss in his language, after chuckling to himself a bit he made it to the pair.

Looking between one and the other he smiled, trying to come off as friendly, he didn't really have the opportunity to converse with much of the crew, principally because they tended to avoid him, which made him sad, though he didn't show it.

By 19:55, Bear examined every weapon and sidearm aboard the ship: from troops' rifles and sidearms to the ship's own huge weaponry, Bear searched each in great detail for flaws or repairs he had to fix. Fortunately, all of the equipment he had come across were operational, and on mint condition. One assault rifle was missing a few bullets in its clip, yet Bear inserted the missing bullets at the blink of an eye.
He didn't forget to pay attention to his own .38 Magnum, a relic from Old Earth his household had for generations, adding a leftover holographic sight on its top, and returning it to its holster.

Bear leaves the armory and heads towards the wide, open, white corridors of the Midnight Rain. Traversing the maze of pathways towards the bridge, he finds himself at the living quarters. While walking, he noticed a mysterious figure walking towards one of the cabins. Bear stops, trying to identify the figure. The cabin door closes. Engrossed in curiosity, Bear approaches the white door labeled "First Class". He knocks and politely asks:
"Hey, uh... Do you want to play Russian Roulette later? It's a fun, traditional game from Old Earth."
No response.
"Um... Okay, maybe later. I am tired too", he says, embarrassed.

Bear then continues towards the bridge to inform the Captain about the functional weaponry. Arriving at the bridge, he finds Captain Pavon’Echa sitting next to the flight computer, preparing for takeoff.
"Captain Pavon’Echa, I am happy to inform that all weaponry on the Midnight Rain is fully functional, sir."
The Captain doesn't respond, and moments after, the Captain hits a few keys and buttons of his keyboard, and the ship initiates takeoff sequence...

Warden 003 had been sitting in the hangar talking with a few of the troops transferred in, wanting to get know his men and such. When he spotted the Captain of the ship, he heard good things about the man however he would have to earn 3's respect. His eyes followed the captain stopping as he met a strange women, no wait, she was intelligence definitely he knew her type as many Wardens had them for handlers they all acted like intimidating bitches. After watching the unlucky Captain walk off with the bitch he got up, his powered armor making a heavy clank, the room stopped for just a moment to look at the young man strolling along as if was nothing. He had gotten used to wearing armor, I mean Wardens sometimes spent months with it on so he had become accustom to it. Making his way down the hall he decided it best to get out of it, after all the crew seemed a bit intimidated. He stopped by his room which surprisingly lay just across from the Captain of the ship, would make it easy to hand in reports.

As the ship set off, the ump making him a little queasy the Warden emerged clad in light gray cargo pants and black T-shirt with captains bars on the side and Warden 003 printed on the front and on the back Spectre. He started down the hall spotting the Captain with two crewmen asking why he's pissed, 3 decided to answer for him. "He's pissed about the Bitch on-board his ship. We have one of those intelligence Spooks on board right? The cat girl I saw in the hangar." He smirked giving the Captain a respectful nod. "If you need me to Sir I'm a trained assassin, command wouldn't even half to know. " He half joked laughing for moment before looking at the others. "Oh, I'm Warden 003, but you can call me Spectre if you prefer. I'm in charge of our ground troops."

Clang!

The sound reverberated through the docking square in which a large, squat 'V' shaped craft currently sat. The docking squares sat nestled against the outer edge of the hangar-bay, directly below the airlocks, protected on the top by a shield that sat about two foot below the lip of the airlock, ensuring that if the hangar-bay was to lose pressure suddenly, the docking squares would be safe and those inside the protective shield would be saved from sudden, explosive decompression. The only explosive action going on at the moment though came from inside the square, as the craft's pilot released another round of expletives, muffled by the plating that surrounded his head, but still very audible to anyone who was walking past at the time.

“I swear to whatever mechanical bastard deity you hold precious, that I will rip your logic circuit out and blow it out the goddamn airlock, you vicious son of a bitch!”

The pair of legs currently sticking out of the access port behind the craft's topside mounted defensive turret kicked a few times as inside the body of the craft, the pilot; Major James Hawthorne lost his balance inside and slid forward, pitching his body weight past equilibrium and into the inner workings of his ship. The cause of the outburst flickered to life within the ship, a small holopad that nestled beside the main targeting computer for the defensive weaponry aboard the ship glowed with life as a small orb materialised in the space beside James' face. It pulsed as the ship's limited onboard AI responded to the threat.

“I was merely pointing out that weapons systems were not nominal. A full diagnostic and repair was not necessary. You took that upon yourself.”

With it's point made, the orb disappeared into thin air again, the holopad dimming as James glared daggers at the space his combat support system had been seconds before. A beep signalled that the diagnostic of the system in question had been completed and James turned his attention back to the screen he had been looking at originally. With a frustrated sigh, noting the diagnostic had returned a ninety-six percent combat effective reading, he shook his head. The other four percent could wait until another time, he knew Jezebel and what she could handle, the four percent was an acceptable operating threshold for him. Closing the system down for the time being, he extracted himself from the body of his beloved bomber and sealed the access hatch, taking a moment to stretch as the hatch sealed with a hiss. Sliding down off the top of the craft, James' boots hit the ground as the ship wide alert was issued.

“All hands, make ready for ITS jump procedures.” James watched the scurry of activity in the hangar; dropship and transport pilots ensuring their engines were spooled down (you didn't want to try flying a ship inside a ship that was transitioning into or out of ITS, it got messy) and engineers securing anything that could be affected by the jump and the hangar chief, having apparently already been annoyed by something earlier, was busy shouting orders and insults around the hangar to get his men moving quicker. Whilst the jump itself would be nothing more than an acceleration to most people on board, there was no sense in taking risks in a hangar that held the ships offensive and defensive flight capabilities. James remembered the stories of the IAIF Yorktown, the carrier that had made the jump to ITS with an unsecured nuclear payload in the hangar, an oversight on a hangar technician's part. The technician responsible was never found, along with eighty percent of the ship that was lost to the mysteries of ITS. No one wanted another Yorktown incident. Jezebel herself was secured, landing gear magnetised to the hull, all ordinance behind the appropriate blast-shields. The bombers got their own landing squares complete with ordinance storage comprised of the highest security measures and materials that could be found. With some of the toys they carried, it was worth the cost of securing them properly rather than lose another ship because a nuclear missile rolled free and detonated.
With an affectionate pat to Jezebel's side, James headed toward the nearest door that led from the hangar and into the ship proper. Jumps to ITS didn't really bother him anymore, he'd gone through so many flying with the Hammerheads back on the peacekeeping fleet that the stomach tugging acceleration and the feeling of the known time-space continuum slipping away into the still minimally understood murky waters of 'not-quite-space' registered only in the back of his mind now. What did register in his stomach was the growl that signalled where he should head next and he followed the suggestion eagerly, heading for the ship's mess, ready to grab something to eat and a drink.

His walk there was uneventful, he ran into a couple of fellow pilots and confirmed they were still on for their game of poker that night, flirted with a petty officer who was headed his way for a few corridors that he sometimes ran into during his late shifts on duty and finally made it to the mess, where it was surprisingly quiet. Although that didn't surprise him, not many people enjoyed ITS travel, let alone wanted to eat during it, which was fine by him, meant more selection after all. He grabbed a tray and opted for something simple, taking a double serving of macaroni-cheese and stopping off at the dispenser to fill his cup with water before finding a table, where he promptly tucked into his meal. He knew that once they reached where ever it was they were going, he was probably going to be out in Jezebel a fair bit, running intimidation flights over trouble spots or air-dropping aid to those who needed it and he wanted to make sure he was ready to do so. And it didn't do well to fly on an empty stomach.

"Come on, guys. Secure that. Lazy."
The two men look to the source of the feminine voice, as the woman before them steps closer. "Come on, Luna. What've you done today? Played catch the tail?"
Ruby gives a You-Did-Not look to her crew chief, and the grins. "That's a dog's game. I am perfectly feline, Sam." She gives a swish of her tail.
"So, what have you been doing then, miss meow?"
"I will gut you if you start again, Michael."
"Playing with yarn?"
"I wonder what Human liver tastes like."
Ruby looks to the men in front of her with a face that could have made bullets grow arms and legs only to kneel in front of her and beg for mercy, if mercy was a quick incineration, then so be it, for them. The look quickly dies as the three of them start to laugh together. "Jesus, Ruby, you looked ready to tear his head off." Sam says through his laughter. Michael's only reply is more laughter.

Once the laughter had subsided, Ruby left the two to sort out some more crates full of cargo as she went to go and fetch a box of missiles for Fab-Cab. As the ship entered ITS, she barely noticed, as she had been through so many jumps that it just wasn't that bad anymore. Her stomach felt a little funny, however that was about it for her. Using her datapad, she found a crate of munitions, and decided she would take it to her dropship. [i]Who cares what it is? The only thing that matters is if I get to shoot it at someone or not. As she moved the crate (with the help of someone else) onto a trolley, she noted that there appeared to be a VIP shuttle landed in the hangar. From the top of her head, she could not think of any VIPs that could be coming onto the ship. She shrugged as she passed it. It could just be something she had forgotten about or an unscheduled flight. Ruby stopped and watched as the craft took off only to move to an actual landing zone instead of a cargo area. She heard the whines of protest as the craft's engines and body struggled to keep together. Maneuvering during ITS was definitely not a good idea, which was why the craft had to be moved on the ground by the use of platforms. Ruby moved on, pushing her trolley to her dropship. She let go of it, and stretched out. The boys had gone to do god-knows-what. She sighs and sits on the ramp of Fab-Cab, kicking her feet up and scrolling through things on her datapad.

-

Noticing Eisenhower down the hall, he stopped as she saluted him, giving her an acknowledging nod. Her being a human, he always found respect for her. Human culture being so prevalent, hailing from an ancient civilization couldn't compare with being directly from any human settlement. Most of his learned English had been from simply listing to native speakers talking. He listened to what she had to say, and slowly nodded. Pissed. Pavon'Echa had heard that slang before, but he needed to take a moment to think over the meaning again. Oh right, some sort of anger. Did he look angry? He would have to control his expressions better. In a moment Akhtar was calling down, agreeing with the woman. He shifted his demeanor, laughing softly, an exasperated tone of 'you don't know the half of it' hidden within.

As Skylar answered for him, Pavon immediately turned his attention to him. "Warden! Watch your mouth." Even as a joke, the captain didn't need vague threats going around. He didn't exactly appreciate the language, either. English was a good language, a pretty language; why waste it with such words? But he was right, somehow. Did Wardens have contract with intelligence? He sighed, "But yes, Intelligence is on board. It's a complicated situation. Do not go talking about this." Pavon was generally a kind man, good for pleasant company. But in the moments he was talking, he turned to a stoic, intimidating being - Something he was already well known for, and one of the reasons he could command respect.

In the next moment he relaxed, giving a polite smile. "Everyone is feeling fine, yes?" It was a general question, however he did glance over to Katrina specifically. His years of being a vagabond and traveling the stars had gotten him well used to the jump of ITS, and he knew many of the crew had also grown accustomed to it. Some people had more problems than others, and the major looked just a few shades off.

"Ugh, you know how I get in ITS, Captain. I'll get over it." Provided they didn't have to scramble, deceleration was just as bad as acceleration. The last time she had a post-jump scramble she'd ended up vomiting into her helmet. Not a pleasant time. Speaking of unpleasant, she drew her attention away from the Captain to the Corporal who had butted into the conversation and had he really just sniffed her? He was lucky he wasn't in her chain of command or she'd have him scrubbing toillets with his tongue until he became a colony for sentient fungus. Who -did- that, anyway?

This Multicultural ship was going to be an adjustment, she had a feeling.

Gar'Tai

Gar'Tai looked upon the hangar's activity with intrigue, helping wordlessly whenever someone motioned for assistance. Many did their best to stay away from the crystal-like being. His rather commanding presence and stoic demeanor discouraged many from the very idea of small talk. Gar'Tai enjoyed that. He saw small talk as pointless, a waste of concentration on meaningless displays of faux-intrigue. There were a variety of more interesting events most likely going on in areas far away from him, it was a shame he had to be tasked with helping in the manual labor, however he did not take issue with what he was told to do. He took this opportunity to observe the other members of the crew when he had the chance, as he thought it was always interesting looking at different races and people's idiosyncrasies.

Gar'Tai looked upon the proceedings of the hangar. Many were chatting, although he noticed that the captain had been in conversation with another, presumably also high ranking, member of the military. Gar'Tai lost interest when they led themselves out of the hangar, as he no longer had the capability to observe what they were doing. Just then, he noticed another craft landing near him, inside was a man encumbered by his own ship, shouting profanity towards the air around him. Gar'Tai paid little attention, however he was still intrigued at what the man could have gone through to end up in such a predicament. Gar'Tai didn't understand why anger and frustration were such strong emotions. They clouded judgement, and that led towards a downward spiral of more frustration. People had to specifically work around anger, rather than erasing it from their mind completely. It was even harder to understand why anger was considered an evolutionary advantage. While Gar'Tai pondered, the man had already made his way out of the hanger, and at a time when the entire ship was securing itself for a jump.

Gar'Tai followed this man to wherever he was going, making sure to mimic the man's footsteps in order to not be noticed. The people the man greeted had their smiles whisked away on their first sight of the crystal beast following him. Gar'Tai was unsure of why many didn't like his company, perhaps it was the mixture of his figure and the rather intimidating letters that were plastered onto the band on his arm, "MP". Gar'Tai followed the man until he got his food, upon which Gar'Tai thought it appropriate to introduce himself. Gar'Tai sat himself down next to the man, "My greetings, human. I have noticed that you seemed distressed upon the exit of your spacecraft, and I have come to inquire to you about the matter. What has been troubling you throughout your time on this vessel?"

Spectre sighed and looked at the Captain "Yes sir I'll try to watch my mouth." With that he turned to the Corporal he was one of the ground troops he had been assigned. Seeing how shock the fly girl looked at how he sniffed the air, Spectre had served with aliens before, many of them nicer than humans, however as to keep the Corporal from doing it again, possibly getting hurt as a result he spoke up. "Corporal in human culture we tend to find it weird when people sniff us, I would suggest refraining from it. Anyway Captain I sent you a report on how I've divided up my men into fire teams and whose staying on the ship and whose on the ground once we arrive, I have a more pressing matter I would like to speak with you about in private later."

He grunted, the queasiness that came with the jump gone as he thought he might go get a drink just to make sure however, seeing as the Captain had thought that she might not be feeling well he figured he ought to invite her. "Hey fly-girl, I'm thinking of grabbing a drink, it might help calm your stomach and I'm buying, if your the pilot I heard some of the others talking about in the hangar we can swap stories. Captain, you and the Corporal are welcome to join me as well, I'll catch up to you later Captain, enjoy your walk." With that the Warden turned making his way towards the cafeteria, no doubt they would have a decent drink in there if not he had some in his room.

She took stock of the gropo Captain. His relaxed manner made her lips quirk into a a smile, and she decided that he wasn't so bad for a gropo. Not that she'd say that to him, inter-service rivalries being what they were. She was a pilot and he was a trooper and there were certain traditions that had to be followed, traditions that dated back to before Humanity had developed space travel. "Getting started early on those drinks you'll owe me, Cap?" She gave him a grin that was somewhere between friendly and smug, and held out a hand. "Major Katrina Eisenhauer, my boys call me Hurricane, but I bet you already knew that." She fell into step beside him.

"You're Warden Three, right?" She'd heard some spook stories about them back when she was with the Sabercats, the Wardens were supposedly the IA's assassins, nightmares created to be the best killers in the universe. Which, she figured, made them about equal. Sure, she was born in a womb instead of a tube and was pure talent and training instead of a gene-spliced murder machine, but he was a close second.

Sometimes Katrina wasn't sure where the ice-cold facade stopped and her ego started. Sometimes she liked it that way. "Shipboard bar always sucks though, Cap. I haven't had a decent scotch since my last squad had a layover on Delmoria."

Spectre nodded "Yeah, I'm a Warden but just remember who tasks the troops to defend the hangar you need land in and launch from." He smiled at Katrina and shook her hand before they headed down the hall. "If you prefer you can call me Spectre, it's my call-sign and name, Intelligence didn't give us real one's because they want us to remember we aren't like the rest of humanity, were soldiers born to die for the cause, you know Bullshit like that. Oh and before you go getting any idea's I am considered Hyper-Lethal, entire base's have vanished while I'm on the job." As they walked down the hall he decided to treat the Major to something better than what was in bar. "I have a few bottles of the good stuff in my cabin, picked it up on my last op it's scotch from way back when, it's close to 400 years old. Just don't ask how I got it, I could tell you but then another Warden have to kill you." He smiled changing direction heading back towards his bunk, a couple of his boys jogging down the hall gave him a quick salute.

"So Major we both have some stories, I'll share a few of mine you share a few of yours and we have a few drinks? Sound good?" He said as keyed in the code to his cabin opening the door to the very nice and spacious cabin, it was one of the best with a desk linked to the comms and boarding control system he could watch and control how his fire teams reacted to boarders and other threats. On the far side was a clear cupboard with eight bottles of very old and expense looking whiskeys. He walked over grabbing one and two small glasses he sat them down on the large table across from his bed. While yes it was nice it was still just one room for living and bathroom... Even if that bathroom had it's own supply of hot water. "Have a seat and make yourself at home." He offered to her smiling as he took one as well, his eyes resting on the power armor he hung up on the wall before he left earlier.