Erien had kept up a dialogue with her craft's crew chief as they worked on the adjustments to her fighter. The Syreen adjusted the seat, setting it correctly for the tall and lithe Isorlai's posture and build. Were it not correctly fitted, not only would her fyling being distinctly below par, it'd also be massively dangerous should she need to eject. Additionally, the stick and throttle were adjusted for the reach of her arms, and the displays and holographic touch-screens set for her particular build and reach. 
With so many races involved in the League, the introduction of adjustable and modular cockpit fittings had been a necessity; it was more cost-effective than trying to fit separate cockpits for all of the different races, given the wide range of body shapes possible for any pilot. It did mean that a particular fighter ended up being assigned to a particular pilot for a whole tour of duty, but the ease with which the cockpit could be re-set meant that the 'spare' for any squadron could rapidly be set up if need be too. 
Much like Nick, she noted with a great deal of appreciation that the [i]Sabre[/i] was as responsive as could be. She hadn't had a chance to view her particular crafts' log yet, nor those of any of the squadrons' craft, but she'd known they weren't new machines and had come back from a depot-level rebuild. The crew had done wonders though, reassembling them from crates. Everything was trimmed and tweaked as close to the wire as possible, with only the last-minute fixes being what they'd needed assistance with. 
More than satisfied, the Isorlai climbed down from the cockpit and exchanged thanks with the Syreen chief, who nodded in approval, and got back to supervising the last of the work. As she turned around, Erien witnessed the exchange between Nyx and Gurjan. Unsure of how it had started, but not willing to let it go on any longer, she headed in a beeline for the fighter at the center of the scrape, a stormy look on her face. 
As she was nearly there, she saw the human female dart away, heading for the female head. Barely suppressing a snarl, she made up her mind to deal with them one at a time, instead singling out Gurjan.
As she stepped up, she drew herself up to height and eyeballed the other Isorlai with a thunderously cold and stony glance, flicking her eye sideways to Elik as well, before she spoke in a clipped, flint-hard voice.
"Lieutenant Wallon, Please explain to me why in the coldest [i]pit,[/i] you are kicking Chief Grayson's tools around the hangar deck, and why Lieutenant Miles is currently hiding in the Head. And I want the truth, mister. No bullshit; we [i]seriously do not have time right now.[/i]"
She glanced aside to Elik and gestured sideways with her head. "Hel'kayik, go and see to your fighter. I'll speak to you later on."
She looked at the other Isorlai and waited for him to explain himself. She didn't tap her foot, didn't raise an eyebrow. Instead, she stood, arms folded and expression fixed with her eyes riveted to his face.