The new members of the Snowbirds sit within a standard United Empire troop dropship racing through the sky, the hull rattling as wind and snow hammer against it. It isn't the most elegant of transports, but it's the fastest, plus it beats the cold of being in a convoy. The troop dropship starts a soft gentle bank, the pilot leaning to the side and craning his neck to face the HELIX pilots. He grins, letting out a mumble that develops into a full sentence. "We're almost there, folks. Sorry for the bumpy ride, but she's been running transport the past few days. Do whatever you folks do, but for the love of God don't rip a hole through the metal, she's pricey to repair. Oh and, the leader of your squadron wants me to tell you your HELIX Frames are already there and being tuned, plus he wants you in the cafe as soon as we touch down. He's a weird guy all right, don't let him scare y'all off, ya hear?" A cheeky smile spreads across his face, his eyes returning to the controls and the pure white distances ahead.

From the windows on either side, the only thing that fills their view is the white clouds and faceless snowy ground. Cold out there, thankfully their destination has proper heating, instead of what the flying brick has. The relatively quiet expanse makes for a good feel on how distanced people can get, not too long till their destination thankfully. Perhaps now would be a good time to strike up a conversation with the other pilots on the plane.

JULIAN BRUMBLES let out a slow, controlled exhale, his black rimmed spectacles sliding down his nose. His anxiety grew steadily as he immediately corrected this with a well practiced hand and then glanced out the window. The white, blank view that enveloped their transport reminded him of his own life: a blank canvas upon which he would soon paint the details of his career. He had finally been assigned to a base, to serve under a squadron leader, and to complete real missions. He knew that this was well worth the wait, albeit he sorely wished that he hadn't been left behind for a full year as his talented peers moved on to tackle bigger and better facets of military life. The young man, perhaps younger than he looked, would soon learn which brushes would be his to handle.

Adjusting his bowler hat, Julian eased into his seat and turned his gaze away from the bleak landscape, to the interior of the dropship. His seating position left him alone, window-side, so he really couldn't see anyone else, save for their heads poking out the top of their seat's head rest. Given his exquisite attire, he had felt out of place when they had all entered and it made him nervous--he generally wasn't treated well when dressed down in casual. Still, perhaps this time it would be different. He was going to have to get to know a new bunch of comrades, friends even... and he was eager, if not adamant, to not be such a coward who kept to himself. His black coal eyes narrowed out of focus, anger slightly rising up in his heart. 'If I want to become a confident person--a strong person, then I must... I must study the habits of people like that...' Julian mused, feeling a little better from his self-encouragement.

His thoughts were interrupted as the pilot spoke and the dropship changed momentum. Blinking and huffing, Julian shuffled over to the empty seat next to him, letting him see down the walkway. He adjusted his glasses again, taking in every detail of the man's instructions and advice. Considering their destination, perhaps it was no surprise that their squadron leader might turn out to be weird--scary even. In his own humble opinion, Julian felt that all leaders were frightening; they had to be, or they wouldn't get any real results for their superiors. He wondered if he would lead a squadron of his own someday, like his sister...

The image of her face flashed in his mind's eye, her knowing grin teasing him as she swung on a hammock and munched on a green apple.

Julian grunted quietly, casting the irritation from his mind. He loved his sister, and he knew the feeling was mutual, but her blazing success and natural talent made him rather envious. One day, he hoped to match her skill and give her a serious run for her money.

Adjusting his fine suit and tie, Julian was about to pull out his pocket diary that his uncle had given him a couple years, when a bit of turbulence rumbled the dropship's occupants and startled the young man. Everything suddenly went blurry, ripping a gasp from him as he felt for his glasses, his hands confirming that they have indeed vacated his freckled face. Alarm quickened his heart rate as he panicked and searched the seats around him, still finding nothing. Dread raked down his spine as he realized they had likely fallen into the walkway, where someone might step on them. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Uh, s-someone help me, please," Julian pleaded out loud, as he got on his knees and felt around, gradually crawling into the walkway. "My glasses, they--I can't f-find them!"

Sitting cross armed and cross legged, removed from the world around him, Garret sat in a trance considering Helix frames and the futility of geopolitics. The information from the pilot was not much of a concern. He did not seem like anyone with that much authority and in all honesty Garret could probably get by through tacitly following the bulk of his team to be when they touched down or perhaps just following the instructions of someone else repeating them on the ground. Admittedly neither was really a guarantee.

What did threaten to break his trance was the know it all harassing the pilot. Even if Garret did not actually respect the man it was not really an excuse to go out of your way to get in his. Then the man in front of him started to flail around for his missing glasses. Though perhaps it was better to describe him as an overly dressed child. Garret did not move save for his eyes which darted around to try and find the kid's glasses if for no other reason than for a marginal decrease in the noise. He did not find them, but the woman from the front of the dropship had come back to do just that. "Shouldn't happen again from here on out. We're in the pipe, five by five" she said handing them back. Something about that phrase broke Garret.

"Do you get off to the sound of your own voice or do you just consider yourself to be that important?" he said without thinking. He regretted it immediately. So long peace and quiet.

A troop carrier. With many a body in it. Pilots. All of them in one way or another. It's no secret. They'd all been called out of their former postings. One of the people sounded like a Airforce personality. He couldn't really tell. Another sounded a little innocent of all the things needed to be a full on warrior for the protection of those you care for. And then a third, a little miffed at something by the sound of it. He couldn't actually see the people. Because Henry Makokis, HELIX Pilot for the Great Union of First Nations Communities is purposefully keeping his eyes closed through out the ride. Pretending to sleep. Main point being pretending. He'd found isn't a good way to get a sense of new people. Because they say and do things differently if a person thinks you're awake and aware. Versus asleep and unaware. It tells you things. Yes indeed. Makes sense really, it's all a very moniyew thing to do. He gives off a very convincing sniff as he pretends to wake. The tall, lanky, and thin but whip cord like muscled Canadian First Nations man waking from a very long nap. One he'd been taking since they left the base some time ago.

Henry looks about the interior. Connecting voices to faces and bodies now. His eyes taking in details quickly. These people are to be his squad mates. After so long working alone or with maybe one other Warrior of the GUFNC, it'll be quite an interesting thing to work with them all. And makes him wonder how well his HELIX, The Brave, will work with these pilots and their machines. Only time will tell.

With a yawn, again rather convincing, he looks ahead, "Almost to our new home." He says in a rich yet soft voice. He smiles and nods, "What does the future hold I wonder. What adventures." He reaches back over his shoulder and smooths the long braid of his hair down a little, then turns to look out the small window closest him, "So much white. Doesn't look so bad."

THE OVERLY DRESSED young man felt utter relief as it seemed someone had found his spectacles, and promptly handed to him. Not thrown at him, or kicked at him. Standing to his feet, Julian dusted himself off and eagerly put them back on. The full view of Rachel came into his focus--even with her aviator glasses on, Julian could see that she was pretty. His male gaze lingered a little longer than he'd realized, causing him to stammer and turn red.

"O-oh! Yes, t-thank y-yit, I mean, thank you so much," he replied hastily, adverting his eyes.

He was about to be brave and introduce himself when someone snarked at his rescuer. 'Another time,' Julian thought, leaving Rachel to deal with Garret. As he returned to his seat, the young man overheard an intriguing voice. It was almost too soft to be heard, yet it carried Julian's eyes towards the source automatically. He noticed a man with a long braid of hair, seeming to speak to himself.

Julian held onto that bravery he'd seized from his encounter with Rachel and decided to introduce himself to Henry instead. He seemed nice enough and Julian knew they would all have to work together some time soon anyway.

"Hello," Julian greeted, with a slight smile. The man had said adventure? "I suppose it could be an adventure, albeit I reckon it won't be a fun one."

He extended a gloved hand, "My name is Julian...uh, I mean, Julian Brumbles."

With a smiles Henry straightened up. He listened to the repartee between Rachel and Garret, finding it a little amusing. The obviously cocky but sure woman speaking confidently towards the quite rude young man. It's really rather amusing to see the way the moniyew treat each other. He hums looking between the others in passenger section. Finally turning to the well dressed young man. Henry quirks his head slightly to the side and nods, "Julian Brumbles ci? Well, Tansi niya Henry Makokis nisikason, Onichiskawaponi sikiaso." Henry stops himself a second and sighs, "I'm sorry, the GUFNC has a more or less mandated rule that we speak our languages as often as we can. The many languages of the First Nations people were dying out before the GUFNC came about. I try to speak as much of it as I can, forgetting that not everyone speaks Cree, or Dene'tha or any of the other hundred or so tongues of the GUFNC." He chuckles, "I'm sorry let me start again." He clears his throat, "Julian Brumbles? Well Hello there, I am Henry Makokis, that's my name. I come from Saddle Lake lands." He smiles and shrugs, then reaches out, and with a firm grip he shakes Julian's hand, "You can call me Henry though if you like, Mr. Brumbles."

He let's Julian's hand go and leans back, he then calmly reaches over to where a thin length of wood, painted grey up to the last inch of the tip where it's painted a bright red. many different eagle and hawk feathers hang from it's length. He takes the stick and tucks it up under his left arm, "Can't lose this." He looks to Julian, "So while the others try to establish a pecking order, tell me about yourself Julian Brumbles, what brings you out here? You're a HELIX pilot yes? You don't look like the usual HELIX pilot I've ever seen. Well I guess I'm not either." He gestures at his own surpisingly casual outfit. A hide vest, with snake skin sewn to the breast, and fur fringe hanging from the wait hem and leather fringes at the wrist. A buckhide pants and combat boots. Ending with a canvas shirt more or less. Something very easy to put together really. He brings the stick he grabbed up and taps the red tip to his bottom lip, "But then if we're all here we're all a little unique I guess?"

Garret's eyes glazed over as the walking irritant in front of him responded. And responded. In all likelihood it was not terribly long of a response, but all the same it was too long and entirely bothersome, full of the self importance that Garret suspected would drive him mad by the end of his time in Canada. It really would have been better if he could have kept himself from opening his mouth, but he'd have to deal with it now if he was still going to repay the kindness that was shown to him.
"Rachel Crenshaw, by the way."
And then her hand was in his face. Glancing up at Rachel, the world coming back into focus Garret could see that at some point in all of this the bitch had stopped to check her bloody phone. She was either incredibly incompetent at reducing heated situations or deliberately trying to piss him off. Garret chose to act as if the latter was true. "Sorry." Garret said straightening up in his seat. "Got bored during your answer." Her hand was left to hang there.

THE OVERLY-DRESSED YOUNG MAN sighed with relief as Henry proved far more kind than he appeared to be, especially with that eye-catching apparel. Of course, Julian knew that he himself had no excuse; There wasn't going to be a dinner party for them, he was sure. He did find the Cree language rather beautiful to hear, it was as though he was listening to flowers or the wind speak sweet, colorful words to him that painted the corners of his imagination. He wondered how hard it would be to master a second language or even categorize hundreds of cousin tongues. Settling in for the long haul, Julian adjusted his hat and folded his hands on his large abdomen as the First Nation pilot went on and on.

'Henry Makokis, that's a lovely name,' Julian mused, nodding as Henry declared his homeland's name.

"Oh, of course, Henry. You may call me Julian," he interjected gently, smiling by eyes and mouth.

Julian blinked and adjusted his spectacles as Henry then retrieved some kind of (perhaps) ornamental stick and commented on its importance. He felt it prudent to perhaps ask about it later in lieu of now. Thinking of his uncle's pocket diary in his inner pocket, he supposed that they all had their own sentimental tokens to carry them through this endeavor.

Then, the conversation began to focus the spotlight on Julian, prompting him to sit up straighter and clear his throat as he nodded with each sentence Henry spoke.

"Ah, well yes, I suppose, Henry. Though if we're all unique, then everyone's the same, aren't they?" Julian joked, chuckling as he dismissed his own question with a wave.

"But yes, I'm a Helix pilot--and mechanic too. Well kind of one, I'm not that good," he shrugged humbly.

He looked past Henry then and glanced out the window wistfully "Anyway, I'm from Thorpe's Pier," Julian stated, hesitating a moment before making eye contact with Henry. "A sea sh-shanty in the, uh, Southwest. And I - ... well, to put it simply, I'm here to try to make it a great place again. Hopefully some day anyway, once I..."

It was obvious that the subject made Julian nervous, but he persevered and pressed himself to finish his thought. "I just think if I get a high enough rank and prestige, I'll have the connections and knowledge I'd need to bring attention to my family and the people there. We used to proudly serve the United Empire, but now we can barely contribute anything at all."

Henry might notice a flicker of fire in the young man's eyes. "But I'm going to change that," Julian stated solemnly, turning his head towards Rachel and Garret.

'But... what if I'm the one who gets changed instead?' Julian wondered, feeling at least mature enough to realize that your circumstances and company tended to change your character, whether you liked it or not.

A smile graces the First Nations man's face as he directs his attention to Julian. The well dressed young man speaking of his home, and his professions. That of a pilot and a mechanic. A trade, and a good one at that. He slowly nodded, listening and tapping the red tip of the length of wood to his bottom lip. After abit after Julian stopped talking Henry hummed softly, "Thrope's Pier. I can't say I know it. But it sounds ideal. Our home is always a vision of paradise for us. And your goal to make it and your family great again. Oh gaining rank, prestige and recognition. A fine goal. Just don't get lost in the quest for it. There are too many examples of people, men, women of many creeds and many peoples who get lost in a quest for glory. Not all of them come away from it with the greatest of rewards. Some...come away with the opposite. Rather then bathed in glory, they come out bathed in the blood of the innocent and shunned because of the evil they have done." He smiles, "But I'm sure a fine young man like yourself will be perfectly fine."

He goes quiet for a time again before Henry speaks again, "As for us all being unique and thus making us all the same. There can be an argument against such an assumption. We may all have the unique traits of being HELIX pilots. But we are all our own seperate being, our personalities and up bringings and goals continue to make us unique despite being the same in the fashion that we are now compatriots." He nods sagely and whirls the painted and decorated length of wood tracing a brief spiral of red in the air. Henry hums, "I am not used to working in a large group like this Julian Brumbles. I am a Warrior, a Brave of the Grand Union of First Nations Communities. We have never had a standing army like United Empire or the Vertex. It's more along the lines of small groups of Warriors and braves protecting the borders of our ancestral lands." He smiles and taps the red tip of the piece of wood on the floor of the carrier, "This is what makes me unique. And the safety of the GUFNC, is what I strive for. My quest, much like yours." He points the length of wood, red tip first at Julian, "I'll count the coup, until my last day, for the safety of my peoples. My cousins."

The pilot over in the front smiles, a light chuckle escaping his lips. "We're rounding up on the base, it ain't the prettiest but she works well. I'm going to have to put 'er down on a landing pad a little far away from the main complex, the others are too slippery for this bird with this accursed storm. Go look outside a window or something, main complex is in the middle." The dropship cruises over a hill, revealing the base and all its sprawling components, SAM sites watching the skies for any intruder that dares come close. The base covered layered in white by the snow, a rather uninviting feel within the white hell of Alaska. It used to be calmer before the war broke out, but it's a dangerous bet living here regardless. The dropship circles around the base, switching to VTOL and slowly coming down, gear extending to kiss the ground softly, suspension compressing as the engines power down.

The pilot looks back, eyeing the HELIX pilots one by one. "Not much time for sightseeing, aight? Cold and windy out here, best to get inside sooner rather than later." On the ground a dry red word can be seen inscribed upon the wall of the main complex, 'Snowbirds'. With a sharp eye, the motto 'United we hunt. Divided we strike.' is seen below the name. A somewhat cheesy motto for sure, but it serves the purpose quite well. Next to it, a contrasting black door is spotted, well that shows their way in.

The other complexes close by seem to be warehouses and a communication station, housing the primary ways to reach out for assistance and reports. A large radar system stands upon another building, smaller ones dotted around the entire area. Armed to the teeth, and with the HELIX hangar being seen not too obviously connected to the main base, this place is surprisingly well hidden yet the feeling of fear could certainly be felt. This place is their home now, their new boss having certainly been here a while. Not to get too distracted, however, the pilot moves a hand to a switch on the side. "Opening her up now, get moving before y'all get bit by the cold." The switch is flipped, the rear door opening up, flipping downwards to form a ramp. Now it's their turn to move, their pilot having brought them all this way.

Henry gave another smile at Julian then looked forward as the pilot broadcast to them. He hums and peers out the porthole next to him. He peers out seeing the white of the Alaskan tundra. And down as they flew lower, he could see the outlines of large grey buildings. What looked like a Radar dish and accompanying instruments for it. Warehouses and communications installations. He nodded slowly and as they started to settle in he could see the HELIX frame hanger attached to the main command building. likely their first destination. Though he had other things he needed to do first. As they settled in he grabbed a heavy and thick jacket, made from hide by the look of it. With white wolf pelt around the neck. He also grabbed a kit bag that sat under his seat, and then as they crunched to the ground he stood, and pulled a large 3 meter long quarter of a foot wide pole of wood out of the overhead netting. And with it over his left shoulder and over his right his bag he turned to the way out. "I'll see you all at the command center. I have something I need to do." He gave a wink then trooped out of the lander.

His combat boots crunched in the snow as he made path towards the command building, but slightly to one side. To an open area that didn't seem to be used for much more then some old crates that hadn't been shipped out yet. A good place as any. Still took him a little to get there. He looked over his shoulder only once, to check if the others are moving yet. It really didn't matter in the end. They'd get there just like he would.

Finally he reached the spot, there he kneeled in the snow and from his kit bag, he brought a broad bladed tomahawk. A length of solid birth wood made the handle, gleaming silvered steel made the head which had various sigils and runes etched into it, ontop of the damascus steel foldings in the blade. At the very end of the handle a length of what looked like bone. Hefty and thick, the handle wrapped with yellow, white, blue and red silk lengths and finally tied to the handle just below the steel head is a quartete of eagle feathers, two of them golden eagle the other two bald eagle. It's a masterwork of some GUFNC craftsman truly. With the hatchet Henry chops one end of the pole down to a point, it's rough and isnt't fancy but it works. He gets to his feet and with a cry of strength he buries the pole 2 feet down and even into the concrete below. He nods sagely and draws a circle around the pole in the snow with the handle of the tomahawk. It's fast then as he swings the tomahawk up, and buries the blade of the hand axe to the handle in the wood of the pole.

A resounding war whoop rings out as Henry tilts his head back and whoops to the air. Once...then...another war whoop. Twice...and then finally a third war whoop pierces the air. The sound of the cries echoing off the walls nearby. He relaxes his body, and picks his kit bag back up, "The first step." Said mostly to himself but loud enough for anyone who was curious enough to follow along. Slinging his kit bag up over his shoulders again he makes for the command building again, calling out to anyone to hear, "Anyone who moves that pole or takes that tomahawk! I'll personally tan your hide! Respect the rituals!" He makes his way then to the nearest doors into the command building, figuring he may as well join the rest of the team inside.

IT WAS TIME. As Henry and Julian ceased their conversing and prepared to brace the bitter cold--both of nature and their future missions--the latter held back his breath, trying to drown an anxious sigh. Julian returned to his seat, thinking about the pilot's words. He retrieved a large black overcoat that he'd taken off during their flight; It kept him warm, perhaps too warm, but now it was the only comfort item that would steady his nerves. Julian worried incessantly, a variety of dark thoughts plaguing his mind.

Rachel's call to her comrades cause him to snap back from the brink. It anchored him, and he silently thanked her for it. As the transport door opened, Julian growled under his breath and held his bowler hat tightly with his right hand, his carry-on in his left hand. He marched straight into the whiteness, keeping pace with Rachel and Henry--he wasn't about to be left behind. Like Rachel, he also felt that they should stick together, for better or for worse. This entire ordeal felt strangely like the starting events of a wedding ceremony, not that Julian had any idea of what a wedding was like, nor the after-effect of marriage. Regardless, he was determined to care about his comrades even if he had to embrace his deepest fears a thousand times over.

'At least Henry and Rachel seem to care,' Julian mused, eyeing the motto in the distance. He could barely read it, but as he squinted in vain to clutch at clarity, he noticed that Henry began breaking off from the group.

Glancing between Rachel and the others and the brave (he was truly brave, Julian felt), he decided to stay on track with the group. His pace did start to slow though, and he licked his lips as he watched Henry do whatever it was that he was doing. He really couldn't make out the thing in the ground, but the war whooping outright startled Julian. He even chuckled a little in spite of his fear, trying to feign confidence. As Henry returned, his words of warning presented a logical conundrum to Julian. But he dismissed it just as quickly as he had thought of it--in short, that the wind and snow would bury the ritual marker and render it effectively lost to them. He then changed his mind and would ask him anyway.

Deciding to trust Henry would not look at him stupidly, Julian asked, "Well, uh, Henry, what about the wind? A-And the snow? Won't it bury the--oh."

Julian could see more clearly now, the marker was taller than it had appeared at first to him. Chuckling and muttering 'never mind', he emphasized his dismissal of his question with a hand wave and head shake. Turning back towards the group and joining them, Julian chided himself. 'Stupid!'

When they reach the door it automatically slides open, revealing an airlock. After everyone enters the door slams shut behind them, the interior door opening with a soft welcome from the PA system, "New pilots have arrived. Please report immediately to the mess hall." The inside of the base is surprisingly homely, with proper flooring and decorations. Seems these guys can afford to spend a bit on luxury, a welcome change in the military. The walls are white, for the most part, gray at the bottom. This base is certainly odd, but nonetheless it's time to move.

When they enter the cafeteria there's one person clad in a dark blue suit, with pink hair and emerald green eyes. He rests with a relaxed yet firm posture, like he's the boss and he knows it. He looks nothing special, not muscular or visibly strong, yet his hand moves with an almost assassin-like grace, lifting his fork and taking a bite from his mac and cheese. After swallowing he looks over at the new pilots, speaking before they even have a chance to say something. "So you're the people I've been waiting for! Welcome to the snowbirds, grab something to eat and come over here, you've been ferried around quite a bit I can assume, best to eat a proper meal before talking. Hunger makes you angry after all!"