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[h1][color=7d16c7]Oliver Sullivan[/color][/h1]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/7ecMeOO.png[/img] 
[hr][hr] Ship interior
[color=7d16c7]Skills:[/color] N/A
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	As their aircraft went through the roughest stabilization he could imagine, Oliver kept his shit together, bracing the back of a chair and keeping himself from going flying about the cabin. Amelia was fucking crazy, but he loved that about her, and she was also the proximate cause of their asses not being dead, so she got to fly the plane however she damn well pleased. As everything stabilized, he nodded weakly to Niah, saying, "[color=7d16c7]I'm so done with today. I'm uh. Fine. I promise.[/color]" He grunted out, slowly working himself over to a seat, and lowkey collapsing, trying his best to ignore the smell of vomit permeating the air.

	"[color=7d16c7]Can we please not chew out the reason we're not unidentifiable corpses in a burning pile of jet fuel and steel for the way she kept us from becoming such, or at least, not right now?[/color]" He asked politely. Rubbing his temples, it was everything he had to not pass out in his seat. He'd run a lot today, and team members bickering was the last thing he needed. "[color=7d16c7]Thanks for that, by the way, Amelia. I, for one, am not picky about the particular manner in which you prevented our deaths.[/color]" Oliver said, his filter completely off for the moment. He was well past the point of social grace at this point.