[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/8FL6cLn.png[/img]
[color=fdc68a]Locale: The Beach[/color][/center]
[hr]
There was a deep respect for the machine whenever Owl decided to cover up. It was a moment of intimacy, to look at the armor and the muted paint while the servo assistant draped the couple hundred pound thermal blanket over the majority of the machine. He clambered up the side to pull the hood over the sensors, giving the machine a gentle pat on its flat head. It was a friend and companion to him in the silent times when one could only give their thoughts to an intimate partner. 
	Never once had he thought to burden someone else with that; it wouldn't have been fair. But, a Man and his Shell could get to know one another. They were partners on a strange and unforgiving field, and even if it was only for a short time, the machine would never question your loyalty or waiver in its own faith. It was a rock solid kind of relationship.
	Owl slipped downward as the servos connected the last loopholes around the anti thermal cloak, locking the hooks on his boot into a small footfall before swinging up into the open cockpit of the Shell. In this state, it was standing room only as the seat was practically trying to keep you out of the mouth-like opening. Only when he situated his right arm into the main ignition did the seating begin to slide back into the core of the Shell, tilting him until he was comfortable before the safety locks gripped into his armored pilot suit. 

Barn was built to be quick and sturdy, packing weight behind a set of pistons rated for a sized up model. He'd learned over a sixty year career that there was value in speed and maneuverability over brute firepower, and that a surprise could trump them all. Owl had heard the orders from Birdwatcher, and the suggestion of an ambush. He began to fiddle with the audio board of Barn's personal console, locking into the latest batch of Old World he'd gotten rendered down from a server somewhere far away. He made sure to turn it up, but turned the notification and comm audio up even louder. 
	Until the hits were starting, he had to get in the zone. If you didn't stop living young, you'd never be old; a philosophy he held tight to his chest as the thrumming guitar started to fill out the audio ports of his cockpit. Sitting in the relative dark as the machine was loaded into its ejection port, it rattled slightly passing down the track until it locked in.

[color=fdc68a][i]Barn Owl, engaged and dropping long. Low power running, aiming for the high ground for a scan.[/i][/color]
	Listening for feedback, he felt the difference in pressure as he left the barrel of the drop tube and immediately dumped a large portion of his generator reserves into an immediate forward thrust that sent him on a long forward arc through the air. 
	[color=fdc68a]"Recommend fire support draw attention for the coup de grâce, Magpie. Lets not give them a chance to call backup."[/color]
	Owl's thick Austrian accent sounded like a warm fire over the comms line, swimming through the airwaves as he let the Shell slowly descend down using only the bare minimum to keep it from turning into a pancake on the impact. His forward display projected a carefully calculated trajectory that he could adjust with his eyes and have the jets automatically compensate for the difference.