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[color=c1cdcd]Mentions:[/color] N/A
[color=c1cdcd]Location:[/color] The Beach
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The drawn hiss of The Nest's hangar doors slowly pulling open sounded through the deployment bay as the crew was briefed on their impromptu sub-mission. Each pilot made the final preps and diagnostics on their shells in their own rights, and the Ossifrage was no different. Said pilot listened to the rear hatch of her shell close behind her with its own sibilation. The silver-haired pilot took her position in the cockpit and began interfacing with the systems of her shell immediately, the internals of which began to flicker to life smoothly.

The briefing was short, and their deployment was just as much. Each shell dropped from the bay at their own intervals, falling or gliding to the ground before taking their preferred positions in preparation for the arrival of the Murakumo Robotics forward-team. Luckily for them, such a party would, in likelihood, prove to be a fairly easy one to conquer. General operation for setting such footholds was to send a small, lightly-armed party that was likely to go unnoticed, so as to establish a zone for larger deployments while chiefly unhindered. But, of course, one always ran the risk of being driven out summarily should they be apprehended with such a small force.

But in this age, it was easy to underestimate a force that could possess hidden firepower. Should they allow themselves to operate complacently, being blindsided by an unforeseen cast of shells - however unlikely - could surely spell failure.

And this was why the Ossifrage took every operation as seriously as the last - diagnostics immediately being ran on the environment as they descended to the earth. The heavy deluge that befell said environment made it more difficult to gauge their surroundings than usual, but it worked equally in their favor, providing a layer of coverage that would serve very well in an ambush - which it seemed they were primed for. Ossifrage was fond of ambushes - they were efficient, effective, and demoralizing to larger forces - and they were especially well-suited for agile shells such as hers.

Ossifrage took survey of the battlefield as her shell took measured steps over the rusting and decaying carcasses of shells-past. Would they have arrived under different terms, a part of her would feel a pull to inspect the wreckages more closely in a curious attempt at putting together the proverbial pieces of wars-past and conceiving an idea of what had happened here who-knows-how-long before their arrival. But now was far from a time for reflection on such things.

The Ossifrage scanned its comrades, determining which of them she would directly support for the time being -- in theory, being that they were prepping an ambush, none of them would need too much direct support - but one could never tell how an op would unfold. Her eyes fell upon the darkened-red exterior of King Gizzard as his comms read through her ears.

Her eyes flicked momentarily to a panel in front of her as one of the lights ignited, signaling an input into her comms system. The feminine voice that registered into the comms systems of her comrades would sound squarely neutral in tone, even if there was some lightness to it.

[color=c1cdcd]"Ossifrage reading, Vultures. Systems typical. Supporting King Gizzard's position."[/color] She spoke in brief, informative sums, even as her shell moved into position, as promised.

Normally, the Ossifrage's visage was one of light colors. An ashen pallor constituted most of its paint, with a few outlying spaces that were hued brick-red. However, due to the densely-vegetated nature of their [i]locus operandi[/i], Ossifrage took it upon herself to touch-up the palette of her shell a few days in advance, and darken the colors by several measures. At least for the duration of their stay in New Zealand, this paint-job would serve to better camouflage the Ossifrage where needed - in situations just like this.

Now that the shells were all drawing towards their positions, it would be time to wait for their soon-to-arrive target. Ossifrage's eyes scanned the sky-line as she interfaced with her shell, reading a smooth, constant feed of diagnostics on her and her comrades as they waited.
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