Quinn stared out into space and blinked.

When the elevator had docked into the Ange, a part of her had truly expected the hangar to be, if not almost exactly like the Aerie's, at least something she was used to: functional, utilitarian, spartan. Metal girders, exposed struts, a ceiling that, though cavernous, was plain. The familiar air of...not chaos, that wasn't the word. Some kind of friendly disorder. The sound of people chattering, the smell of oil.

That was decidedly [i]not[/i] what greeted her.

She had never in her life seen anything like this, not even remotely. This enormous cathedraline space, the stone facades, the almost eerie order, this...she didn't exactly know what to call it, she knew what she thought it was, but she didn't think she knew exactly the word to describe it. Was this what [i]all[/i] the other nations' Savior Corps looked like? It was like being fancy, but it was the [i]fancy[/i] version of what something fancy would be. Double fancy. Fancy squared. 

She was so occupied staring openmouthed at the sheer volume of [i]stuff[/i] all around her that she barely noticed when Toussaint started speaking, and had to blink a few times and backspace herself through his sentence, barely managing to grab the "onboarding package" in any kind of timely manner. Even then, even as he spoke to her, her eye kept straying to the area around her, wide as a moon. Only once he was finished did she manage to find her voice at all, and it was quiet, a bit far away, and...awestruck, perhaps, was the word.

"[color=FFE63D]This place...[/color]" 

A moment passed as she blinked dazedly, Then looked down at the package in her hands. "[color=FFE63D]Catering staff? Private chefs?[/color]" Her voice became something almost squeaklike. Not from panic, but because In the moment, she was simply overwhelmed. "[color=FFE63D]Visitation hours?[/color]" 

She blinked a few times again, shook her head, and when she looked properly back at him, she was a bit more focused. And mildly embarrassed. She was a Runan pilot, after all; she needed to act like it. She settled her voice back into her normal register. "[color=FFE63D]I...Thank you, Toussaint.[/color]" Toussaint? Should she just call him Toussaint? Mr. Toussaint? She blinked again. What would a pilot call him? What would a pilot say here at all?

A pilot would—Dahlia would say..."[color=FFE63D]Is there anything I should do first, before I start moving in? Introductions with any staff? Medical examinations?[/color]" That was better. That sounded like something Dahlia would say. "[color=FFE63D]I don't want to cause any more trouble than I already have.[/color]"