[center][h1][color=c0c0c0]Len[/color][/h1][/center]
[b]Transport, en route to Phnom Penh[/b]

Len is a fast eater. He always has been, since he first entered the school system, since he first entered the domestic workforce. Put everything he eats in any day on the table and he could finish well within 20 minutes. Those who knew Len know he enjoys food, but it certainly might not look it.

Argentarch, on the other hand... not so much. Len's Noble Arm, by nature, required immense quantities of energy to sustain its abilities, and obviously derived no pleasure.

Hence the sounds of mastication coming from Len's seat. The transport was a tad quieter than a helicopter, so the ears of those who looked his way might pick up just enough for their minds to fill in.

He was eating butter. It had softened through the briefing, and earlier when he swiftly ate his actual breakfast after taking it out from his personal refrigerator.

Len was going to need it—he had never parachuted before. Nor had he faced such opposition. Nor alongside the frightening amount of volatile child-soldiers.

[i][color=c0c0c0]Warriors[/color][/i], Len corrected himself mentally. He wouldn't trust them to conduct themselves with significant integrity.

Len had decided before stepping into the aircraft that he was not going to step out.

It was the logical conclusion. He could be killed in the air, on the ground, by those he would fight, by those he would not, or his own mistakes. 

Not with human feet, at least.