"Ah look lek a cop? Moost not be doin' a gud job fettin' en." Alcander mused, raising an eyebrow at the green-haired woman. He gave a cursory glance at Camilla's soon-to-be personal guard, as well as the surroundings. He felt yet again that this was above his paygrade, even before he took the probator position. He had taken it upon himself to wear a jacket, like he often did back on Castobel. In large, artificial environments, it was often just shy of cold. That was usually a good excuse so he could keep his weapons cloaked and at the ready. 

He was amused at the pomp, and at the red tinge on Camilla's cheeks from the welcome. Despite being thirty, Alcander felt as if his career was winding down, while lady Del'a'Trantio's own was blossoming. It put him in a somewhat whimsical mood, and he gave the men who stood at attention a nod of his head, before turning back to the master-at-arms. He held out a hand to shake. "Pleaser tae make yer acquain'ence." 

"Top o' the marnin' tae ye," Jocasta replied, taking his hand and shaking it, though it was hard to tell if she was having a go at him or just being funny. 

"No' bad, but yer tekin' through yer noose." Alcander pointed out. Jocasta wrinkled her nose and tried to look at it, crossing her eyes. Alcander strode past her to take in the immensity of his surroundings, and it wasn't even the main bridge. The hanger itself alone was beyond what he ever thought he might see again, worthy of the upper spires. 

"Shoulde we check de cogitater first?" Camilla asked, a trite unsteady, likely from the circumstances. She pursed her lips. "Or we coulde eat zupper?"

"Ye doon' ''ave tae be teh acommodatin' jest kez ahm a guest." He told her. Behind them, Yvraine and one of Camilla's men stepped off the ship, the visored man holding the secured box with all of the varying peices of the servo skull. "Let's check th' cogitator fer the skell, then we can see wat on th' cooker."