Honoured Guest

                                    

                                          
 The flight from Amaranthia Prime to Discovery was short and didn't give Octavia much to reflect on - it had been several weeks of mindless puttering on a Federation cruiser that left her grateful for the opportunity to head ground side. While she had done her best to put herself to use, it was a Federation cruiser, and Octavia was not a member of the Federation Navy. As much as she had tried to help, she more often than not was left to her own devices either within her room or within the public areas of the ship. Needless to say, it had been a dull journey.
	However, as the Longsword rattled dangerously as it transitioned from space to atmosphere, Octavia couldn't help but wish she were back in her boring room aboard the cruiser as several loose parts began clattering around within the ship's hull. An insistent creaking along the roof of the crew bay made Octavia grip the edge of her crash seat so tightly that her knuckles turned white beneath her sandy fur, her jaw tensed and eyes wide behind the visor of her helmet as she glanced around the rickety ship. She wouldn't be surprised if the entire ship fell apart through turbulence alone, but somehow it held out long enough for the transition to level out into a smoother flight within the atmosphere proper.
	Allowing her grip to relax, Octavia let out a breath she had been holding since the turbulence began and decompressed, her muscles visibly relaxing as her posture slumped into one of relief.
	"That get your blood pumping or what?" Jace barked with an uproar of laughter, pointing at Octavia with an ear-to-ear grin from the comfort of his turret seat, "Look! Foxy looks like she's gonna puke!"
	"Not a fox," Octavia corrected automatically, one of her ears flicking in irritation within the confines of her helmet, "And I'm fine - just pretty sure those sounds aren't normal," she pointed out, gesturing to the ceiling where the ominous creaking was still emanating from.
	"Oh, don't mind Ricky, he's just been through the wringer a few times!" Alex reassured with a dismissive wave of her hand, "Eight times, actually! Scrapped and rebuilt near-on from the ground up!"
	"You've recycled this thing eight times?" Octavia asked in shock, her voice jumping an octave as the anxiety gnawing at her gut suddenly doubled, "Why the hell are you still flying it?"
	"Federation doesn't have the luxury of 'new ships' - pretty well every ship in service has been repaired and refitted at least once. I suppose the only exceptions'd be the Manifest Destiny and the Valiant; flagship and her escort," Alex explained, rotating her turret seat so she could reach the wall where she placed her metal hand with an adoring expression, "Besides! I wouldn't trade ol' Ricky here for any of the newfangled ships anyways! He's an ol' softy but he kicks like a mule when it matters."
	"Is she even saying words right now?" Vita asked with a dumbfounded tone.
	"Words, yes. Do they mean anything? Debatable," Octavia muttered, her voice muted within the confines of her helmet. Vita gave a short bark of laughter at the remark before Octavia spoke up to be heard through her helmet once again, "So I'm guessing you're the mechanic of this ship?"
	"Was it the engine grease that gave it away?" Alex asked with a short bark of laughter before giving an energetic nod, "Yeah, that's me alright! Signed up for the Minutemen when the Omni took Verity-IV, did basic at the Bastion, showed off my skills with a wrench, then got slapped with ol' Ricky here after crash number five. Took a lot of blood, sweat, and elbow grease to get him flying again after that one, lemme tell you!"
	"And what about you?" Octavia prompted, turning her helmeted head towards Jace, "What do you do? Where are you from?"
	"Oh no, I ain't giving you my life story, foxy," Jace remarked, pointing a finger at her with a sickly grin, "All you gotta know is I got here at the same time as ironhand over there, and I know my way around things that explode," he remarked as he lowered his hand and reclined in his turret seat, crossing one leg over the opposite knee as he did.