Snippet #2018615

Jess' agressive grin only grows as Clyde doesnt hesitate to hop the row of seats and introduce himself. Thank god; she'd have someone to chat with during this briefing. As exciting as it was to be aboard a new ship starting a new mission, a formation was a formation; boredom was a given. Bright blue eyes that dont seem to blink stare straight through both Clyde and Ray, if the other has chosen to follow.

She extends a hand in introduction. If he takes it, her grasp is rough but brief.

"What's up, Clyde? Jessica. I also answer to 'Jess', 'rotten witch', and Hyena." Disengaging her hand from her offer of a shake, she gives an affectionate flick to the leather name patch of her jacket. Along with her rank and name, the telling callsign is emblazoned above a set of pilot's wings. Stick-jock. Worse; a fighter jock. And for the tripple threat? An -enlisted- fighter jock.

She gives an eye to the uniform of the others, kicking her chin in acknowledgement of fellow spacer Ray. By now they can surmise that the broad smile she wore was pretty much a permanent fixture; it'd softened to a casual smirk but never fully disappeared. She flings an elbow over the back of the chair she sits in, proping a boot up on the duffle of her belongings.

"Either of you served with this one yet?" She says, jerking a thumb up at the Admiral on the stage as he dismisses Eli to go round up stragglers.

"I mean, I've heared stories, but that's it. Guy's almost been in the service longer then my -parents- have been alive. Collected more chest candy then I knew they awarded..." The pilot turns that blue-eyed stare onto the distant figure of Aronimus; getting a feel for the officer she'd spend the next stretch of future serving under. Rumors had been decent, as far as she'd heared, but her accounts had never come from people who personally knew the man.

This was the man that was going to lead them into who-knew-what at the edge of god-knew-where. Hopefully he was going to be worth that kind of dedication.