Flint Michigan
Rebel without a Cred
[member="Kitt Solo"] [member="Catherine Romanov"] [member="Tiam Bai"]
Flint ginned a bit. "Well, you certainly did end that situation early." He said as the ship began to come in sight. "As for the clearance, I don't mind you shaking your stick but if we ever have shall we say 'sensitive' cargo make sure to keep a low profile. Don't want anyone to remember us on quieter jobs." He said. Cat should have been able to get his meaning. He could hear Tiam's voice begin to pitch in, a bit groggily and faint.
"Well hey there Tiam. We're almost in the ship, let me get you on a couch." He said, as Kitt lowered the ramp. He carried her for maybe another half-minute before reaching the 'living' area and setting her down on the couch. Orders of pie and coolant packs came, and Flint headed to the conservator, pulling out a coolant pack and tossing it to the mechanic after he looked at her for a second. Making eye contact before tossing something at somebody was always a good idea.
"I'll be fine. Just a cut." He said, hiding a wince. Sure, his wound wasn't puncturing any organs or breaking any wounds, but it was starting to karking hurt now that things were settling down. Or maybe Flint was just a wimp and that's why he was a pilot instead of infantry back in the military. He hoped that wasn't the case.
"I've got the stuff for grape or apple. Any preferences?"
Flint ginned a bit. "Well, you certainly did end that situation early." He said as the ship began to come in sight. "As for the clearance, I don't mind you shaking your stick but if we ever have shall we say 'sensitive' cargo make sure to keep a low profile. Don't want anyone to remember us on quieter jobs." He said. Cat should have been able to get his meaning. He could hear Tiam's voice begin to pitch in, a bit groggily and faint.
"Well hey there Tiam. We're almost in the ship, let me get you on a couch." He said, as Kitt lowered the ramp. He carried her for maybe another half-minute before reaching the 'living' area and setting her down on the couch. Orders of pie and coolant packs came, and Flint headed to the conservator, pulling out a coolant pack and tossing it to the mechanic after he looked at her for a second. Making eye contact before tossing something at somebody was always a good idea.
"I'll be fine. Just a cut." He said, hiding a wince. Sure, his wound wasn't puncturing any organs or breaking any wounds, but it was starting to karking hurt now that things were settling down. Or maybe Flint was just a wimp and that's why he was a pilot instead of infantry back in the military. He hoped that wasn't the case.
"I've got the stuff for grape or apple. Any preferences?"