They'd hardly even gotten to the door leading into the armoury in the first place when Carrie casually noted her artificial limb. It made her freeze for half a moment, as if she was a child who'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Somehow, despite being covered by a uniform sleeve, a greatcoat sleeve, and a glove, this woman had picked it out, as easily as one might notice a person's limp. She thought she'd been fairly discreet. It wasn't as though she'd get in trouble if anyone knew, of course -- she simply preferred to be considered a fully able-bodied member of any command she was attached to. Plus, there was a subtle stigma to those who wore such prosthetics; some people found them to be less human because of them. Mary didn't terribly like the way it looked, either, but she didn't exactly have much say in its choice or design. After flexing her metal hand self-consciously, she opened the door the rest of the way and let them inside. "Yes ma'am," she simply responded to Magispark's summation of piece's model, though her response wasn't as firm and confident as the other things she'd said were. To be honest, she couldn't really remember what the exact model on her prosthetic was. That sort of thing was a little too technical for her. She had things like that written down somewhere safe, in case knowing it ever became necessary. The specific model that the Caster had mentioned sounded familiar, though.<br/><br/>They set upon the weapons room, and Carrie seemed to find a gun she liked, commenting about its feel. In response, the Sergeant looked to her, smiled modestly, and nodded in agreement. Mary could recognize that the woman was trying to connect to her on a personal level. As much as it was nice to have people in command who didn't have it out for you, and perhaps even were looking out for you instead, she was wary of officers who tried to be friends with their subordinates. It was a somewhat common trait amongst the younger graduates from the academy, and it often hinted at insecurities in their own command ability. Such people tried to compensate for a lack of ability to make firm and forceful decisions with friendship. She hoped that she was mistaken about Magispark, and that she was simply taking an interest in her because of her prosthetic. If something was to happen to Caster Haas, she would have command of their contingent, and her tenacity would be put to the test. In her defense, though, she didn't appear to be some overly excited twenty-ager, buffed and shined, and as green as an airsick recruit. Even if she hadn't had so much deployment in battle, she was probably old enough to discard the reckless enthusiasm of someone younger.<br/><br/>The Caster informed her of her interest in keeping Mary around, and the gunner's brow arched, for a moment. "No complaints, ma'am," she acknowledged. "I'm likely to be attached to your group, anyway. I was one of the chief scouts of the last expedition." She then snapped a brief salute, and introduced herself. "Wing Sergeant Mary Stalwart."<br/><br/>Stowing the rag again, she considered the coming deployment. She commented, "Th' contingent will probably be ... eh, you four, your warpieces, me, and any marines Caster Haas wants along." Normally, four casters merited a whole battalion of troops, but that was neither likely available on this ship nor at all practical for an exploratory squadron. That element threw everything into a sort of disarray; despite casters and warpieces being mighty forces to be reckoned with on the battlefield, they could easily be made vulnerable if they were sufficiently outnumbered and outmaneuvered by enemy forces. Still, Mary suspected the Caster would elect to take a handful of marines, and a larger group of warpieces than normal to compensate. That way, they could remain relatively small, as well as flexible to different situations. But then, Mary wasn't an officer. She could only guess at what went through their heads for things like this, though they were generally good guesses, from experience.<br/><br/>It was good to know that this Caster was a medic and a mechanic. It was a very rare combination, especially in a Caster. Mary hadn't had her prosthetic shot more than once or twice, but when it did happen, nobody knew what to do. The medics didn't want to touch it with a five-foot pole. If there happened to be a mechanic, they tended to claim that they specialized in warpiece work and didn't have the tools to work on smaller-scale machinery. She suspected they didn't want to muddle with the parts where flesh and sinew met servo and mechanism, for fear they would cause more harm than help. So, she would be more or less out an arm until they made it back to Steelshire for repairs. The idea that she'd made it an order to see her first made her chuckle, in spite of herself. "Hardly need an order, ma'am. Thanks," she responded, amusedly.<br/><br/>Now that they'd finished equipping themselves, Mary would secure all of the cabinets again, and the two of them would find their way back onto the deck, where they'd go about their business for the duration of the trip.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/>Once they'd arrived, and Mary had helped to identify the enemy vessels, general quarters was sounded. The ship began to bustle with activity again from its relative doldrums. The fact that these were Redloch ships made Mary suspicious of the Caster in command once again, but she forced herself to stomach her concerns again, and simply remain aware. They were still quite a ways off, so the more immediate concern was making landfall.<br/><br/>As she had been expecting, the first mate grabbed her as she was scanning for other aerial threats through the mech-sight of her gun. "Miss Stalwart, report to Caster Haas. You're scoutin' the lot in. Get his muster ready. Move!" he ordered, bringing Mary to her feet. "Aye, sir," she responded, and jogged over to where the former Redloch was. Before she said anything to him, she took a moment to gauge him. What was he feeling, right now? What was he thinking? His gently aged face, well practiced in the art of staying cool in a tense situation, was a statue of stoicism. It was almost a little intimidating, but Mary knew better than to let impressions get in the way of carrying out her duties.<br/><br/>"Caster Haas, sir," Stalwart called, once again producing a solid salute for the man. "Wing Sergeant Mary Stalwart, reporting to your command. I'm your lead scout. I was with the first expedition. I'm also to muster any additional men from the ship's reserves you'd like to attach to the expedition, sir."