Donovan had finished his quick meal at around the same time - nothing like a freeze-dried and reconstituted MRE to raise the spirits. It was like chewing cardboard that had been soaked in something resembling watery gravy - hardly palatable under any circumstances, but it was fibrous enough, it contained all major vitamins condensed into an easy package, ready for consumption. Yummy. It came with a couple of drink options too, which was just a thrilling prospect - apple juice, water, coffee, and two flavours of milk. Donovan knew better than to pick the apple juice - it contained no real apples and tasted suspiciously of copper - and he ended up with the coffee. It was surprisingly good, much better than the muck brewed on the frontlines, and it provided an extra morning boost through caffeine and near-thermonuclear temperature. Despite the burned tongue, he appreciated the aid.<br/><br/>He made his way back through the halls, weaving his way through the thickening crowds. Smiles, nods, well-wishes. These people were his kin, his friends, the closest thing he had to a family. The regiment was his home - not bad for a colonial boy with a high school education and no practical skills outside manual labour and military service. He supposed he was the ideal blueprint for the model soldier - average height, good build, fast in body and mind, loyal and obedient. He was unafraid to think on his feet and diversify enough to get the job done, and he had proven himself a most capable warrior in the past. Hell, it was enough that he didn't have any prostheses by now - perhaps it meant that he was fantastically lucky, but as far as he was concerned, it was a bit of a mark of pride. A lifetime of service, and the corps hadn't needed to replace too much of him.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>