(http://in.bookmyshow.com/entertainment/wp-content/uploads/image/BMS%20Reviews/GB%20solo.jpg)<br/><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Ian MacBride<br/><strong>Location</strong>Armory, Briefing room<br/><strong>Addressing</strong>Athena Barberis, Ludmila Silvestrov<br/><hr/><br/>As the call came over the intercoms, Ian had just finished preparing his new rifle for service, after trying out a number of various optics and other parts that the ship had in stock. While various scopes would have been acceptable, he finally settled on adjusting the standard sights of the rifle and giving it a tune up to meet more rugged standards. Stowing the weapon, Ian sighed before leaving the armory for the upper decks, glad that the standard layout of American ships hadn't changed in nearly fifty years. Technology updated, but an engine still remained in the bowls of the ship and the command deck remained at the top.<br/><br/>As he headed towards the briefing room, he noted a pair that seemed slightly out of place aboard the prim and proper airship standing outside the infirmary. As his right hand clenched, his metal fingers scraped and ground against the palm of the prosthetic limb, a reminder of why he tended to avoid hospitals and infirmaries as of late. While the regular check up was unavoidable when a prisoner of your own state, it still irked him to be in the presence of such places. Nodding as he past the two, he continued down the hall while slipping his arms behind his back to hopefully conceal the false arm he had to his right.<br/><br/>As Ian reached his destination, a cold chill ran up his spine, a flash of nostalgia to the day that he would remember quite clearly, yet history would interpret quite differently. Shaking his head to clear the thoughts, he took a slow and deep breath before entering slowly. Noting the two women standing inside, Ian took a moment to take in the details of the two. One, rather clearly Greek and standing with the air of confidence that marked her position upon the vessel, and with the marks of time spent in the field in the form of prosthetics and an eye-patch upon her face. The other, Russian judging by her uniform and stance, seemed to be green to him, though most soldiers in the field these days did by comparison to the Highlander veteran.<br/><br/>"Mornin' Lassies, Major MacBride, as ordered. Either of ye 'ave a smoke? I's been months since me last, and aye 'ardly think i'd be righ' tah keep a man from 'is daily vice," he said, formally at first through his thick Scottish accent before switching to a much less formal tone. Walking towards one of the chairs contained in the room, Ian took a seat before kicking his feet up rather aloofly, sighing softly as he got comfortable. "Oh, an' ocheen bree-at-nay er somethin' lass. 'Bout the only Russian aye know. Tha' an' Vodka." Ian gave a playful wink at his comment to the Russian woman, hoping she would understand what he was trying to say through his thick accent and horrible Russian. He had a vague understanding of the language, though it was only enough to get him through training with a Russian tank column and a few nights in Russian owned bars.<br/><hr/>(Writer Note: Ochin Priyatna means "Nice to meet you" in Russian. Or at least, that's as close I can get spelling it in English.)