Scott opened his eyes for the first time since he had gotten on aboard the shuttle, the different colored orbs blinking a few times, as he looked around, hearing his fellows starting to talk. He felt more than a little self conscious among them, as they were all dressed in relatively nice outfits, where he was still wearing, what he always wore, his boat cloths. The once light brown shirt was covered in stains, from bait and from hauling aboard the catch, as were his loose jeans and the rubber boots covering his feet. He had washed the clothes and showered several times before heading to catch the shuttle and hopefully he didn’t smell, although he’d never be able to tell. He had also hosed off his boots a few dozen times, hopefully those didn’t smell either but if they did, oh well. At least he had tried.<br/><br/>“The name’s Scott” said the former fisherman, as four of his female companions introduced themselves, “St. Johns, Newfoundland my home. Nice to meet you all.”<br/><br/>He smiled, leaning forwards slightly in his seat to look around. The lack of padding didn’t bother him, it was much the same on the boats. The turbulence didn’t bother him much either, except for the fact that he couldn’t judge when it was about to happen. He couldn’t help but wonder why they had all enlisted. He had done so out of a surge of anger, to avenge those poor souls lost in the colonies and his ancestral ties to the Royal Newfoundland Regiment. Or maybe it was because he had chosen the wrong time to argue with his skipper and gotten thrown off the boat, then blacklisted. The first sounded better though, much better.