<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/b/b7/CmdrNomuraMacross2032JPG.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Commander Nomura<br/><strong>Date:</strong>March 10, 2032<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Park<br/><strong>With:</strong>T'chak<br/><hr/>Another day ended on a routine meeting, only that not everything was routine for the commanding officer of Electronic Warfare Wing 05. Come tomorrow he would still be one pilot short. But such was life. If push came to shove, he would have to take the pilot seat himself, once in a while. Sooner or later he would need some more flying hours anyway. Re-qualifying for the pilot role was very low of his list of things he wanted to do.<br/><br/>Strolling through one of the less-frequented areas of the park, Hitoshi Nomura began to clear his mind, his thoughts turning to less official matters, ranging from possible dinner choices to more personal topics. The former was easy enough to settle, the latter less so. But some things were best not rushed, and if patience was a virtue, Commander Nomura was a virtuous man. Good things came to those who would wait. 'Just don't wait forever,' he told himself a second before his eyes fell on the Zentran seated with his back against a tree.<br/><br/>Tall, even for a Zentran. Age and scars enough for a veteran. Memorable beard. Officer. An oak. Shady spot. Not too many people around.<br/><br/>He found a tree opposite the Zentran, not directly facing him, but at the periphery of the larger man's vision. He searched the ground with his eyes before he sat down, cross-legged, and opened his blue uniform jacket. Was that music he heard? Aside from some rustling leaves and far away voices the park was quiet, but the distance was too great to be certain. Hitoshi Nomura hummed a few notes he thought he had heard under his breath, his lips moving almost silently, while he reached into an inside pocket of his jacket. When his hand came back out it held a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter.<br/><br/>He looked at the pack and counted the cigarettes remaining, before he pulled one out, stuck it between his lips and lit it, closing his lighter gently, with the barest audible 'click' of metal on metal. He drew a breath from his smoke, rolled the vapors around in his mouth for a moment, before he slowly let them escape his lips, only to be drawn back in and down to his lung through nose and mouth.<br/><br/>Holding the cigarettes upright between thumb and forefingers he closed his eyes, breathed out slowly. He remained like that until one third of the cigarette had burned to ash. The commander opened his eyes, flicked the ash from his smoke, repeated his ritual for inhaling – mouth, nose, lung. Only after he had exhaled that second draw from his cigarette did he speak.<br/><br/>"Could you perhaps play that again? I think I recognized it, but I am not entirely certain."