Once again feeling rather deflated at being ignored by any and all of the other members of the squadron, Ricky turned his fighter for the Heitan once again. Falling in to proper formation, he looked out to his right: through what seemed to be less than two inches of material seperating him from total vacuum. Starting his flying career as a civilian pilot in large, cumbersome vessles: it still seemed kind of surreal for the out-of-his-element pilot. Here he was, in a different nation, in a different body, with his original family many lightyears away, fighting a race of destruction-bent squids in the depths of space, and dooing so all in the comfort and fashion of a Yamatain starfighter. As much as the man loved adrenaline, it simply didn't feel right to him.
Maybe he was still too used to Nepleslia. With his fellow Neppies, anybody would have practically jumped him at the offer of free drinks.
Ricky blinked suddenly, scolding himself for letting his thoughts drift as he instantly snapped to his instruments for any unwanted or drastic changes. Adjusting for a minor shift in heading, the pilot kept his eyes around him now in expectation of a surprise ambush.
"Stay frosty, ladies and gentle-germs." Ricky remarked casually, "Personally, I don't want any squids 'installing' ventilation for my fighter."