A more rambunctious pilot would have made home in the hangar when first arriving and finding themselves with free time. Of course
Marco had definitely thought about it. But after finding an empty and unclaimed rack in the 21st's quarters, he had actually made his way to the bridge. A Santo Hei in fighter pilot's colors couldn't be judged for heading that way after a glance at the flight roster had shown that three members of his newly assigned unit were "surfing the Black" as his instructor in the 901st had called it. Admittedly being a comparatively tall, pale-skinned, and plainly foreign man made him suspect that at some point he'd likely have a SAINT agent tailing him.
Arriving at the bridge after a bit of new-post-confusion had meant he had no problem finding the Bridge Bunny who was monitoring circuits for the flights leaving the ship. After a few formal bows and introductions he'd found the
specific Bridge Bunny in charge of monitoring the 21st's flight. Equal rank and lack of judgement based on that factor and the lack of security classification at the Bridge Bunny's station meant he was able easily enough to get his hand on a second set of headphones to listen in on the flight's radio traffic.
On the understanding, of course, that he wouldn't interject in radio traffic. It was easy enough for him. The fighter pilot much rather preferred to be
in the cockpit rather than talking to somebody else in that coveted seat. Besides, he'd get to have presence as an unknown ear on listening to his new CO. See how she operated.
With one hand on the back of the "Tower" Bunny's chair, Marco had watched the icons as they moved across the screen. He could see the path projectors and how they matched up with the projected flight plan from their flight's Honcho, his new CO apparently. They were moving in a bee-line. Nothing out of SOP for a search-and-rescue mission. It wasn't until they officially made contact with the enemy that he find himself closing his eyes and - focusing. One ear uncovered in case he was needed or addressed, the other covered. Meanwhile he envisioned himself there in the pilot's seat, picturing what he would do crossed with what it was that the pilots out surfing the Black were actually doing. It was something his instructors seemed to notice he had a talent for right after flying.
After the fight had ended, he'd returned his spare headset to the Bridge Bunny, and had finally made his way to the hangar. He did quick estimations and knew that he'd be there before the honcho and her wings would be touching down. If only with just enough time to maybe meet the flight crew and look reasonably presentable and relaxed by the time his new commander arrived. When his nose was assailed with the scent of oil and leaked fuel, he felt more at home than he ever could among the Bridge Bunnies. Part of him pitied his higher superiors who were stuck piloting desks. As much as it would mean better pay and his having proved himself to his superiors, part of the Nepleslian pilot didn't look forward to promotions to come in the future.
