Bankor

Hacha doesn't think much of the cantten, but he does need food...and caff. Lots of caff. So much so that his tray is currently a bar of protein paste and twice the recommended daily amount of his morning beverage.

He sets down, immediately slurping the next cup. "So much to do...so many ideas"

There was some promise of better food being made available by contacts through the resistance, but Chase was a bit too smart to try and bug the staff about it. Instead she slipped her way through the tables set up for eating and found her way towards the first person she saw with an empty spot.

Dressed in her pilot fatigues the woman slid down onto her seat with only the barest of guidance with her hands steadied on the table top.

"How's the grub today, ever get in any of that good stuff the quartermasters been talking about?" Chase said, already taking a glance at the Duros' meal.

"Quartermasters say a lot of things." Hacha downs the last of one mug and moves onto the next. "Like when they say that the next shipment of caff won't taste like engine grease." Hacha grimaces a bit as he takes a new sip. "It makes me wish I could run on engine grease"

Chase tapped her first two fingers on the table twice, half listening to him and half nurturing a thought for later involving the Quartermaster. Coming back to it, she naturally understood what he actually meant but that didn't stop her from teasing him all the same, "Tastes that good does it?"

"Indeed. Equal in sensory quality. Less in ubiquity and otherwise usability." It's hard to tell if Hacha is joking here.

"Yea.." Chase said, laughed in a clear fake two spurt," sooo.." Chase continued, rattling her fingers along the top of the table. "I'd ask what unit you're with but those are clearly not army fatigues, so you're someone else. What brings someone like you, whatever like you is, to the fight on Bankor?"