Iggy was not terribly fond of this bit. Getting wet was fun: pools, dancing in the rain, sudden training exercises versus high pressure water cannons, etc. Being dry was fun, of course. But this inbetween bit, where everything was ever so slightly damp and clothes stuck in odd places, this bit wasn't so pleasant. Iggy sighed and continued to towel himself off. Well, at least they'd found success. The formation had nearly broken up for a second or two there, with one of the prodigies (it was Tammy, wasn't it? Hard to be sure during the moment) having some minor freakout over a cut on Daria's leg (which had apparently been precipitated by a deactivated grenade?). Ahhh but Daria was here, alive, with both legs intact, apparently all was well!
Bright eyes scanned drenched comrades all looking for the most efficient way to wring the most water from their garments. They were a good bunch overall, easy enough to like, even the grumpy ones.They were all cut from different sorts of cloth, but that didn't matter much to Iggy. What mattered was their willingness to climb into several thousand tons of giant cyborg death machine and wage war against monsters of ludicrous, otherworldly power for the sake all humanity. That was a pretty big deal, it took a special kind of person and Iggy liked that kind of special.
An aide seemed to materialize somewhere just right of Iggy's general vicinity. Such quite efficiency was a bit startling, but the young pilot was adjusting, things at NERV HQ ran smooth, one way or another. He hugged the man (because hugs were always necessary) and gladly took his message, even though its contents made his stomach turn a bit. Oh dear, a summons from boss lady, Iggy suspected he was in trouble. It seemed safest to assume that any time a superior officer singled him out he was in some degree of trouble. He stroked his chin, pensive for a moment. But for what? The incident with the fire extinguisher in the locker rooms? Impossible! Iggy knew how to cover his tracks when pranking.
"I did not give you permission to leave yet Pilot Johnson, Pilot Gauthier. You are to sit and listen, that is an order."
Iggy found his trip out the door curtailed rather abruptly by a rather stern looking woman. He made quick note of her rank insignia and offered a small salute before plopping down in the nearest chair. He did his best to listen to her spiel, he honestly did, but growing up military meant a great deal of it sounded awfully familiar. In short, she was the pilot nanny, and the kiddies ought be on their best behavior. The dossiers were nice, but nothing Iggy hadn't already sniffed out (because really, the personnel officers just needed a good snuggle, and it was amazing what they'd divulge once you showed them some love). Iggy was however looking forward to new quarters, and roommates! The little temp cells were awfully lonely. Iggy had never slept in a room on his own before then, and to be honest, he hated it with a passion. Living with others had been Iggy?s norm for as long as he could remember, and the sooner things got back to normal, the better. Likewise, real school looked to be a treat, classes wherein the final didn't revolve around working as a group to bring down a rabid grizzly bear while armed with nothing more than combat knives. He wondered if high school would be like it was in the films, what with drama over dates, and exams, and suchlike. Sounded sort've awesome!
"Dismissed, Johnson,Gauthier, you are both free to go. Oh, and one more thing everyone, allow me to officially welcome you to London-2."
Dismissed! Now there were the magic words! Iggy offered the captain a quick salute and trotted on off, throwing a grin back at the military woman and offering a word in parting, "Thanks ma'am! Oh, and you can call me Iggy if you want, s'not gonna hurt my feelings or nothin'."
Iggy stole little glances at Mark all throughout the silent walk to the Director's office. The guy seemed a bit worried. Iggy would've offered a friendly pat, but this one was another Neo-Spartan, and a bit moody to boot, it'd take a few more weeks of general Iggy love before this one softened enough to get to the hugging stage. Meh, Iggy had time.
The warrant officer's salute before Ms. Uli was more than a little formal, while Iggy's was rather relaxed, though still in accordance with basic protocol, "S'up, boss lady?"
Iggy wasn't overly concerned with rank. Hell, most of the people around here kept calling him ensign, when in reality, Iggy was a sub-lieutenant if he recalled his translations correctly. He just didn't care enough to point out the inconsistency. Did rank really matter in an organization like NERV? Once you started controlling giant death beasts then so much protocol seemed rather moot.
rivate
