Mech Pilot who knows that friends don’t let friends sortie light frames with every hard point outfitted.
"Look, kid." Tweety sighed, running her fingers through her matted hair, layering on another smear of grease. "I know you thought you'd look really cool and badass bristling with a custom full tactical package..."
She shushed the trembling greenie, who quickly closed his mouth again, his eyes on her other hand, which was flinging blobs of grease everywhere as she gesticulated wildly.
"... yes, yes." Her voice changed to an over the top, gravelly version of the kid's as she flapped her fingers at him. "But what if I need it, mean old Tweety will only be able to blame herself when I die because I ran out of missile pods." Another sigh. "Right?"
Tweety's hand landed on his shoulder with a wet squelch, and she squeezed his shoulder. Her eyes, massive thanks to her extremely thick glasses, were laser-locked on his, giving no quarter as she punctuated each sentence with another squeeze. "You're taking a Mud Skipper. For a courier run. Through friendly territory. And you'd have fallen over at the first bump."
The requisition form slapped him in the chest, and he almost fumbled the clipboard, barely catching it. "You're lucky I caught this before the chief, she'd have really torn you another exhaust port. Then made you pay off the projected cost for the rest of your miserable life, as an object lesson."
These kids, man.
Was she ever that dumb?
Must be a pilot thing.
Oh great, he was gonna cry now. Why was she such a soft touch? Tweety exhaled slowly and held up two fingers. "Two." She was gonna regret this. Stupid bleeding heart. "You get to pick two from your list on top of a Standard Scout Layout B."
The kid's face lit up like it was his birthday, and Tweety waved his endless cavalcade of thanks away. "Just remember to bring everything back in one piece, okay? Or it'll be both our heads."
Well, at least she'd made another friend for life.
Another little birdie for her collection.
And besides, you never could tell.