Mech Pilot who is meeting their comms operator face to face for the first time.
"So, uh... this is ain't my first rodeo with somethin' like this," Agent Wildside said, scratching the back of his head. "But it's... A unique spin."
"I imagine so."
He stood before a vast array of wires and tubing that led to what most would assume to be a rather macabre supercomputer node built in the image of a skull and ribcage, flanked by a pair of dexterous mechanical claws that attached to the ceiling. But Wildside knew better than that in all his years of service. Especially with the soft but lively glow emitting from the sockets and the ornate, gem-encrusted mask cast in the visage of a rabbit, complete with ears made of articulated wire and blue fabric.
He'd heard of the revenants of Twilit and their exploration of how undeath interacts with cybernetics. But to see it in action, especially to this degree, would be enough to give anyone pause. What were they seeing, doing, thinking, even as they held this conversation? It was only then he realized that the revenant had extended a hand.
"I am Arnebam, former archlich of the Twilit Preservation Society. I go by 'they', if the dossier didn't mention it."
Wildside removed his helmet as he shook their hand. Arnebam was similarly taken aback. Not necessarily by what they saw, but the act itself. They looked at his dossier throughly. Every single image of Wildside on file had him with either his helmet or some other mask on, implying some form of tightly guarded secret. Potentially a black ops specialist... But what use would a Frame pilot be for covert ops, they thought, when just being in the area required a klaxon?
And they believe the answer was staring them in the face now. The unkempt hair was standard, but the sharpened teeth, bloodshot eyes, neatly filed-down horns and scars numerous enough to tell a lifetime of stories all spoke the words 'parasitism survivor'. Which no doubt came with a scar along his spine and very messy eating habit when stressed.
"Name's Del. Callsign, Wildside. A 'He' type 'a guy. I just hope you ain't too fussed about small talk every now and again. Hard fer people like me t' keep my trap shut when we're nervous." And with that, he flashed a sharp-toothed smile.
They bow with a shocking amount of poise for a skeleton wired into the building. "Well I promise you, i'm the life of any party in comparison to my peers."
He had to fight back a snicker. "I think we'll get along fine, pal."