The old man, covered head to toe in grease and oil, sleeps in near the deafening engine. The loud roars and coughs vibrates the bed and soothes his aching back. His cot rolled on wheels in order to keep him from falling off with all the wild twists and turns that idiot pilot made.
He'd once been a high official in the Union of Allied Planets. Not many knew about his past, and that the way he liked it. He was in charge of som horrible, horrible things. He'd enginered so many weapons, ships and the like but when he was ordered to build a weapon that would work on the mind of the Browncoats he faded into the black of the verse.
Now he rambles on about his ship and its crew, no matter what they said it was his ship. He growled in his sleep as a sharp turn slammed his rolling cot into a wall. He woke with a start as the bed tipped and rolled him along the floor. He stood popping his back and turned to a wall com, his fist kissed the on button with some force, "What're ya'll doin' to my baby!"
He could pratically hear the ginger girl's smirk, "She ain't yers, Old Man! Toto's my pup now."
His cheeks flushed, "Then you can fix 'er up! Snot-nosed brat."
He could hear Calvin talking to the brat, if anyone could get her to listen it was Calvin. Mech smiled to himself, a toothless grin that made him seem more insane then he was. There was something between the two of them, but neither would admit it. Not yet any ways.
Mech, sat with his hands behind the back of his head, the ship landed gently. He smiled to himself and whispered, "Congrats, Dorthy Lee, another perfect landing." It was something he'd always told her when he first taught her to fly.
(The intro of the others are going to be shorter than Calvin's because the story follows him. You're just getting a bit of a their attitude and personalities here.)
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