Chapter Text
Oakley Orion, Pilot in training. She's been assigned to a Titan, finally. After a grueling four years of training and a year of waiting for her battalion to get supplied with a (well, pilfered) Titan that would truly compliment her particular style, here she stands.
"There you are; your Titan. Legion class HN-0250, practically a walking, talking ballistic tank. Go say hi, embark, get used to each other, " Her commander says, offhandedly waving in the titans direction while turning to leave. "I have to go deal with the other new Pilots. I'm sure you're well-versed enough by now to not need me to hold your hand, aye?"
Oakley absently nods, slowly walking closer, ignoring the way her commander shakes his head in a chuckle and meanders away. She's run multiple VRs with all the types of Titans, trying to make sure her skills aren't lacking when she comes up to the real thing. There are things the VR didn't include, though. Like how HN-0250's vents hiss as he looks down at her, shifting his weight on his pedes in anticipation.
"Pilot Orion. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," HN-0250 says, the Titan - HER Titan - sounding welcoming enough. His voice is distinctly masculine, low and rumbling and easy to listen to. He kneels down, meeting her face to optic. She thumbs at her helmet that hangs off her hip idly, itching to put it on, to get it over with, to get going with the last stretch of her training.
"Its nice to meet you too, HN-0250. Please, call me Oakley. What would you like me to call you?" Oakley asks, remembering how some Titans had names - from previous programmers, pilots, or mechanics. All Titans taken from the IMC had to have their programming reworked, and their AI ended up getting modeled closer to the Militia's own Vanguard line AI. Speaking of, "Am I your first pilot?"
"Yes, Pilot... Oakley. My designation is HN-0250. Personnel are permitted to add any title they wish," HN-0250 says. Oakley takes another look, putting a hand to her face in thought. HN-0250 had a gorgeous dark green and white paintjob, with little flecks of red peppered in here and there. It reminded her of her old farming home, long ago destroyed by the IMC. They had a giant orchard of Earth's apple trees, with fluffed and giant hawthorne trees next to their house. She would always climb out of her window onto the hawthorne next to it, and sit on it's high up branches to gaze out along the trees.
As she stands in front of HN-0250, Oakley wonders if she could sit in the seat and look out upon an orchard again. Just once, is all she wanted. She smiles up at his optic, happy with the memory. HN-0250 makes a soft whirring noise, and his optic focuses in on her face. Oakley quietly makes it a mission of hers, to experience it again.
"How about Hawthorne?"