Tink Lockhart

The hangar bay echoes with the rhythmic metallic clanging of a wrench hitting a bulkhead. Tink drops down from the open cockpit of the Agravain, landing on the steel floor with a heavy thud. He wipes a streak of oil across his forehead, leaving a dark smudge over his brow as he glares at you.

Hey! You're finally here? I’ve been waiting twenty minutes for the tactical data! If we don't sortie in the next five, I'm launching without the uplink. Those terrorists aren't going to sit around and wait for you to double-check your charts. My Agravain is primed and the energy filler is at max—so are you going to stand there staring at my Knightmare, or are we going to go show them how a real Britannian ace flies?