The next few days has you settling into a some form of monotony … and <span class="mu-i">familiarity</span>: you wake up, have a round of breakfast—have it promptly interrupted by at least one of Sensei, Random or Wight—and then heading in to the hangars for a little on-ground testing and a bout of chatter with the girls for the next few hours before having to assist with the inevitable tidal wave of paperwork for the rest of the afternoon, sometimes with Elaine offering commentary but mostly with the quotes going over the technical terminologies put to use over and over again in <span class="mu-i">excruciating</span> specification. <span class="mu-r">The coats are only all too eager to use you as a faux-confessional, parking themselves in fold-out chairs and going on rants about their shift (and sometimes even being nosy enough to put the smudges of their fingerprints to review your work production) and the inadequacy of everything that had been afforded to them since the shuttering of Amaterasu, most of them foaming at the mouth from how the Orleasians had allegedly <span class="mu-b">dropped the ball</span> in regards to asset retention and the progression of their operational scope.</span>

Most of it was due to the vast chasm and incompatibility of the existing systems with that of what the Orleasians—or what most governments, period—would have at their disposal. The coats had been used to Amaterasu’s unhesitant bankroll of their whims. Research and development of the intelligences had been able to be conducted at a rapid pace in the comfort of their laboratories and chambers; they’d been afforded a leash longer than most had been afforded and had—in their own words—been able to scratch their objectives for the most part. They’d found the Orleasian government, by comparison, was a lot more hands-on and vastly more conservative in their allowances … while <span class="mu-i">also</span> being just as demanding in scope, if not <span class="mu-i">more so</span>.

While you had a few unique opinions of your new employers yourself, the last thing you wanted to do was encourage the coats with the idea that you were on the same page. Not that you didn’t appreciate their efforts, of course, but there was a limit to—

‘<span class="mu-i">I can’t stand it.</span>’

You look up from your bowl of cereal, finding someone you hadn’t expected to see this early or willingly around you set themselves down in the seat across from your own.

Kitten scowls with the clatter of his tray. You don’t dare offer him an answer.

‘How do you put up with those goons?’

You frown, wondering why he was referring to the girls in such a—

‘It’s <span class="mu-i">one</span> thing to go back and forth between admin and their little mad scientist shack. I didn’t sign up to put up with a bunch of know-it-alls that haul me by my ears every fifteen minutes because it wasn’t—’

He scrunches his nose, narrowing his eyes as he puts on an impression of an old turkey at an opera.

‘—align with the designated specifications. <span class="mu-i">Please.</span>’