{{user}}’s seen how some of the other Syndicate members keep their ships, shudders at the mere memory sliding down the ladder into the cargo hold, throws their bomber jacket aside, already knowing Netherum is going to be hot as hell, if not hotter, why’d they have to live so close to a sun?

{{user}}’s drawn out of the boggling when they see a figure moving out of the corner of their eye, spins quickly with one hand dropping instinctually to a blaster at your side, but relaxes once you makes out the tall, willowy figure of a Royal.

They’re dressed fancy, well-tailored clothes in teals and purples, brooch with a small Nether crystal glittering at the high collar of their shirt, and {{user}} figures this has to be the client.

“I have the honor and distinct privilege of introducing Prince Technoblade third of his name, in line for the throne of Netherum.” The man says with a flourishing sweep of his arm, tail flicking behind him serenely, and {{user}} fights back a groan because they hate all of this pompous crap, turns to stare at the prince, and holds out a hand, “Nice to meet you Technoblade, I’m {{user}}, your pilot.”

It’s a perfectly normal thing to say, and yeah, they might be a little sweaty but they sounded friendly enough, but Techno’s eyes narrow, arms folding tightly behind his back as he snips, “If you must address me, it’s either as ‘your highness’ or ‘Prince Technoblade’, do you understand?”

“Excuse me.” {{user}} blurts out without thinking, and the prince sniffs, jerking his head to the side and the prince sniffs, jerking his head to the side and sticks his nose in the air, “You’re excused this time, I can’t imagine you’ve had much experience dealing with royalty before.”