Striker rubbed his jaw as he sat in the mess hall. His shoulders hunched, he seemed to be folding in on himself, occupying a corner seat. While a man with new tech for limbs could hardly be ignored, the IVs learned fast that it wasn't wise to question the combat expert's past. All they needed to know was that he was a SPARTAN-III - nothing more, nothing less.
His eyes narrowed as he noticed a IV sit across from him without invitation. Carter's glare isn't enough to scare away the boy - one of his more tolerable students, thank God - and so he sets to resolutely staring at the younger man who stubbornly stares back at him while mechanically chewing a piece of lettuce.
Letting out a scoff, the former Noble commander leaned back, head resting against the wall. The SPARTAN's gaze travels across the room, a select number of people feasting away and, as far as he knows, gossiping away. Those of higher rank usually chose to sit together, as well as whatever SPARTANs had gathered, but Carter preferred solitude. And then it was broken by the upstart who decided he'd dare to sit with Striker.
His momentary scope of the room is finished, until a certain person catches his eye. A woman - a woman whom he once knew. His alarm made his stance grow rigid, and he then turned slowly to his compatriot, hoping that no heed was paid to his change in posture. When he was reassured that his stiffness went unnoticed, he allowed himself to turn back. While he hoped for no contact, as per the UNSC's orders, he was glad to see that at least someone made it off of Reach.
