Evangeline becomes aware of the craft sneaking up beside her bulbous frigate, glaring out the rectangular windows of her own ship at the ominous steel coffin as it comes to rest on the frozen wasteland of Maine's surface.
Her keen eye observes the extension of the catwalk from the opposing vessel to the side of her own, attempting to lock itself in place.
The blonde-haired captain silently rises to attention, slides her ponytail back within the confines of her camisole and begins the precursive swagger out of the bridge's confines towards the airlock on the lower deck.
This is it.
Evangeline pauses before the passageway exit and turns her head to one side; as if talking to the wall - an obvious hint of unease about her. Bret. Come with me.
Vixen, you stay here.
Eva runs her hand over the pistol she carries, a keen eye perhaps recognising the logo of Rheinland's military force on the seductive, graphite-metallic grip. After reconfirming its' presence, she directs herself to the mesh door of the awaiting elevator.