Mech Handler Hearing The New Pilot Instinctively Talk About Her Mech In First Person, As If It Were "herself,"

Mech handler hearing the new pilot instinctively talk about her mech in first person, as if it were "herself," and looking at her with a mix of sorrow and excitement because oh, this one has the talent. The handler has seen this kind of pilot only a few times before, and knows commanding her will be the highest, heaviest honor. Only by becoming one with their mech can a pilot reach the height of their skills, and it comes so naturally to her. She's going to be magnificent, dancing across the battlefield to a song of clashing blades and cannon fire, a presence that graces friend and foe alike by lifting them from the grit and making them, if only for a moment, part of something sublime. And she will never stop, never retire, never refuse a mission, never again know lasting peace, because her art is war and this performance only ends when the dancer is dead.