[ Distracted by the rest of the ships once more, hoping being a Support crew member means he gets first dibs on salvage, Vincent hadn't noticed this stranger—and wasn't going to, huge on leaving people the fuck alone—until that smug ass smile. ]

Sorta. [ Does the Basilisk count? Hovers more than flies, but the same principles, same need for spatial awareness and pilot precision are there.

Not letting that attempt at (what he perceives to be) undermining go through, Vincent sticks his hand into his pocket, takes out an empty cigarette box, fiddles with it. He and Johnny already smoked them all, but devoid of nicotine's incredible powers, he's always felt more calm when his hands are occupied. ] You're gonna find peeps here are from all kinds of places. Not everyone's gonna be an ace pilot and thank God for that. [ Primadonnas, that's V's experience with ace pilots and star racers. ]