Arland stepped off his Eagle in the Freeport One docking area, taking in the view. This place had grown quite prosperous since its small beginnings, and it showed. Constantly buzzing with people, there were very few things you couldn't find in this place. Services and businesses of all kinds, for example; among them a good restaurant that James had visited at a few points during his pre-military days.

Its clientele was no different. Wealthy businessmen, shifty-looking pirate-types, mercenaries and everything in-between - all of whom sticking to the unwritten, but insistently enforced rule of "mind your own business." The Zoner administration would very much like to make sure everything ran smoothly on their station, after all.

James didn't look too much out of place in a casual suit in these surroundings - it was black, which went quite nicely with his equally dark hair, and he figured it made his eyes, which were a bright, cold blue, stand out. It'd been a long time since he'd done anything remotely like this, so he might as well try and get it right, he supposed.

The attire didn't do much in the way of making him look very relaxed or casual at the moment, though. He couldn't quite shake off the habit of constantly scanning his surroundings or how the way he moved was a little awkward and rigid - like he wasn't quite used to being out of uniform yet. Also, he ached for his sidearm, but he figured it would be in really poor taste to bring that when he was here to meet a woman in a potentially romantic fashion, rather than to kill them. He remembered the incident on Trafalgar from a few days ago all too clearly. That hadn't been pretty.

He shook his head once to clear out that particular thought, went over the hangar area exit and waited by it. Odds were his date would have to come through here, after all - he hoped he'd be able to spot her easily enough.

James, while waiting, had come to the sudden realization that he hadn't exchanged any descriptions or images with his contact - no, date, dammit. Get used to the word - which in retrospect wasn't very smart. He was about to begin mentally kicking himself over this when he noticed another ship coming in.

He recognized the make, and he resisted the urge to cringe when its engine gurgled and groaned like a dying man towards the end of the landing sequence. Its pilot didn't immediately disembark, so he lost interest in the vessel for a little while. The hangar area seemed otherwise quiet, there were people around to be sure, but nobody who fit the description of "looking for someone".

The soldier sighed. He was a hair's breadth from deciding he'd made this entire thing FUBAR despite Austin's half-mocking, but effective efforts to get him this far, and would have slinked on back to his Eagle in shame had he not noticed the the Dromedary's pilot disembarking.

Well, he thought. She's definitely female, and she seems to be nervous and looking around a lot. If I'm going to embarrass myself and fail completely tonight, I might as well go all the way.

He approached her, again trying to look casual, but failing completely. To distract himself, he processed that he was taller than this woman by a fair bit, but at a hair under 1.90 metres, he was taller than most people.

"Er, excuse me."

Damn, James. Smoothest operator on the block, right there. The SAS of old would bow before you in awe before doubling over laughing.

"You wouldn't happen to be looking for someone?"

Feeling like the dumbest man alive and trying very hard not to let it show, James mentally prepared for being sent away with a "Ew, no, get away, creep" or something along those lines.

Arland felt surprised, relieved and slightly taken aback all at the same time - he'd actually spotted the right person. Perhaps he could salvage this entire thing after all!

He smiled laughed lightly to try and dispel the awkwardness of the situation, and extended.

"Yeah, I'm James. Nice to meet you."

He extended a hand in greeting.

"No need for my full title, I'm reminded of my position often enough at work as it is. Nebraska, right?"

Arland, despite the somewhat contrasting clothing, (had he misjudged? He had thought a casual suit wouldn't be overdressing for the occasion. It wasn't like it was a full pressed business suit complete with tie, after all.) was beginning to regain some of his confidence. It allowed him to noticeably lose some of the awkward tenseness that seemed to surround him at the moment, but he couldn't quite shake the thought that he might feel more at home in a firefight - those he knew how to handle, if nothing else. This dating business was so nebulous and that much easier to screw up.

At least you'd just get shot or blown up or something if you made a misstep in a gun battle or a fighter duel.

James took note of Nebraska's handshake - firm, rather than frail. This met with his approval. He was of the distinct opinion that one could learn quite a bit about someone by their handshake, and Nebraska's left him with a positive impression.

He made a gesture towards their surroundings.

"Well, we'll be staying here at Freeport One, if that's what you mean. As nice a docking bay as this is though, I hardly think we should be spending the entire evening standing right here. I was thinking we could go for dinner at a place a little further inside - my treat, I get hazard pay after all - and the bar's just next door from there, if that's your kind of place. Shall we?"

Taking the initiative, James led the way out of the hangar area and away from the crowds, saving conversation for when they'd gotten somewhere more quiet.

Upon reaching the intended establishment - a restaurant with a reputation for good food at affordable prices, as well as great service, even if it wasn't the fanciest place in the universe - they were given a table a little in the back, quiet and out of the way of most people coming and going.

A waiter was with them pretty much instantly once they were seated, ready to take their drink order.

"Beer, please. Preferably something brewed on Cambridge if you have it in stock."

He turned his attention to Nebraska.

"I like your ship by the way, but it sounded like the engine could use some tuning. Made an unhealthy sound when you came in for landing. What'll you have to drink?"

James wasn't worried about having a drink for this occasion. He'd intended to stay the night on the station anyway, regardless of how the date went. And if he, for whatever reason, had to fly home drunk, so be it. He'd try to avoid crashing into the sun. Once his beer was on the table, he raised the glass and looked across to Nebraska.

"Cheers."

Then he took a long sip and glanced down at the menu, trying to figure out what to order. While mulling it over, he figured it was time to try and get a conversation going.

"So what do you do for a living, Nebraska? I mean, you're flying a freighter, so I'm going to assume shipping of some variety?"