I think that Crossroads raid gon' be your last stop, Matsu"
Ochiba hums along to the lyrics contentedly, music faintly audible from her headphones as she shoulders a heavy duffel bag through the terminal. Clearly accustomed to space travel she works her way through the terminal with a practiced mix of barging through heimin and grudgingly giving way to any higher ranked samurai.
It's certainly more pleasant when she hits the down-planet departure terminals and the crowds thin. A couple seats outside the gate are secured, a kinseka beer is purchased (it's not bad, you can say that about the Crab) and she leans back in her chair with a satisfied look, jacket falling open slightly to reveal her travel shirt.

"They not samurai like us, they not samurai like us"