Somewhere toward the center of the room stood a small, red, head-shaped mecha, generally comparable in size to an ATV. Simon lounged inside it, arms resting on the rim of the machine's cockpit while he watched the others mill about. Probably not the most dignified way for a councilor to be out and about, but he never did care to appear all fancy and stuff if he could get out of it. So the order of the day is bad posture, his ridiculous coat, and a pigmole dozin' on his head.
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