“Hm? Ah, sure.” He nodded, giving a little wave after her. He had to admit, it had been a long time since he’d genuinely enjoyed a conversation with someone, let alone enjoyed it enough to keep it going beyond what was socially required of him. The IIIs weren’t bad though, hell if anything they were damn respectable soldiers. He’d definitely learned that on Onyx. He stepped into his quarters, casting an eye at the handful of bags and a trunk that had been shipped over for him. He owned more nowadays than he had in the past, but it still wasn’t much.  “Bigger than I thought they’d be…” At least there were a couple of chairs and a small table in the room, aside from just a bed. He started setting the bags off to the side neatly to make things a little more organized and so that they’d have somewhere to sit while they talked.

Things were definitely looking up.  He and Ana-001 had reconnected after what felt like an eternity (and earned themselves a renewed ban on silly string after their antics on leave).  He'd found himself an ally in Christian-B122.  He was finally going to be moved from the standard enlisted's quarters where he'd been residing, moved down to the section of the living quarters where the IIs and IIIs were residing - that prospect alone was exciting, hearing the term IIs as a multiple.  And Adrian... his lover and his dearest friend, hadn't moved on after all.  John-117 smiled softly to himself as he took a seat at the piano he'd managed to locate in one of the Infinity's many rec rooms. It had taken him weeks, if not a month, of searching to finally find one more suitable to the musically inclined members of the crew, let alone one that had a piano.  It had been forever, since he'd had the chance to just sit and play. The one thing that had given him a sense of comfort and escape, a little reprieve from the world, and he felt like he hadn't played in a lifetime. He stretched his hands, wrists, shook out his fingers for a moment, before throwing caution to the wind. Who cared if it took a little to get back into it?  But it didn't. Like most people remembered how to ride a bicycle, John-117's hands remembered the layout of the keys and how to move in tandem. Two quick scales to warm up, before he nodded quietly to himself and set into the first few bars of Für Elise. 

A lot, honestly. Fred-104 isn't particularly fond of giving his first name to non-Spartan personnel, though he will if pressed or if there's no other real way around it. When he does give it to non-Spartan personnel, it's always given as Frederic-104, and they're told to call him either Frederic or 104, preferably 104. Non-Spartan personnel, with the exception of Doctor Halsey and Chief Mendez, are given a stern dressing down if they call him Fred. In terms of his rank, Fred doesn't get too upset if people call him Chief still, considering he was a Senior Chief Petty Officer for so long, especially if it happens in combat. Off the battlefield, he'll politely correct people if they're on-duty and it happens, but if it keeps happening it does start to grate a little bit. Not because he expects people to treat him special, but because it's military protocol and the idea of breaking it so casually gets under his skin. And God help you if you ever, ever mistake him for 117...

“Why did I wanna come here again…?”  Frederic-104 sighed as he walked along through the halls of the UNSC Infinity, hands slipped into the pockets of his BDU pants as he tried to stop thinking about the conversation he’d just finished having with the dubiously qualified Commander Sarah Palmer. He didn’t want to admit it, but he couldn’t really remember the last time he’d been this irritated with someone. “… Thought leave was supposed to relax people.”  Palmer had been primed and ready to verbally cut him down to her level, at least that’s how it felt. The phrases and words that had been thrown around still made him angry.  “You’re not better than anyone else here.” “Don’t expect any special treatment just because of what you were.” “I run a tight division and I expect you to fall in line.” “You’re not a commander here, I am.” “Threatened much?” He muttered under his breath, as he came to a junction in the hallway and stopped, looking ahead of him, then left, then right before his shoulders fell and he sighed.  “Seriously, this ship is too damn big…” He sighed, trying to remember which way he was supposed to go to head to the living quarters. “And I’m talking to myself again.” 

In the past few years, Frederic-104 has started to develop a habit of talking to himself when he's alone and frustrated with the situation he's in. It's because he's got no one really to talk to, since he doesn't exactly have a PhD in Making Friends And Influencing People.

"Why did I wanna come here again...?"  Frederic-104 sighed as he walked along through the halls of the UNSC Infinity, hands slipped into the pockets of his BDU pants as he tried to stop thinking about the conversation he'd just finished having with the dubiously qualified Commander Sarah Palmer. He didn't want to admit it, but he couldn't really remember the last time he'd been this irritated with someone. "... Thought leave was supposed to relax people."  Palmer had been primed and ready to verbally cut him down to her level, at least that's how it felt. The phrases and words that had been thrown around still made him angry.  "You're not better than anyone else here." "Don't expect any special treatment just because of what you were." "I run a tight division and I expect you to fall in line." "You're not a commander here, I am." "Threatened much?" He muttered under his breath, as he came to a junction in the hallway and stopped, looking ahead of him, then left, then right before his shoulders fell and he sighed.  "Seriously, this ship is too damn big..." He sighed, trying to remember which way he was supposed to go to head to the living quarters. "And I'm talking to myself again." 

6) Fred corrects people who call him a Spartan-IV, without a second thought. He's worked with the IVs enough over the past few years to have gotten a decent chip on his shoulder about them, and doesn't see them as Spartans, period.