Delia's announcement of her arrival was simple, sure, she'd volunteered earlier after she'd caught her breath--but it might not have been initially obvious until now, "A raid, huh? Well. From the sounds of things, you could definitely use a Pirate." Former Pirate. Privateer. It's complicated. But it's also what Delia says, rifle in hand and stock against her hip so it's held up at an angle, weapon ready.

The passion is infectious, as she's grinning from behind her scarf, and it's obvious she is, given her good eye is alight with her good mood. It's about damn time they do something, and do something big, because by the gods, this was it.

She was, as they say, ready to fucking shoot something. Which was why she was heading for one of the assembled bikes, slinging the rifle over her shoulder with the strap.