Cai Xian stands outside the cafeteria doors, waiting for the rest of Taipei to arrive. He's people-watching, keeping an eye on the freshmen as they go past, while he waits to see if all of his enclavemates made it in time.
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The legions gather
Taipei gathers for orientation.
Cai Xian
those-noble-scars
And Taipei slams through the (admittedly open) doors to the cafeteria in a V-formation, Xian at the head. All of them are wearing identical enchanted uniforms, a deep blue that looks like it will wear with the seven red suns of Taipei Enclave on the collars, knives at their belts and titanium-capped boots and a synchronized stride. Xian gives cordial nods to those he recognizes as he passes them, and if he's not showing off Taipei's quick wits or generous spirit or honest, reliable disposition, he sure is showing off their ability to teach fourteen-year-olds how to march in step, straight up to the freshman end of Taipei table, where they bow to Cai Baihan in unison.