Blessed are the peacemakers
For once, Roland had returned to the barracks on Coruscant, near the Jedi temple. He looked weathered and beat, and obviously was in need of rest. He was just debriefed, and was now under heavy surveillance. It was standard procedure for an operative to be watched after a mission, due to the fact that you might go insane or you might just decide to turn coats after a certain botched mission.
Roland, instead, opted, for drinking and playing cards by himself. He was playing the lonely man's game, watching soldiers in the distance read, laugh, or talk amongst themselves. He didn't have a friend in the galaxy, but sometimes he preferred it. Made it easier to deal with some things, and harder. As the card hit the table and made an audible snap, he sighed and sipped at his Mandalorian beer. Say what you want about the bucketheads, they knew how to drink and fight. He was a fan of them, though not one to ever go and betray the Republic in such a quick manner to go join the Mandalorians due to a mancrush.
He'd stick with admiration and drinking their beer. He sipped at his beer again, letting it sit at the edge of his crate, which he was playing solitaire on. On the other side of the table, menacingly and in a distrusting manner, lay his slugthrower. He glanced around, wondering if anyone would try and talk to him again. He hated it when they did that. Special forces or not, they all gave him the heebie jeebies to be around.
People.
He hated people.
Roland, instead, opted, for drinking and playing cards by himself. He was playing the lonely man's game, watching soldiers in the distance read, laugh, or talk amongst themselves. He didn't have a friend in the galaxy, but sometimes he preferred it. Made it easier to deal with some things, and harder. As the card hit the table and made an audible snap, he sighed and sipped at his Mandalorian beer. Say what you want about the bucketheads, they knew how to drink and fight. He was a fan of them, though not one to ever go and betray the Republic in such a quick manner to go join the Mandalorians due to a mancrush.
He'd stick with admiration and drinking their beer. He sipped at his beer again, letting it sit at the edge of his crate, which he was playing solitaire on. On the other side of the table, menacingly and in a distrusting manner, lay his slugthrower. He glanced around, wondering if anyone would try and talk to him again. He hated it when they did that. Special forces or not, they all gave him the heebie jeebies to be around.
People.
He hated people.
