Beowoof
Morality Policeman :)
Five so-called 'empires' later, Rasmus was out.
The One True Empire would never come. It did not exist. It was nothing to him but a pipe dream, unattainable in every way. The second had held the most promise, but everything after was a laugh; nothing but to be ridiculed for carrying their banners. He had given up his plastic days.
He had never been the same since Alderaan. It took him some time afterward--including a flop of an attempt at politics--but eventually he could no longer find any hope in a pure, undefiled, and orderly Empire. It was not to be. Could it even be?
The ex-Galactic Marine had packed up his imposing white armor a year ago and had not returned to wear it since, though he still kept it around because one never knew when it could come in handy. The armor did not make the man, anyway. He was his own man now. No slave to imperial orders of any sort. He was here to rip apart the abomination he had sadly supported for all of five minutes. There was no other choice for him. Even if still inclined towards the brutal, fascist composition of the empires, he simply needed to work with men of action. The Alliance were men of action.
Women, too. It all just felt a lot freer. He could get used to that.
Sadly, he could tell that freedom sometimes needed a little kick in the butt cheeks. The Rebel Marines could use a little more training. That was one thing the Imps got right. Military standards. It was no coincidence that he had beaten all but two of the current Marine boys at the obstacle run. Someone needed to kick these squads in motion, perhaps literally.
It had been too long. A raspy cough was incited from his throat after sitting down on a steaming bench and clamping a cigarette between his teeth, Praesitlyn sun beating down on his neck. He hated the taste and the stench of the smokes as much as anyone, but it had helped him get through things later on in life. Too much time behind that Stormtrooper mask will do things to you.
Like isolate you from the pretty girl walking by. He let loose a casual whistle with a decrescendo to capture that vixen's attention. It did not matter anymore. He was nearing thirty and it felt like time to stop caring about social graces. He had been a bit of a gentleman all his life. It would not hurt to slack off on that for a day or two.
[member="Fadeyka"]
The One True Empire would never come. It did not exist. It was nothing to him but a pipe dream, unattainable in every way. The second had held the most promise, but everything after was a laugh; nothing but to be ridiculed for carrying their banners. He had given up his plastic days.
He had never been the same since Alderaan. It took him some time afterward--including a flop of an attempt at politics--but eventually he could no longer find any hope in a pure, undefiled, and orderly Empire. It was not to be. Could it even be?
The ex-Galactic Marine had packed up his imposing white armor a year ago and had not returned to wear it since, though he still kept it around because one never knew when it could come in handy. The armor did not make the man, anyway. He was his own man now. No slave to imperial orders of any sort. He was here to rip apart the abomination he had sadly supported for all of five minutes. There was no other choice for him. Even if still inclined towards the brutal, fascist composition of the empires, he simply needed to work with men of action. The Alliance were men of action.
Women, too. It all just felt a lot freer. He could get used to that.
Sadly, he could tell that freedom sometimes needed a little kick in the butt cheeks. The Rebel Marines could use a little more training. That was one thing the Imps got right. Military standards. It was no coincidence that he had beaten all but two of the current Marine boys at the obstacle run. Someone needed to kick these squads in motion, perhaps literally.
It had been too long. A raspy cough was incited from his throat after sitting down on a steaming bench and clamping a cigarette between his teeth, Praesitlyn sun beating down on his neck. He hated the taste and the stench of the smokes as much as anyone, but it had helped him get through things later on in life. Too much time behind that Stormtrooper mask will do things to you.
Like isolate you from the pretty girl walking by. He let loose a casual whistle with a decrescendo to capture that vixen's attention. It did not matter anymore. He was nearing thirty and it felt like time to stop caring about social graces. He had been a bit of a gentleman all his life. It would not hurt to slack off on that for a day or two.
[member="Fadeyka"]
