Wrynn was not a man who tended to have fun.
He stood outside the establishment with his weapons in place and his helmet fastened over his head and listened to the dull reports from security lines across the vicinity. Money was good when you got involved with the Alliance. They lined the pockets of security detail for big events like this with the overhead costs, so the merc was not about to miss out on the opportunity. After three hours of nonchalance, one of the other guards mentioned taking the rest of the evening off to go inside for drinks. There was a murmur of assent, but most of the men opted to stay on duty. He counted about four who made for the time clock.
Wrynn never took to drinking- his father had been the kind of man who dove into bottles at night, and his mother paid the price for it. Sometimes Tobias got the same treatment. By the time his father died when he was thirteen, he already resolved to never be the kind of man who treats women like dirt, or to indulge in a liquid that would make him want to. He trained from that point toward becoming the best soldier he could be.
So many children played Jedi, waved sticks about like lightsabers, and yearned to even glimpse what the Force was. Wrynn grew up with the knowledge he would probably never know, and that suited him just fine. The accident that took his sight was a blessing in disguise, because he gained vision that not even magical powers could replicate. The cybernetics that lined his retinas made him the sort of marksman that could have rivaled Boba Fett.
Maybe.
Wrynn liked to think so, at least.
Sullust may well have been hell. Sweat beaded on his brow as he sighed and leaned back against the outer wall of the estate. While it was unlikely anyone would try to infiltrate the party and make a scene, he was being paid for vigilance. There were Jedi inside, diplomats, officers, allies of the Alliance- all the sort of people well above his pay grade. Who in their right mind would try to break into something like that?
Someone who doesn't care about dying, Wrynn observed silently.
"There are some knockout ladies in there, Wrynn," one of the now-inebriated guards slurred as he clapped a hand on the man's shoulder. "You should go have a peek, at least. You're not saving it for marriage, are you?"
"Feth off, Lukas," Wrynn replied curtly.
"What, can't get it up?" Lukas jeered, "it's fine, man, no one's judging you. All I'm saying is that you could use some down time. You're always so damn serious."
"Someone has to be," he answered. "You two, make sure the ensign gets to his bunk safely. No detours."
"Hey, wait, you're not-"
"Article 8 subsection 3-6 of the Military Charter explicitly states that an impaired mind at one's post is a class three crime punishable at Tribunal by imprisonment in the brig and docking of a month's pay," Wrynn recited, "I'm making sure that you don't get the book thrown at you, Lukas. Go quietly."
The man shut his mouth and lowered his head as the other two lead him away from the scene. "You didn't have to do him any favors," one of the other guards called to Tobias. "He was being a little-"
"We're all soldiers, Reg," Wrynn glanced toward the man who wore a perpetual frown. It's our job to look out for one another. No one else will."
Reg grunted.
"Still, I wonder if the girls are all that pretty," Wrynn joked.
"Too pretty for our ugly mugs," Reg snorted. "They don't pay us for our good looks, Wrynn."
"Damn right," the Sniper laughed.
And so, the night dragged on...
