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Author Topic: Identity. [Simon]  (Read 45 times)

Identity. [Simon]
« on: June 09, 2018, 09:30:38 PM »
[ 846 ]

Roses patterned his jacket, the symbol of the Garrison Regiment. The weak man's military, in Quirin's delightful opinion. They were an assortment of drunks, of orphans, of desperate little people who thought they were brave enough to fight but were quite the opposite. The majority of them weren't good enough for the Military Police, and the others had sticks up their asses hoping to be some sort of military hero despite doing next to nothing to deserve it.

Wall Rose was the perfect place for such filth, to wallow in the mud with the swine. Separating drunken brawls was to the best of their ability, and little else.

A dark wig concealed his pale hair, for it was perhaps the most striking part of his appearance and would surely give him away to anybody paying the slightest bit of attention. Facial blindness was something he must take advantage of, and to ensure he was left alone it was best to blend in as much as possible. Anything that might make him stick out like a sore thumb must be concealed. The Garriosn uniform was tidy, though loose enough that he could blend in with any of the other lazing soldiers.

His sharp blue eyes travelled over the edge of the Wall, where he stood above Trost District. It was a reconnaisance mission of sorts; truthfully he had been sent to Trost to survey some sort of meeting, though that was done with, and no longer his concern. To slip into the garb of the Garrison allowed him a greater advantage in seeing what interest lie in the District, without arousing suspicion. An odd Military Police officer visiting the outer rim of Wall Rose would surely ahve been queried; his name asked for, his purpose needing statement, and confirmation. He had none of that, though he was certain he could find a way if he truly needed.

A shoulder bumped his as a two-man patrol walked past him, briefly jolting his stroll.

"Pests," he sneered, eyes focused on a patrol ahead of him. The two who had passed him appeared far too content in talking of conquests and alcohol than paying him mind - as it seemed by the way they had so rudely dared touch him - but others were more alert. Particularly those who had nowhere to go until their shift ended. Turning would have appeared odd. He would have to play it by ear if they stopped him, he decided.

Quirin's boots continued on, touching the odd surface of the Wall with as normal a gait as would be expected of a simple patrolling soldier. « Last Edit: June 09, 2018, 09:31:43 PM by Quirin Drexler »
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