Xicer
Sannin of the Scrolls 📜
- Joined
- Jul 17, 2012
- Messages
- 8,757
- Reaction score
- 164
Returning from vacation amongst the inner side of Trost, Trunks looks around the barren office to much surprise. An intern passing through catches his eye as he analyzes the cubical
Hey! Trunks yells to get the boys attention. Where is everyone? He asks firmly.
.. I, uh, think I seen a few guys out front smoking. Who are you, though? I dont think you're suppose to be in here.. he replied.
Nearly chuckling out loud, Trunks catches himself. Had he truely been away for that long, or was this one that dense? These were two year interns and it was nearly time to select new ones. Turning at once, Trunks heads to where he would find his men, amongst other Survey Corps soldiers. As he walks he hears a voice from behind him, Hey! You cant be here!, chuckling further, Trunks continues his stroll down the dimly lit corridor, toward the bright exit.
Upon reaching the outside, Trunks goes to take a deep breath of fresh air, but is instead met with a cloud of cigarette smoke, which nearly makes him cough. Spinning to meet the culprit, Trunks finds a low level private Medical soldier judging by the insignia on his jacket, he didnt recognize him by looks alone, carelessly blowing smoke directly into the line of the entrance of the building.
Excuse me, might I have a wor- Trunks begins, but is abruptly cut off by the boy.
Piss off you frilly haired bimbo, us medics have no responsibility to you. He interjected. Without hesitation, Trunks quickly snatches the boy up by his collar with his left hand alone, smashing his back into the side of the building. His right hand would find the boys smoking hand and crush the cigarette while gripping his hand tightly enough to make a normal man's bones crack.
Do you see this insignia and medal, Private? Trunks screams, releasing the boys fist and using his now free arm to smash his nose into the decorated side of Trunks jacket. That means I own your ass! So let's get down to business, shall we? We'll start with the pecking order: first there is you at the bottom level. Then there is the dirt, then the worms inside the dirt, then is my stool, then is he average Survey Corps soldiers, then there is me. Got that?! Trunks screams throwing the disrespectful kid to the ground. I'm the captain of this good for nothing outfit. Refer to me as Trunks. He says finishing his statement before returning inside, this time to his office.
Sitting behind his personal desk, Trunks goes through the reports of the unsuccessful missions since he's been away. There weren't many to the contrary. Sighing harshly, Trunks begins writing up preliminary reports for a new mission, one he hopes will hold more answers than questions. Eventually he would run this by the higher ups, but for now, he sits quietly writing, door open awaiting a familiar face to pass.
Hey! Trunks yells to get the boys attention. Where is everyone? He asks firmly.
.. I, uh, think I seen a few guys out front smoking. Who are you, though? I dont think you're suppose to be in here.. he replied.
Nearly chuckling out loud, Trunks catches himself. Had he truely been away for that long, or was this one that dense? These were two year interns and it was nearly time to select new ones. Turning at once, Trunks heads to where he would find his men, amongst other Survey Corps soldiers. As he walks he hears a voice from behind him, Hey! You cant be here!, chuckling further, Trunks continues his stroll down the dimly lit corridor, toward the bright exit.
Upon reaching the outside, Trunks goes to take a deep breath of fresh air, but is instead met with a cloud of cigarette smoke, which nearly makes him cough. Spinning to meet the culprit, Trunks finds a low level private Medical soldier judging by the insignia on his jacket, he didnt recognize him by looks alone, carelessly blowing smoke directly into the line of the entrance of the building.
Excuse me, might I have a wor- Trunks begins, but is abruptly cut off by the boy.
Piss off you frilly haired bimbo, us medics have no responsibility to you. He interjected. Without hesitation, Trunks quickly snatches the boy up by his collar with his left hand alone, smashing his back into the side of the building. His right hand would find the boys smoking hand and crush the cigarette while gripping his hand tightly enough to make a normal man's bones crack.
Do you see this insignia and medal, Private? Trunks screams, releasing the boys fist and using his now free arm to smash his nose into the decorated side of Trunks jacket. That means I own your ass! So let's get down to business, shall we? We'll start with the pecking order: first there is you at the bottom level. Then there is the dirt, then the worms inside the dirt, then is my stool, then is he average Survey Corps soldiers, then there is me. Got that?! Trunks screams throwing the disrespectful kid to the ground. I'm the captain of this good for nothing outfit. Refer to me as Trunks. He says finishing his statement before returning inside, this time to his office.
Sitting behind his personal desk, Trunks goes through the reports of the unsuccessful missions since he's been away. There weren't many to the contrary. Sighing harshly, Trunks begins writing up preliminary reports for a new mission, one he hopes will hold more answers than questions. Eventually he would run this by the higher ups, but for now, he sits quietly writing, door open awaiting a familiar face to pass.
