Resident President Meme
Freedom had prices to pay. Some, immediate. Quick to be paid, and slow to recover. Some debts, though, were slow to be paid off, so slow the cost was left to be told after the incursion of debt. Such a price would, quite amusingly, be paid soon enough, by the man currently seated once again in the office of Minister of Justice. Chasin City wasn't, per say, ruined, but the reconstruction efforts would be well under way. Darlyn, while considerably important in maintaining a sense of stability whilst the nation itself struggled to come to grips with all to have passed, was coming to treasure the small time he had to himself. Between this, his beloved daughter, and sleep... there was little time to the finer quiet moments.
Such as buffing out scuffs on armor, with a nice bottle of whiskey to pass the time.
He didn't wear Mandalorian armor often, in fact he found it incredibly unnecessary. Truth be told, he didn't truly know it was a poor life decision, if one wished to continue having a mouth full of teeth and a life left to live. The suit he had in his office, which was having its last bits cleaned and cared for now by him, had only been worn of necessity, as he had nothing else more capable and suitable to march to war. Though that was of little consequence to him, once more it was to be stated he had little knowledge and care to learn at the present. Unnecessary. What he had to focus on was the slow, repetitive actions.
When at last the suit was fully cleaned and cared for, and set up at its place behind him, he happily took a great drink of his bottle. The alcohol dulled everything, concern for the situation, the sense of pain still ringing in his head, the soreness of his ribs and flesh. It had been some time, perhaps, since his fight to free his home. Long enough that the bruises on his face had settled, and he'd been able to acclimate to the pain the Force kept from his consciousness. Perhaps it was actually the Force that was keeping him mobile, considering how aching his body was. A lack of safety concerns was finally beginning to wear the man's luck concerning his antics, at least it felt as such.
Eventually he received a call, and he could only groan as he answered it. More people, more work. Well, he'd promised a weekend camping with Shoden, to celebrate the return home. If he wanted to keep that promise, he had best get to work. Now then, something about meeting someone important at the palace landing zone, which he grumpily made his way towards. Black robes, with the wonderfully hastily sewn commenori flag sewn over obvious sith insignia, if they expected a standard welcome they were in for quite the shocker. Darlyn rarely if ever appeared, normal, for lack of a better term, for his position.
Something [member="Yasha Cadera"] would learn quite soon, if the many rumours of the man didn't reach her ear first. Though considering his pace she might die of boredom before he would arrive, bottle in hand.
Such as buffing out scuffs on armor, with a nice bottle of whiskey to pass the time.
He didn't wear Mandalorian armor often, in fact he found it incredibly unnecessary. Truth be told, he didn't truly know it was a poor life decision, if one wished to continue having a mouth full of teeth and a life left to live. The suit he had in his office, which was having its last bits cleaned and cared for now by him, had only been worn of necessity, as he had nothing else more capable and suitable to march to war. Though that was of little consequence to him, once more it was to be stated he had little knowledge and care to learn at the present. Unnecessary. What he had to focus on was the slow, repetitive actions.
When at last the suit was fully cleaned and cared for, and set up at its place behind him, he happily took a great drink of his bottle. The alcohol dulled everything, concern for the situation, the sense of pain still ringing in his head, the soreness of his ribs and flesh. It had been some time, perhaps, since his fight to free his home. Long enough that the bruises on his face had settled, and he'd been able to acclimate to the pain the Force kept from his consciousness. Perhaps it was actually the Force that was keeping him mobile, considering how aching his body was. A lack of safety concerns was finally beginning to wear the man's luck concerning his antics, at least it felt as such.
Eventually he received a call, and he could only groan as he answered it. More people, more work. Well, he'd promised a weekend camping with Shoden, to celebrate the return home. If he wanted to keep that promise, he had best get to work. Now then, something about meeting someone important at the palace landing zone, which he grumpily made his way towards. Black robes, with the wonderfully hastily sewn commenori flag sewn over obvious sith insignia, if they expected a standard welcome they were in for quite the shocker. Darlyn rarely if ever appeared, normal, for lack of a better term, for his position.
Something [member="Yasha Cadera"] would learn quite soon, if the many rumours of the man didn't reach her ear first. Though considering his pace she might die of boredom before he would arrive, bottle in hand.