Your First Order [Razelle]

[Disciple]

First Order Barracks

There weren't too many eighteen year old Sergeants laying around the First Order. Most were experienced soldiers, the sort you recruited from whatever planetary defense force a planet so happened to own out here. Pirates were so common most worlds maintained fleets and small armies. It was easy to entice them away. But BG was the first of his kind - well, not truly, but he was the first to be shipped to a unit.

So the new Sergeant had made himself at home in a unit of none Order-raised troopers who regarded him as something of an anomaly. Young pretty boy, credentials straight from the pointed hats in charge. He walked with the straight back of the secret police, a gunslingers arm movements and all the personality of a rusty E-11. Such was their Sergeant, he of the heavy weapons and 'med-kit.'

Sniffing, he sat down on the edge of his bunk inside the gunmetal grey and sharply militaristic 'home' that was their barracks. His hands came up, removing his helmet with a twist to set it aside. Here was the only place they were allowed to do so without express orders. Otherwise, the helmet stayed on.

His blonde hair was shaved down to almost the scalp, his vibrant blue eyes regarding the others with cool calculation. They weren't the only squad in the bay, there was another, waiting on a replacement. Or perhaps the replacement would come to him. It seemed the superiors were still puzzling out the precise personnel placement they wanted.

[member="Razelle Breuner"]

 

[Razelle Breuner]

Even though her safehouse had been paid up for the next several months, Raz derived a quiet joy from being back in a genuine barracks again. The fixtures of her childhood were everywhere: crappy bunks that didn't fit the average soldier, footlockers full of non-military-issued gear that varied from contraband to illicit contraband, and testosterone so thick that you grew chest hair with every breath. Chances were there was a billiards table somewhere within five minutes of every single one of these rooms. The place smelled like beer, sweat, polish, and oppressive amounts of cleaner.

Raz felt more homesick than the first time she'd left basic.

According to the papers she didn't have on her and the hastily-issued unit number she'd been tossed in order to get her out of some functionary's hair, she'd been assigned to what had to have been the fifth or sixth "Five-Oh-First" to crop up in the last year. Riding on the coattails of a past so ancient that not even Raz had been alive for it. Maybe they thought that associating themselves with the glory of the past would somehow bless their unit with victory, or something. Raz didn't care.

Sack of "personal effects" over one shoulder, she rounded a corner into the bay she'd been directed to, and immediately came face-to-plastic with two full squads of white hats. And for the first time in six years, she could look at them without having to devise a way to kill each one in less than six seconds without lowering her guard to the other eighteen. She walked up without anything remotely resembling hesitation and scanned for the rank bars.

Orange pauldron. Sergeant. She walked up and struck a salute that might or might not have been five hundred years out of date. "Private Razelle Breuner, CG-2118. I've been assigned to your unit, sir." Nothing fancy. Nothing too casual. It'd take some getting used to, being formal again, but she could manage it. She was home.
[member="BG-4463"]

 

[Disciple]

Pretty Boy stood as she came in, reaching for a weapon that wasn't there. Then he remembered that there were plenty of guards around, if she were here, she should be here. The transfer slip in her hand told him as much a moment later. Snapping off his own parade ground salute, BG gave a slow nod. "Sergeant BG-4463. Papers." The plasteel gauntlet shot out, waiting for her to hand it over.

He wanted to see what was going on.

His helmet was left on the nearly immaculately tucked sheets. 'Nearly' because he'd just been sitting on it. He also planned to be asleep at precisely 2200 sharp. But that would wait until he got her situated. If she was a Private, it was either him or Sergeant TF-3321.

The Sergeant's face didn't shift beyond 'stoic' through the entire thing.

[member="Razelle Breuner"]

 

[Razelle Breuner]

Raz handed her little slip of paper off without complaint, then went back to standing at a very practiced "attention." The kind you only figure out after years of hard work and occasional cramps. Straight enough to be perceived as readily attentive, but not so straight that it got uncomfortable to hold for hours at a time. As her NCO looked over her papers, her eyes zipped around the room to take stock of all of the other troops in both squads. Few had elected to keep their helmets on this deep inside the compound, and she got a good look at faces. Expressions, tattoos, haircut, facial markings...

Lotta non-military types in here. Chances were the First Order had had a recruitment drive right here, in the Outer Rim. Curiously, though, all of them were very human. Raz would have to make a note to find some way to explain her eyes. Bio implants, probably. She was listed as human on her official registration, so hopefully people wouldn't ask a lot of questions even if they saw that neat little trick she could do in the dark.

The old Empire, before she had signed up, had been extraordinarily speciesist. If this was how the First Order did things, it didn't make a lot of difference to Razelle. It'd just make diplomacy a little harder if she had to talk up the local population without involving her blaster in the negotiation process. She could handle that.
[member="BG-4463"]

 

[Disciple]

[member="Razelle Breuner"]

The baby blues scanned the document and then folded it neatly to hand back. He motioned to the bunk just behind his own, "GH-7849 is being sent to Squad 43." The trooper was quite literally dragging his things across the squad bay to the empty bunk directly across from him. "You're getting his rack." The Sergeant sat himself down again, apparently finished with her for the time being. She knew what she should be doing, so he wasn't going to hold her hand any.

 

[Razelle Breuner]

Raz gave a nod and set to the task of emptying her bag into her footlocker. It was mostly some gear she pretty much assumed that she wouldn't be issued, but probably wasn't overly in violation of protocol. Databracers and throat comms weren't standard issue in most planetary governments. Smokeless stim sticks, to keep her awake during long watches without clouding up her helmet or forcing her to remove it. Also because she sort of had a problem. There were far worse things to be addicted to than wake-up pills.

Finally, a picture of Fable. She was laying back on the couch at her moms' place, her hair splayed out behind her while Raz held her legs and walked her fingers up them towards her thighs. The household protocol droid had taken it at twin-mom's request, then offered Raz a copy to take with her. It was just a silly little holo plaque, but it was the only actual emotional memory she had for now. Pru was...gone. Or maybe Raz was gone and Pru was still there. It was hard to tell. Somewhere in her head, Razelle knew that Prulesa Natasi was the real Raz's friend, not hers. This Raz was just a replacment goldfish. A copy of a widow's lover who couldn't bare to see her die.

But her life was hers now, and by gods, she was going to make something of it.

Commlink beeped. Raz checked it, then stood back up. "Sir. Call from the armory. They're ready to process my armor request." She didn't make any assumptions. Like every officer ever, this man was as easy to read as a gargoyle. Too simple to trust her first instincts. She'd learn more about him when she was actually deployed somewhere. You never truly knew a man until you'd seen him run from an E-web volley.
[member="BG-4463"]

 

[Disciple]

[member="Razelle Breuner"] set about storing away what meager possessions she'd come with, and BG settled himself in with a datapad containing all the sorts of propaganda one would expect an individual like him to read. He imagined what she'd brought had already been inspected, so he wasn't overly concerned with anything she may have had. Hearing the commlink though, his head shot up so fast it should have snapped his neck.

Pushing himself up and turning the datapad off, setting it neatly atop his footlocker, he gave a slow nod and hefted his helmet back into position. She already had on her Greys, so she would need to change out of them once they got her armor. "Let's go then, CG-2118." With that, he motioned for her to fall into step alongside him - so he could keep an eye on her - and they departed the squad bay.

The walk to the armory was a short one, but the Sergeant didn't say a word as they walked. It was just the clatter of his armor and the pounding of his boots. They rounded the corner into a pair of TIE pilots on their way back, but they didn't much speak either. Not even a nod in greeting. Just keep your eyes ahead, your shoulders square, and get to where you're going. In this case, where they were going was where you expected.

A small waiting area, a counter and a gigantic glasteel window run through with thin rebar for extra support. Stopping behind her, BG spoke up. "Armor pickup - CG-2118." The armorer motioned her forward as he went to get whatever it was he was going to need.