[centre] [h3][color=c4df9b]Ramses Q. Reinholdt[/color][/h3] It was quiet. Disturbingly so. The air was cold, absolutely frigid, actually. And here was Ramses, dressed head to toe in a rather ill-fitting and worn, not to mention stinking, Galbadian uniform. He was leaning against a tall, metal crate across from the warehouse base, watching for any Galbadian patrols or any OTHER “undesirables” that might enter the area. Smoke hung in the space before his eyes, travelling up from the cigarette hanging lazily out his mouth. His helmet was placed on the ground by his feet. He’d wear the reeking uniform. He’d stand outside in the icy hell. But being stuck in that ungodly thing? That’s where he drew the line. Not that it was unusual for Galbadian soldiers to go without helmets anyway. They had a reputation for being microwaves for the head. So why was the hulking SeeD from the tiny island of Balamb, tasked with removing the Galbadian head of state, masquerading as one of the enemy? Yoko. Ono. She REALLY didn’t take kindly to his objection back in the barracks. Not that he could blame her. He had pulled her leadership into question in front of the other troops. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he had also called her on her weakness. Not directly, but she picked up the subtext of his sudden volunteering. So she had ordered him to stand guard. To watch for the “big, bad, Galbadians.” Ramses took a deep drag, letting the warm nicotine infected smoke tumble down his throat into his lungs. It burned a bit. Damn thing was almost spent. Slowly exhaling, savoring the taste it left on his deadened taste buds, he flicked the butt to the ground and snuffed it out with his boot. He couldn’t blame her for the “punishment”. She had to save face, otherwise the others might see weakness and try to take advantage of it. He had really put his foot in his mouth there. Should have just kept his damn mouth shut and went along with it. He could have kept an eye on the others, could have made sure they got there safe. And he might have been able to help up the main team. Now...well… Despite having just finished one, Ramses pulled out a small blue box, flipped open the top and plucked out another long white stick. He plopped it into his mouth and slid the box back into his pocket, exchanging it for a green lighter. He flicked it once. Nothing. He flicked it again. Nothing. Damn. He tried it once more, really putting effort into it. Voila. Third time’s the charm. A flame rose to life from a spark. He pulled it up to his cigarette, cupping the flame and cig with his free hand, shielding it from harsh, heat destroying wind. He took another drag. They were probably dead. Dead or taken prisoner. Ramses wasn’t sure which one would be preferable. He had heard...things about the fates of Galbadian POWs. He sincerely hoped he was wrong. If he wasn’t, then not only would their numbers be considerably reduced, including the majority of their combat specialists, the Galbadians would be on insanely high alert. After all, a butchered attempt on a high ranking Galbadian officer? By SeeD, nonetheless. Maybe they wouldn’t spill their mission or even their occupation. Say they’re Timber rebels and maybe the mission could be salvaged. Ramses rolled the helmet with his foot. stompstomp What was that? stompstompstomp Ramses bent down and quickly grabbed the helmet, sliding it onto his head. He then grabbed the Galbadian assault rifle that laid nearby. He ejected the mag and verified that it was full. He had done so before leaving the base, but better safe than sorry. He readied his weapon, shooting daggers down the sights. Something or someone was nearby. stompstoMPSTOMP And getting closer. STOMPSTOMPSTOMP A younger blonde man in a green zip-up hoodie had come around the corner. He had originally had his hands dug deep into the pockets of his black, studded jeans. Originally. It didn’t take him long to notice the barrel of an assault rifle practically shoved into his face. By a giant Galbadian, nonetheless. [color=c4df9b]“GET DOWN!”[/color] Ramses threw all of his frustration at the man who dropped like a ton of bricks. He was...Oh no, was he crying? And that smell. No...he didn’t… “I-I-PLEASE, DON’T S-SHOOT, MAN!” He actually blubbered. Ramses had never heard a man, or anyone actually, do that. It was almost enough to make him burst into laughter. But he didn’t. He kept his cool. [color=c4df9b] “State your business, asshat.”[/color] “I was jus-just taking a w-walk, man! PLEASE, LEMME GO.” Ramses’ face hardened. [color=c4df9b] “This area is restricted until the Galbadian Military finishes its investigation. Consider this your only warning. I see you again, I shoot. Now go.”[/color] He delivered each word increasingly more harshly. The weeping man froze for a moment, then scrambled to his feet. He hesitated for the briefest of moments. [color=c4df9b] “MOVE IT.”[/color] He took a step forward and tightened the grip with which he held the rifle. It was enough. The man practically evaporated. And Ramses grew a scowl. He screwed up. That guy shouldn’t have been here. He should have put two in the chest and dumped him. He could have been anyone. [color=c4df9b]”Dammit…”[/color] And he took another drag. [/centre]