[Center] [color=limegreen] Tyroch Trank / MV-1247 [/color] [/center]

[I]Clean. [/i] 

A long time ago, Tyroch had been a filthy person, always unclean, always on spice or drunk or something bad. He'd had no concept of organization or structure in his life, just of when the next dose of Indigo would come. 

Tyroch sniffed as he stared at the nearest wall. Those had been bad times, but they were so distant now. He felt comfortable on this giant slab of carefully designed machinery. That was another thing he liked about the Empire; their sense of... style, almost. Clean cut, uniform, not a hair out of place. Just the way Tyroch tried to keep himself. He had always flourished in urban environments, not that he didn't know how to handle a less uniform landscape. He felt similarly about ships, carefully maintained and graceful, at least in his eyes. Lotho Minor, on the other hand... 

Tyroch stood up and started fixing his bunk. Earlier he had cleaned his weapon and shaved, so that was taken care of. His armor was still shining clean - though he himself was no shiny, no sir - and he wasn't hungry (or maybe he was, sometimes he didn't really notice). And as far as Tyroch knew, he had no orders at the moment. Maybe he could go... throw darts, or... something. Tyroch sighed. What he wanted was to serve the Empire, not to sit on one of its ships and stare at the stars. That's why he joined the stormtrooper corps. 

Maybe he would just walk around a bit. Patrol. Make sure the armory had no rebels in it, or something like that. Tyroch stood, placing his helmet on his head just as a communique came through. "Alright troopers, I need you each ready and willing, then assembled in the hangar, we have a mission.” Tyroch sighed - but a happy sort of sigh - and began his walk to the hangar. 

By the time he got there, making a stop to pick up his blaster, it turned out that practically everyone had turned up. Tyroch silently cursed - how did someone like himself end up late? - but took his place in formation. He stood silent. Most of these people he knew, except for one. He resisted the urge to question the new guy and talk to the rest of the crew (usually he addressed them by number, at least until they made a point to call them by something else). There wasn't a need for chatter at this moment. There was a mission coming up, and Tyroch was ready.