[u][b][h3]Oliver Braunschweig[/h3][/b][/u]

Oliver, ever stone faced, watched as some poor bastard emptied his stomach into a nearby trashcan. His face didn't give it away, but it did make him a little queasy himself. But it would take more than that to make a Braunschweig puke his guts up. Not that Oliver was much of a Braunschweig these days. A few of his extended relatives had written to him in the days leading up to his departure for Vacuo to inform him that he was betraying hundreds of years of tradition by turning his back on his homeland and giving up the soldier's life for that of nothing more than a hired gun. Oliver was well aware. Oliver did not care. While he could stomach watching someone empty their stomach, he couldn't stomach the idea of having to lick the brass ring of leadership back in the glorified boot camps Atlas called "combat schools". He had come here precisely because he hoped this was the last place that was going to invoke hundreds of years of tradition on him.

Stepping off the ship when it arrived, Oliver was greeted by the arid heat. It was grating on him, being used to the cold of Atlas, but he was made of pretty stern stuff. He stoically stepped out onto the landing area and just took a deep breath in. This was the start of a new life. Hopefully the start of a free life. A life where people weren't looking over his shoulder and barking orders about how to "do it properly". A life where he could take his time and learn his own way to do it.

Oliver decided to take the opportunity to simply chill out and relax in the landing area. He was sure that in due time the academy would call on them to form up and assemble, but maybe that would take a while. Even if it was just for a brief second, Oliver just wanted to take it all in and find his zen.