Ivers had stuck mostly to himself since their mustering. If the early-20s comrades of his were 'boys', than he was a mere child, nineteen and with a doughy, rounded face and smooth features. He stood barely 5'10" and was gangly and scrawny, long arms hanging down at his sides and hands marred with calluses and marks from working the agri-farms. Ferocious tan lines gave a stark contrast between the skin of his arms and that of his torso, a stark contrast of color that didn't help his situation in the slightest.

During the training, he was a mostly aloof and reserved boy, the drill sergeants having laid into him for his exceptional youth and inherent childish idealism. The solution, he'd thought, was to keep to himself. Participate in team building where required, but don't give any comrades or superiors an inch, because he knew they'd take more than a mile. And now, sitting at the foot of his bunk, organizing his gear to near perfection in his footlocker, he wished he'd actually tried to make friends. He was surrounded by what could've been strangers, all with short, regulation haircuts which made them all look near identical to him.

A jeer and cacophony of laughs broke the sea of small chatter in the barracks bay. As he traced his eyes across the crowd which was congregated, he caught sight of the Lancers. Lancers, how he loathed them. He was no stranger to aristocracy. Barons, Earls, and Dukes all served the [i]Kaiser[/i] alike on Uzania, but they never pretended that they put themselves in any more danger than the occasional honor duel. Yet here were Baotovans, these blue-bloods who were more flashy than Scintillans and twice as arrogant. So much he wanted to say something. If the Uzanians were toy soldiers, than these Baotovans were toy dolls, mix-and-match parts of gold and feathers which just increased their pompous aura.

He looked down, a hand having unconsciously balled up into a fist. Exhaling sharply, he folded up the shelter half and thin bedroll kit in the bottom of the footlocker. As much restraint as he had, he had little faith in the restraint of his more outspoken comrades. A fight would come, all he could do is decide whether he was going to join in.