A young man, standing roughly at 5'9 , walks into the recruitment centre; his arms hanging limply by his side, his head arched down towards the ground. He approaches the desk and pauses for a brief moment while both him and the officer behind the desk exchange glances. The officer behind the desk looks him over; slowly moving down the officer judges his meak smile, his choice of clothing: a smart polyester shirt covers his chest, while a pair of thin cotten trousers shadow it, and his general stance; leaning on his left leg the man appears ill-at ease however does his best to hide it. After this brief pause of silence the officer clicks his pen and draws a piece of paper infront of him, before looking up at the man - who he guesses to be in his late teens - with a strong smile in an attempt to calm the man. With a sharp intake of breathe he starts to question the young man.
"Name?"
"Em... *startled cough* Derek.. Derek Kerr sir!"
With each answer he notes down somthing on the piece of paper infront of him.
"Age?"
"Ni-Nineteen sir"
"Where were you born lad?"
"Planet Cambridge sir!"
"Mhm.. and have you had any past flying experiences?"
"Ye-Yes, once or twice before"
He looks the youth, once, over before asking the next question: his answers, clearly, getting more and more confident.
"And do you currently own a ship?"
"No I-"
With a dismissive gesture the officer continues with the question.
"And finally why do 'you' want to join the Bretonian Armed Forces?"
"B-Because my fathers side has always been military men... well mostly and I.. I.. I don't want to just sit around and let the fight come to me! I want to serve my country and fight for what I believe in!"
The officer behind the desk nods slowly his eyes bearing down over the paper reading it once over before handing it to the young man. He beckons for him to sign on a dotted line and the directs him to the door leading out. His face gleaming, the young man makes a quick salute and makes off towards the door indicated.