A young man, no older than twenty-five had walked into the lobby silently. He wore an old Bretonian bomber-jacket, under it a rather casual black shirt and a pair of brown cargo pants that sat well around his ankles. A pair of flight boots protected his feet from the drab, cold steel below him as they clinked with each step. His face showed the typical bumps of a man who didn't have the best time with blackheads, though he was in no way a craterface or anything of the sort. His frame was slender, though he did look fit - just not unnaturally strong. His hair was short and brown, clean and cut. After all, he had to look presentable now didn't he? Of course, he was a little unsure of the old BAF jacket - but he had his reasons for wearing it even though he himself was never a part of the Bretonian armed forces.
Placing his hands on the desk in a casual manner, he smiled at the secretary, seeming to ignore the fact that his right arm only just appeared to be supporting that half of his body as the thumb twitched a little. "I'm here for uh, recruitment," he said softly, his accent sounding oddly Libertonian. She only pointed to the chair at the far end of the room with her pen, not even raising her head to look at him. With a shrug, he quickly made his way over, pivoting on his right foot and plonking back into the seat, opening a half-finished bottle of what appeared to be lemonade and taking a sip as he waited, trying to hide his nerves.
