Bretonian Armed Forces Recruitment Centre (iRP)

[Dieter Schprokets]

The recruitment officer sat back in his chair, furrowed his brow, and leaned forward and began to speak.

"You ALMOST joined the Mollies? But you got over it?"

He rubbed his eyes and continued.

"Interestingly enough, the fact that you admit that, indicates you really ain't a security risk. A real Molly spy would have come in here with the bloody Union Jack emblazoned on his jacket, going on about Queen and Country, and trying to hide his brogue."

"Furthermore, I will never understand why you new recruits feel you have to demonstrate to us that you are devoid of anger. God, if I hear that one more time... We ARE at war, you know. Friends and loved ones ARE dying. Every Bretonian SHOULD be living every hour of every day pissed off as all hell. Anyway, you say you are over your anger. Fine. Me, they blew my legs off, so I'm not. Whatever.."

The recruiter leaned back in his chair, produced a clipboard from a drawer, and handed it to the recruit.

"Once that is filled in and processed, you will officially be Ensign Fletcher Farthing. Welcome aboard!"

"Now get outta here. I was supposed to be on break 10 minutes ago."

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