Bretonian Armed Forces Recruitment Centre (iRP)

[bluntpencil2001]

Admiral Andrews stifled a yawn at Farwell's story. He'd heard this story a thousand times. Still, nought to be done about it.

"Aight, Farwell, bugger off and get suited up. You were once very wealthy, but unfortunately lost everything you had, hmm...

It's either those whatsit, Good Old Boys in the Queen's Own... or the hard bastards in the Regulars..."

He grinned evilly at the fact that the poor sap didn't take a drink,

"You'll be assigned to Leeds' Regulars. Don't mind their language or drinking, I'm sure you'll fit right in, Ensign Farwell."

Andrews liked to screw things around a bit by having the two old divisions' usual recruits sometimes placed in the wrong unit. He honestly had a good reason for it, aside from the hilarity in the mess hall.

He then pushed the intercom, requesting the next gentleman be sent in, scanning a viewscreen for his name.

"Robert Smith, eh? What's your story?"

Before Mister Smith could begin, the unkempt Admiral, with what looked like a false beard, added,

"The abridged version, son, I'm a busy man."

---