Name: Vasili Rustam
Species: Human
Languages: Basic
Homeworld: Moorja
Age: 24
Height: 6'1"
Weight: 175 lbs.
Hair: Black, short, and scruffy
Body: Slim, muscular frame
Skin: White
Clothing of choice: Casual suite, shades, and a cigarette
Description:
Vasili Rustam is one jazzy, laid back, apathetic, crazy, smooth, lazy, smoking, alcoholic. In essence, he doesn't give a damn. He's lived his life not giving a damn. If he could go on not giving a damn for the rest of his life, he would. But he has better things to do.
He's a self-centered sweet-talker who loves to have fun and does nothing but. He's a rogue. He's never held a job in his life and looks towards the Empire (blowing things up) for his own slice of glory. Oh, there's girls in the Navy too, right?
An average sized man from a below average life, Vasili is hardly what anyone would consider heroic. He has his strong points - mostly when it comes to talking and drinking and looking good but very rarely do they serve anyone but himself. If anything, he's likeable.
A Short History:
All eyes were glued to the Holovid screen in the corner. A single person stood on screen holding a microphone, far behind him a luminescent city in the night. The music stopped, the crowd went silent, nobody ate or drank, even the smoke-filled air seemed to stand still; a night that was to contain such enormous celebration was to be decided in four words.
"The Empire has won."
The entire bar exploded into cheer all at once. The music resumed, louder than before, clinking glasses accented the victorious melodies, and strangers shared their cigarettes and pipes with the people next to them. The town of Moorjee was on fire tonight.
Any other place on the planet of Moorja would be fleeing at this point, but the small Imperial-loyal town of Moorjee was ready to accept their new leadership. Ever since the Vast Empire landed on their trade-run planet the Moorjee Militia had been skirmishing with nearby towns for whatever support they could lend to the Empire. The townsfolk sacrificed all they could to help with the change in leadership.
Vasili Rustam didn't care much for either group to win, the current Moorja government or the Empire, but stayed loyal to his town and joined his fellow Militia comrades at the local cantina to listen in on the news at the capitol. He sat at the back, his usual table, sipped at his usual cheap alcohol, chewed on his usual cigarette, stared at the usual people through his usual sunglasses. He was too laid back to jump up and cheer, however, his apathetic attitude getting the best of him in times of conflict.
No... that night Vasili went home early. He and his friends did, that is. The Three of them grew up together as the town troublemakers. The "troublemakers of the troublemakers" Moorjee authorities would call the Three kids. They did everything together, and now, as adults, they would leave together.
Moorjee was a town of freed prisoners who never were accepted back into society. Everyone had no families or homes to return to, so they all joined a larger family and made new homes. Vasili and his two friends weren't any acceptions, and the three looked after each other since they arrived in the town. They never liked being in Moorjee, and now, now that the planet was under new ownership, they found a chance to escape.
They had packed their bags earlier that day, right after getting back from their Militia duty. As the town gathered at the cantina to see the report, the Three ensured they had their transportation and their identification. Nobody knew they had left before they woke up.
"Hey Herm, turn that stuff up!" Cole yelled over the the wind flowing past the Three.
The man sitting shotgun reached over and turned a knob, looked back, and smirked at Cole as a jazzy sound filled the open-roofed speeder rushing through the plains.
"That's the stuff!" Cole yelled again, beginning to snap his fingers and nod his head. All Three were thinking the same exciting thoughts that were being amplified through their favorite music. Vasili casually piloted the speeder through the open fields, hardly thinking about what he was doing with nothing but air in either direction. They all exchanged glances through their sunglasses as Vasili cranked the speed up more. Three guys on cloud nine with their own set of... repulsorlift generators.
It was just before midday when the Three arrived at the nearest Imperial city. They hardly looked presentable with their scruffy hair and wrinkled suits, but continued to hop out of the speeder and walk on through. They waved to civilians on the streets as they passed, stopped to read Imperial Propaganda, admired marks of battle, did anything regular people would do. They were searching, however, for the Imperials.
"Excuse me, miss?" Vasili stopped to ask an aging woman sitting outside her doorway. "You know where the Imperials have parked themselves 'round here?"
The woman shook her head and waved her hands, obviously scared and worried at the word "Imperials". She quickly fled inside. Vasili shrugged his shoulders at Cole and Herm and the Three laughed. They turned to walk, and standing ten feet away were two Stormtroopers, guns raised.
"You boys want something?" a female voice called out from under a helmet.
"Woah, Stormie girl!" Herm blurted out. "I want a date, if you're available." The Three chuckled and lit cigarettes.
"What the hell are you doing here?" The other one questioned, another female, trying to move on from the joke.
"Us?" Herm spoke again.
"She must be talking to us," Cole reassured him.
"We're here to enlist, darlin'," Vasili mumbled through his smoke.
"Locals? Bullshit," the Stormie announced incredulously.
"Well, we're from Moorjee, if that does anythin' for ya," Vasili responded.
"I don't care where the hell you're from. If you're here to enlist, you're gonna have to talk with one of the higher ups over in City Hall. It's over the hill." She point behind her. "Get out of my face."
The Three had that affect on girls.
Inside City Hall, they mock-saluted all of the Officers they past and laughed at their own antics as they turned the corners. After they got through a couple receptionists, they took a seat in a waiting area filled with other wannabe Imperials and were called in one by one. Vasili was last.
He entered and was instructed to take a seat by an young man who was preoccupied pouring drinks at a liquor cabinet. "Do you like whiskey, Mr... Rustam, was it?"
"Yeah, to both."
The man came over and put two glasses on the desk in front of him. "My name is Sergeant Daquer. I'll be asking you some questions today. Think of this as your assessment." Daquer put extra emphasis on "assessment" through his already emphasized speech. "Your friends were quite rude to me, and I don't expect different from you. You best think about what you say before you say it." Vasili sat back, his limbs lazily falling out of the chair he was sitting in.
"I take your silence as an agreement." He looked down at some papers. "During the invasion of Moorja, what have you done personally for the Empire?"
"I was part of the Moorjee Militia. We were involved in many skirmishes with loyalists."
"Have you ever been actively disloyal to the Empire and its ideals?"
"I've never supported any ideals but my own, brother."
Daquer licked his lips and took a deep breath. "Why do you want to be a part of the Empire?"
"It's a matter of weighing options." Vasili lit a cigarette at this point. "I don't belong here. I figured hell, why n-"
"What exactly do you intend on doing for the Empire?" Daquer interrupted, annoyed at the blatant lack of respect.
"Me?" Vasili pretended like he was thinking for a moment. "Well... I wanna fly."
"Then why are you here?"
"Well, it's not exactly easy to walk to a command ship, now is it, Sergeant?" Vasili rested his feet on the desk and smiled. Daquer took a stamp and angrily slammed it several times on a paper, with several grunting sounds accompanying the fury of ink. He had to think hard.
"I wouldn't accept you as an Imperial, but I don't have any reason to reject you." Daquer handed Vasili a folded paper. Peering down at it, it had several yellow stamp marks that said "average" and one red mark labeled "below average" next to "Attitude and loyalty towards the Vast Empire".
"You'll report to extended assessment tomorrow," the sergeant continued, "On board one of our command ships, I cannot tell you which for security reasons. Your friends and you will get on board a shuttle tomorrow at 0500 hours and will be tested by the Navy for placement. A pilot position is not guaranteed, there are plenty of positions to be filled. If you fail as completely as people with ten times your intelligence, the highest rank you'll be achieving is Janitor." He extended a hand to be shaken. Vasili removed his glasses and took it.
"Perhaps there is hope for you after all."
"Yeah, I'm wishin'."
(Don't hold back, tell me if you don't like it, 'k?)
EDIT: Eeer... forgot the description before posting. Gimme a sec to get it up.
