Tyber continued stomping around on the outer hull armor as he waited for the hole to be made for them to pass through, his shoulders moved to show a heavy sigh, frustration clear to all watching the motion.
Taking out his arming sword, Tyber gripped it loosely and started to rotate it around, letting go of the grip at key moments to grasp it before the weapon would be dropped, clear that these were practiced motions. He hated these moments, these moments let him think about the past, a past that as he looked back at it now, he saw how petty he was, he closed his eyes and thought about that time.
The assignments had just been passed out; Tyber felt heartbreak, the second company. He had thought the First Company was an assured thing, he had Advan as his master, he had the size and bulk of an Astartes many years his senior.
He stalked through the halls of Arce, fury filling him, Sergio had gotten First Company, Sergio seemed to get everything handed to him… Sergio was slammer than he was, weaker than he was, less skilled with the blade than he was.
“Beach Savage!” came that voice, Tyber gritted his teeth, Adavan had warned him to be gracious in letting Sergio have his victory.
He tried to ignore it, he felt a hand on his shoulder and that voice again, “Beach Savage, where are you goin…”
Tyber rounded on him, his fist balled up and struck with all his might, knocking him to the ground, diving on him to start punching repeatedly as he yelled out, “Why is it always you? Why do you get everything handed to you?”
Tyber felt the nose give way to his fist, blood coating his fist as he kept striking, the third or fourth strike was halted by a hand on his fist, he turned to see Keeva standing there, a sad look on her face as she said to him, “Tyber, stop. You have proven your strength over him a hundred times, this does nothing for you…”
Tyber sighed and let go of Sergio before standing and walking away down the hall, not looking back.
Tyber opened his eyes and hung his head, that was the last time he would see Keeva, with a heavy sigh he looked back to see how the progress was coming on entering the hull.
To all you Space Wolf Players... Its called a Razor and the Soap isn't a Daemon.
The Iron Hands, they are the real emo marines. Seriously. The Dark Angels aren't the ones who sit around cutting off bits of themselves, wearing black, and complaining about weakness and ennui...