#agent-haitus

[agent-haitus]

i miss this

[agent-haitus]

These names and numbers continue to line in my head- scrambled, but occupying my focus. 

I don't know whether to be annoyed, or what.

[agent-haitus]

I watched as a man fell to his knees, electrified, and teeming in agony by a switch held in my hand, detonated and destroyed a ghost cell trailing at my heels, murdered a lovely, older couple in exchange for a little background of a weakly swayed woman now siding with the Republic, and severed a man's head to present to another, expecting Imperial all in one afternoon.

It has been a good day.

[agent-haitus]

You'd think after wandering around independently your whole life -silent, alone- you'd grow fond of a quiet room, if not at least attached. 

Now it's just annoying. 

[agent-haitus]

Where can I get a fucking haircut?

[agent-haitus]

This life as an agent is a lot more dull than what I hoped it would be. I feel like I'm running around this constant circle for these officials of the Empire, and it's driving me mad.

I'm ready to overthrow these worthless individuals; I'm getting tired of running these pointless errands. It's about time I got to perform something that's worth my time and energy.

[agent-haitus]

[What to him was comprehended as an evening, he spent on the ship in his room, shut in and away as to avoid outside distractions as he continues with another one of his little projects. He's doing no more than modifying his personal holocomm- tinkering it, advancing the applications he previously installed, removing bugs he had brushed by... After fastening the last few kinks of the device, he sets it down with a sigh and stares at it for a moment, then allows his eyes to travel elsewhere in the empty room. It's dim, quiet. A comfortable setting, yet hollow all at the same time. He allows his mind to roam a little before noticing a small, neat pile lying at the corner of his shelf, tucked under some old relic he had collected some time ago. He forces himself off of his bed and drags himself over in his curiosity, kneeling down, then carefully slipping the notes out from under the item. What had appeared to be some trash he had forgotten and mistakenly stored in his room happened to be letters... many of them. And what he had first mistaken as a waste of energy to even hold such a thing in his hands, he finds himself reading them over one by one. There's a familiar warmth that rises in his chest, but is quickly masked with coldness as his eyes scan over the finely drawn letters. However, no matter how unsettling the icy aura running through his veins is, he continues to read them until the very last note. After finishing the very last quote of the neat ink, he sits back beside his shelf with his head pressed back against the wall with the notes now held loosely in the grasp resting in his lap. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, then allows them to fall once more upon the notes -taking a moment to briefly examine the neat, fluid, and beautiful handwriting- before carefully setting them back in sequence and setting them back under the item then rising to his feet again. He'll throw them away, he decided. But not right now.]

[agent-haitus]

I've waited long enough. When the hell is my shuttle going to arrive?