Cyra Coronis · @CyraCoronis
18th Jul 2012 from Twitlonger
Cyra took a deep breath and let out a looooooong sigh as she stepped out of the economy passenger liner behind her. She looked down at herself, she was in civilian clothes, and a heavy duffle bag hung on one shoulder. She patted her old tee and jeans irritatedly and ran her talons along her fringes, but stopped as her hand touched the Hierarchy naval hood on her head.
“Why am I still wearing this...” She growled, pulled the hood off and stuffed it into the duffle. She should have never gone back to the navy... Rules, rules, rules. Too many rules and too much talking. AND she had to put up with the so-called “pilots” she was paired up with. It was only a matter of time before something blew up in her face and the Hierarchy decided that she was too much.
She looked up wearily and stretched, but the bustling lights of the Citadel only made her eyes sting. Reaper invasion or not, she was happier flying as a merc pilot. Oh how her friends would laugh if they saw her right now. She let out a low growl and tried to mentally defend herself, the navy DID have stable pay and brand new equipment. But that meant nothing now. She had nowhere to go... worse yet, no ship to fly. The only sensible thing to do now was to drink the night away at Aethyta’s.