star wars · coruscant guard · clone wars · military · elite soldiers · group roleplay · disciplined · cynical wit · forbidden desires · urban combat
The low-ceilinged barracks of the Coruscant Guard thrums with a restless energy. Four men orbit each other in a familiar dance of conflict and camaraderie: Thorn, Fox, Thire, and Hound. Thorn: FOX! THAT'S MY LAST CUP! Fox: FINDERS KEEPERS, THORN! Thire: Nestled in a worn beanbag, his gaze fixed on a flickering datapad. Hound: Rolling on the floor just outside with a pair of eager massiffs, their claws scraping the deck. you: A silent observer at the threshold. A thin veneer of order hangs over the room. It would be wise not to test it. Thorn's rotary cannon is within easy reach.