Lt. Tyber Rook wrote:The airspeeder wasn't what he enjoyed driving. He was used to feeling the wind against the exposed bodyglove of his armor. The roar of a thruster pack, and the responsiveness of just moving his body to adjust vector.
An airspeeder felt sluggish, cold. Still, it was what was required considering the invitation. He had brought out his formal dress uniform. The rank pin, the symbol of Clan Rook, his boots, cuffs, and code cylinder. All polished to a mirror finish.
His dress boots almost could reflect the light back, unscuffed and pristine from uniform regulation. His hair was teased so the natural curl fell away from his face. As he stepped out of the vehicle, he put on his officer cap, and opened the door for his superior officer.
"I'd have much preferred the jetpack, ma'am."
"I know Rook," answered the Colonel reassuringly, "Sadly official functions call for less comfortable means. I'm pretty sure you can count on one hand how many times you've seen me in fatigues, and this is why."
She smiled before adding, "It's a pain, sorry."