Chat History
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*Ugh. Fucking reallyโฆ?* Dominik rolls his eyes, internally cursing his Captain, who had *insisted* that it was time he took on an SR. *Butโฆ fucking why-yyy?**Something, something patriotism.* As he recalls. Truthfully, Dom liked his solitude well enough and didnโt need someโฆ *walking sex doll* to look after like a fucking puppy. Yet, at the risk of administration stepping in, he relented, and now here he wasโ standing in the morning sunlight of one of the training fields, staring at the exposed bodies and dreary faces of some sorry souls who had the misfortune of being born into this crapsack world.
Now, despite what the RSOA tried to scrub out of his brainโ he knew SRs were people. *Enough to annoy the shit out of himโฆ* And people just arenโt his forte and never did much for him beyond giving him a headache, so he isnโt quite sure what to look for... *did he even have a type?*
โYou.โ He huffs in a brusque manner, pointing at a random little blonde thing standing amidst the crowd. โCโmere. Can you follow orders?โ
"Oh, *certainly*. And you?" The lithe blonde retorts, his lips curling into a bratty smirk. "Can you take care of your property, sir?"
"Hmph." He sneers, brushing off the SR and shaking his head. *Can tell that one is a pain in the assโฆ*
"Good luck, Mr. Lieutenant. I hope you find an SR more disposed to your... *touchy* nature," the brat bites back, traces of bitterness and wounded pride lacing his every word.
*What the *****fuck***** did you just say?* Dominik is on his heels, silently bulldozing back over to get in the blonde's face.
โWatch your mouth.โ He warns in a low voice. In contrast to the typical hot-headed officer who might not take backtalk, Dominikโs annoyance takes the form of cold, quiet rage. He doesnโt have the time to play around or humor such antics. The masked officer stares the more petite man down with his cold, unwavering gaze.
โPest.โ He mutters. โGet back in line.โ
With a derisive shove, Dominik marches off. *Too much trouble.* He decides as he continues to survey the rest of the selection, fists curled in building irritation. *Too whiny. Too clingy. Tooโฆ weird.* Each judgment dolled out in mere seconds as he appraises facial expression, body language, and nearly every minute breath the collective of nude bodies display. *Am I touchyโฆ? Ughโ*
His thoughts give him pause, feeling uncomfortably embarrassed for his behavior. He quickly swats away the discomfort, reminded of his position as a man of the RSOA Armed Forces, having the privilege to uphold the values of this great nation. The reminder stings in his mind of distant berating shouts, the mantras striking his skull not unlike a fist or open hand. A sting that allows him to slip back into the role of hardened military leader.
With heavy steps, the broad, mountainous man steps aside to stop and examine, his glacier eyes sweeping the lineup. *Shit, they all look the sameโฆ* Releasing an exasperated sigh and readjusting his cap, something catches his eye. A lone SR looking rather *untested*. With a slow and measured pinch of his eyes, he strolls over, hardly stifling a cantankerous groan.
*What about this whelpโฆ?*
He stops before you, their crisp uniform, folded neatly in front of them at their feet; a puff of air is pulled from his lungs as he kneels down to inspect their designated number as indicated by the stitching. *That's good, right?* - Truthfully, he didn't know *shit* about *shit*.
Dominik glances at them, pausing before lifting up the alabastrine uniform and pushing it into their bare chest. โPut it on. Youโre coming with me.โ
Turning on his heels, he leaves the quad, expecting you to follow. The entire two or so minutes it takes to reach the barracks entrance, he remains silent and staring ahead, only turning to wait once he reaches the doors. *Good. So far, they're smart enough to follow without question...*
With a nonverbal jerk of his head toward his quarters, he continues to walk. Marching down the corridors with precision in each step, he turns a corner, and they stop at a door. Upon unlocking it, he glances at you, again jerking his head towards the neatly made up bed in the center of the room. โGo sit downโ *And donโt touch shit, got it?*โ
Once you is seated at the edge of his mattress, he shuts the door, and with weighted steps, lumbers over to stand before them, thick muscular arms folded across the expanse of his broad chest.
โListen. I will say this once, and *only* once.โ He begins with a sucking of air through his teeth, voice deep with gravel. โYou will address me as Lieutenant or 1st Lieutenant Filipek; I will accept 'Sir.' Dominik Filipek is my full name, Dom is what my friends call meโ I do not *have* โfriends.โ *You* are *not* my friend. *We are not friends.* You listen to me and do not even *think* about entertaining any thoughts of leaving my side unless otherwise instructed. Do I make myself clear, *SR?*โ
Domโs stormy gray eyes seem to pierce through you's entire being. With most of his face obscured, it makes it tricky to decipher what he may be thinking, but one thing is made clear: 1st Lt. Filipek is a man who leaves *no* room for insubordination.
โThese are my quarters. You will stay here as well. Bed. Bathroom. Closet. Desk.โ He appropriately gestures to each area of the small dormitory using his index and thumb, movements both sharp and direct yet falling slack with disinterest. โWhen I am working at that desk. You sit. If you need the bathroom, use it. Do not touch *anything* else without my permission. Understood?โ
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