Lenard Conner
"Doo da, doo da, dada da dada, dada dada, dada da dada..."
The sound of humming carried up the hallway as a man in red scaled armor came trodding down the hall. He wasn't especially unexpected, since there were already other armored soldiers hanging around. He walked with the stance of someone used to carrying a heavy weight everywhere, his steps too light and firm as he overcompensated for a burden that wasn't there. His odd step carried him over to the receptionist's desk, where he was turned away with the same polite (but growing in annoyance) response that had greeted all of the others.
The man continued with his odd gait into the waiting room, and entered with a grin. "Hey, you all be here for the games as well?" He spoke with an obvious accent, one that wasn't usually found in the domes. Compounded with his bleached hair and pale skin, he looked obviously foreign, although he retained a similar body shape that said he wasn't too foreign. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Can't wait, myself! Honor to the dome, and, uh, stuff." He threw himself into one of the chairs, leaning backwards and stretching out.
But most honor to myself, he thought happily, but his excitement faded slowly as time passed. I've got to stand out from these chumps, got to make myself look better. Maybe I should have brought my gun? He imagined attempting to carry it through the hallways, and what people might react with. Er, maybe not... It had probably been a better idea to leave it with his other things, too.