"I'm scared about a lot of things that I do. [But] I want this more than I am scared." -- Rachel Morgan
The sound of the ball bouncing off the wall echoed through the empty corp offices, my steps mute on the plush carpet of this Gallente facility.
The corp had started (restarted?) out enthusiastic enough, two old members recruiting new employees for fantastic adventures in Gallente factional warfare, with a number of hi-sec war decs thrown in for good measure. They even managed to convince crotchety old me to sign up, after nearly two years as solo operator, both voluntary and involuntary.
But it wasn’t to be - our cycles didn’t overlap enough to gel, to work together, mine included. Especially mine.
The founders tried to keep it going, but after a month sensibly pulled the plug, themselves moving into a null-sec corporation.
I almost didn’t catch the ball, it having smashed a forgotten mug off a table on its rebound.
Ironically, the weekend after The Announcement, we got into a marvelous fight with some of our hi-sec war targets, like a last hurrah
I lost a number of smaller hulls in this fight, while trying to learn how much little help I could be in a hi-sec situation. At least that would be the official explanation; in reality, I was just excited to have at least one brawl at the side of my soon-no-longer corp mates. And hey, I helped killing a Thorax! In hi-sec!
But that had been almost a week ago. Now I was an Amarrian pilot staged in a Gallente station, in an empty corp which had ceased active involvement, disliked by Gallente and the fuzz alike. Just when I had realized what I was looking for in a new home.
I knew that the founders would put in a good word with their new corp if any of us desired to follow them, but I hesitated. Null-sec… that meant large fleets, strat-ops, strict doctrines, bubbles, no talking in local, the temptation of hiding your personal incompetence in the mass effort. All the things which I couldn’t get away with in lo-sec. I loved lo-sec.
In null-sec, I’d be totally out of my comfort zone.
I caught the ball and stopped my steps, pondering.
Comfort zones - isn’t that what it all came down to? What I had tried to get away from ever since the Last Stand faded away, and I had left the Frequent Flyers?
I threw the ball again.
Realization dawned that I had actually made my decision days ago, that I had needed just one more push to convince my conscious self. After all, what could the worst case be? Being turned down?
But I wouldn’t apply right away - a bit more research was in order, if only to be able to state clearly what I could bring to the corp. And in the meantime…
With an evil grin, I threw the ball with all the force I could muster.
*THOMP* *donk* *crash*
I was an Amarrian, staged in a Gallente hi-sec station right next to the factional warfare zone, and by now I was used to getting shot at by all kinds of officials anyway. And I was tired of moving my inventory.
Time to shoot back again.