Casimir Goetschl
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Feb 18, 2011
- Messages
- 133
- Reaction score
- 0
Nail biting was routinely labeled a impulse control disorder by most psychologists throughout the galaxy. More often than not, it was rooted primarily as a human-only self destructive habit. How many Twi'Leks, Togruta, or Dug did people see chewing down on their own bodies like a coyote trapped in a snare? Not many. The habit of nail biting was a disgusting little habit that Goetschl had fought with off an on throughout his life. Upon the onset of a new stressor, the fingers occasionally met his teeth. What was worse in Goetschl's situation was that an increased amount of stressed started off as nothing more than nail biting but it would assuridly raise the risks significantly of the man falling into another manic depressant episode.
Nearly seven months had passed since Goetschl had left his planet, his family and the pain of his second cousins death. Fate had rolled her pair of dice and though an answer came up, Casimir's vision of it's outcome was clouded. Did he get snake eyes or a high rolling seven? Fate had brought him to Alderaan. Fate had brought him to the doorstep of the Jedi order. Everything had been a blur as to the events in the most recent days; events that seemed to add onto one another like toppings to an ice cream cone. Upon arriving onto Alderaan, Goetschl had enough funds for a quick meal then a transfer flight. Waiting in the space ports main consumer hall, Goetschl had witnessed a freak accident occur when oils at a poultry dinner caught fire.
Though the emergency crews were quick in response at dealing with the relatively brief blaze, Goetschl focused on the two chefs whom suffered severe burns to their arms, chest, and face. The Medic Training he had received played a significant roll in his response and aid to the men, though unknown to him at the time, this would be the catalyst that would bring him to the Jedi on this day. Show Up. That's all he was told to do, by a person he hardly knew and a person whose name he probably should have remembered. Why would he? Goetschl's did not trust anyone but how many Goetschl's got a chance to meet actual Jedi? None. He would be the first. Curiosity was rare within Casimir, he personally preferred sticking to routine. Still, this was something even he could not pass up.
So here he sat, just inside the main entrance of the Enclave of the Jedi Order on Alderaan. With nothing to his name except the shoes on his feet, the black denim pants on his legs, the white button-up dress shirt on his torso as well as the space port ticket and his identification shoved into his front pocket, Casimir could do nothing more than the continued biting of his left index and pinky fingers, alternating each after a quick snap of the hardened keratin as various people he assumed to be Jedi passed. Was this all a wash? Did he possibly misunderstand what the person had told him? Why would he be told to show up without so much as a name to ask for when he got here? Perhaps these were questions Casimir should have asked before agreeing.
Now he could do nothing but bide his time and sit like a tool.
Fifteen minutes.
He would wait fifteen minutes more before leaving.
Nearly seven months had passed since Goetschl had left his planet, his family and the pain of his second cousins death. Fate had rolled her pair of dice and though an answer came up, Casimir's vision of it's outcome was clouded. Did he get snake eyes or a high rolling seven? Fate had brought him to Alderaan. Fate had brought him to the doorstep of the Jedi order. Everything had been a blur as to the events in the most recent days; events that seemed to add onto one another like toppings to an ice cream cone. Upon arriving onto Alderaan, Goetschl had enough funds for a quick meal then a transfer flight. Waiting in the space ports main consumer hall, Goetschl had witnessed a freak accident occur when oils at a poultry dinner caught fire.
Though the emergency crews were quick in response at dealing with the relatively brief blaze, Goetschl focused on the two chefs whom suffered severe burns to their arms, chest, and face. The Medic Training he had received played a significant roll in his response and aid to the men, though unknown to him at the time, this would be the catalyst that would bring him to the Jedi on this day. Show Up. That's all he was told to do, by a person he hardly knew and a person whose name he probably should have remembered. Why would he? Goetschl's did not trust anyone but how many Goetschl's got a chance to meet actual Jedi? None. He would be the first. Curiosity was rare within Casimir, he personally preferred sticking to routine. Still, this was something even he could not pass up.
So here he sat, just inside the main entrance of the Enclave of the Jedi Order on Alderaan. With nothing to his name except the shoes on his feet, the black denim pants on his legs, the white button-up dress shirt on his torso as well as the space port ticket and his identification shoved into his front pocket, Casimir could do nothing more than the continued biting of his left index and pinky fingers, alternating each after a quick snap of the hardened keratin as various people he assumed to be Jedi passed. Was this all a wash? Did he possibly misunderstand what the person had told him? Why would he be told to show up without so much as a name to ask for when he got here? Perhaps these were questions Casimir should have asked before agreeing.
Now he could do nothing but bide his time and sit like a tool.
Fifteen minutes.
He would wait fifteen minutes more before leaving.