Geoffrey Udall stepped off of the transport onto the streets of Leeds in the early morning hours. It was cold…almost too cold, and incomparably metallic, and rain poured down around him as he made his way through the winding streets between the high rises; it was far from the idyllic natural scenes of Cambridge, his former home. Despite the vastly different environs, Geoffrey knew in his heart he was headed for the change he needed most. In his hand, he held a small folder, holding the papers which granted him his new title: Doctor of Philosophy, Cambridge Research Institute (the latest addition to a list of several degrees). At the age of 23, he had already reached the heights of academia, owing more to his work ethic and keen insights than some freak talent, and as soon as he got that diploma in his hand, he knew that his time in the arts was at a close. Something clicked in his head when he got that paper, a nagging thought at the back of his mind that it wasn’t enough just to think about the universe. He had to see it, and to fight for the universe he wanted in more direct ways than publishing strongly worded papers.
So he had ended up here, walking through a downpour with his resume and credentials to see the recruiting officers for the BAF. He stopped at a storefront window to check his appearance before making his way in to the Recruiting Center. Geoffrey was a tall-ish fellow, standing six-foot two inches, and was slender for a man of his height without being ineffectual. His clean cut blonde hair fell slightly out of place with the weight of the rain, so he parted it back once again, adjusted his trench coat, and went on his way with a fire of purpose blazing behind deceptively cool hazel eyes. He took a deep breath as he reached the Recruiting Center’s door, taking a moment to admire the brilliance of their propaganda, and then opened the great gothic portal to make his way into the lobby.
The lady at the counter had just finished a conversation with another potential recruit, a giant of a Celt whose good looks had clearly ever so slightly delighted her. Geoffrey approached the still-blushing officer and bowed his head slightly.
“Madam, I should very much like to enlist”, Geoffrey said, his posh Cambridge lilt standing in sharp contrast to the more common Leeds dialect of the others around him, “if you’ll have me.”
The woman looked through his papers. “A Doctor, eh? What in blazes are you doing looking to sign up here? You’re better suited for a comfier position, aint ya?”
“I suppose I may be, but dash it all if I’m not tired of hearing it. I’m a decent pilot and a steady shot. As I figure it, it’s about time I put those skills to use for Her Majesty’s cause.”
She gave him another long, ponderous look. “All right. I’ll send your files through to the main branch. They’ll decide what to do with you from there.”
“Thank you. Salve Regina!"
“God save the Queen.”
