It’s not often I come across anyone that genuinely makes me take a step back to evaluate my chances at surviving a personal and direct encounter them. Then I met Petur.
Standing at nearly seven feet tall, and roughly four feet broad at the shoulders, he was a behemoth of a man, leaving me feeling like a small child by comparison.
As I reached out my hand to shake his, I was ready to fight dirty should things go wrong quickly. I don’t know if the close-cropped mohawk he sported, or the nicely braided and jewelled beard, or the intensity of his piercing blue eyes, but he was an intimidating figure.
As he clasped my hand, nearly crushing it in his, I was ready; then he smiled a warm, gentle smile and told me he was a huge fan of mine, and was truly happy to meet me.
Petur was a gentle giant, and was the true highlight of my day.
I didn’t place in the CSM elections, not even as an alternate, and that was ok; given the composition of that year’s council, I think fate had spared me a horrific experience. It made me snicker and laugh at Seleene.
Being the final night of the convention, there was a massive party with over 4200 people crammed into a space that could accommodate 2500 if they were lucky. To say it was overcrowded was an understatement, but it wasn’t really a bad thing. As was customary, most capsuleers preferred the isolation and warmth of their pods, tending to shy away from real interaction with the fairer gender. This left a ratio of about 5 hot Gallente women for each 1 Capsuleer who did attend.
My neck wasn’t the only sore by the end of that night.
The next day, I would be heading out via commercial flight back to Dal.