"Some say a man's home is his castle. For others it is wherever they lay their hat. The concept is just as nebulous in the New Eden sandbox.
In EVE Online, what does the concept of "home" mean to you?"
Anabaric looked over the data slates piled high on his desk, yes it really was his desk now. Nashh's name had been partially scratched off the door by Maxx, who after getting bored half way was now shouting things at the new recruits.
Nashh's sudden retirement had left the corp in a bit of shock, but the manner of leaving was typical;
The data slate with the note hadn't been found for three days, without realising it was actually important Anabaric had been using it as a coaster for his Q-Zero, it was only when Maxx pried the sticky slate off the ready room table did the message from Nashh flash up on the screen.
"Have run out of rum going planetside, back sooner or later (maybe). Made you Boss, left you something in the kitty for expenses."
Anabaric read the message again, before putting the slate down on the his desk. It really was his desk now, Nashh obviously wasn't coming back any time in the near future, and the slate had gone on to suggesting a few changes to the corp branding, but those could wait a while. There was no hurry.
The pile of slates in his new office was simply staggering, unpaid bills, impounded ships, the repairs to the docking clamps from Nashh's most recent departure, these would all have to be dealt with in time. For now Anabaric lazed in the worn out leather chair looking out over the KBG hanger, still a hive of activity as the new recruits were still moving in. Recruitment was going quite well, 3 promising recruits in as many days, but more were still needed to drive the corp forward.
Home is what you make of it he thought to himself, of all the stations Anabaric had lived in over the last few years this one felt the most like home, it wasn't the hanger itself or good hunting in the local asteroid belts, it was the people he shared it with. They were the ones who'd put the holes in the walls, spilt the Quafe on the floor, and were hard at work screaming at the recruits, or hauling ammunition and equipment ready for the next roam.
The neo-comm chimed with a new message to alliance, time to go, time to fight with friends.