Read I, Tim: Memoirs of a Cook on a Moon-Sized Planet-Vaporizing Space Battlestation Page 8

  It was as if there was a halo around the guy. As I watched Louke speak, it took a few moments to reconcile my expectations. With his reputation as a Rebel and all, I'd imagined a cigar-chomping, muscle-bound thug decked out in worn-out military fatigues accessorized with a beret and a panoply of scars – not an innocent-looking, barely post-pubescent kid dressed in a saintly white robe. Disconnect aside, sitting there listening him intone about the Powaah, I found myself enraptured by his presence, as he beamed Powaah goodness at us through his boyish good looks. I had to resist the impulse to add a falsetto “baaaaaa” to highlight the glow of his golden, tousled locks.