Toledo Lounge

[Irra]

Silhouette of man showed up on doors ... it was Gunson ... he looked inside and mumbled .. *I am too old for this* and turned around and left to his room ...

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this is cool signature

[n00bl3t]

His ship left without him. It was now part of a temporary, stationary guard at Lisbon station until he decided to return to it.

X was tired. One of his bodyguards went to get him a drink. Another one sat with him. The third and last took up another position in the bar.

Everyone needed a break.

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Anything I say is not intended as offensive, and to try and deliberately misinterpret it as such would be an attempt at trolling via misrepresentation.

It's not a conspiracy, it's localised bias. They're not intelligent enough to form a conspiracy.

[coolandcoo]

Sitting now alone in the spacious lounge, Ishmael considered the last few hours. He remembered that not even a mere minute ago, the rowdy cries of celebration ringed throughout this very room, issued from his fellow pilots reveling in the defeat of their enemies. He remembered, only a short hour before this, the blaze of countless laser fire, the crushing of broken hulls, and the booming shockwave of collapsing battleships that had engulfed him in the previous battle. He found himself, strapped back into his fighter as it tore across the black abyss of space, technicolor beams of light flinging themselves this way and that. With that frightening image flowing through his mind, he snapped back to reality with his eyes leveled down at his two hands wound tightly around a mug, shaking, and creating ripples through its clear, watery contents. With a meager grunt of mental pain, he focused on his hands, finally willing his quaking hands to a small tremble.

With a sigh, he looked over his shoulder, only to gaze about in a empty room, a tad dirtied, but quiet, peaceful. Content with the situation at hand, he returned his attention back to his drink, only to notice all this time, he had not taken a single sip.

[Irra]

In remote corner of bar two mans were sitting and talking. One was a quite older Captain Clark Gunson and young boy with him was his son Keith. He arrived here from Kusari and joined Order. By the look of Clarks hand movement it seemed like he was explaining to his son battle tactics. Talk was long, very long and possibly it would be even longer if alarm didn't sounded. Clark left and Keith left leaving empty lounge behind him.

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this is cool signature

[Jeremy Hunter]

The door opens, revealing 19-year-old Jeremy Hunter, known as Deep Recon Unit Omega 1-17. He sits at the bar and orders a soda. he sighs. The Order guy next to him leans over.

"So, whats your job here?"
Try floating in Liberty, listening to the crazies of Sirius...Man...its quiet sometimes."\
"How many times you been caught?"
"Hell, Once. Iv been there five times, and four of em I broadcast "Thanks for the hospitality Liberty" and leave...They never learn. If they stop pretending then this stupid thing would be over."
"Who caught you?"
"I'm Not at liberty to say. I CAN say I tried to shake off the Navy by flying through that ring witht eh green gasses on Fort Bush."
"Dude, you ARE CRAZY."
"Im Eccentric."
"Fine. What happened?"
"LSF CD'd me. i was taken to a forsaken spot and interogated...about Order in Gallia."
"Why do the LSF care?"
"LSF doesnt. Primary does." Hunter grinns and gets up.
"Safe flying"
"Same to you."
Jeremy leaves the bar. The man ponders the kid, and realizes that he has a reason to risk his neck. Hunter. Rika Hunter was his little sister. The man shakes his head and continues to drink

One thought still haunts him. LSF Doesnt. Primary does. THe man begins to think who could be a hidden agent in the LSF. He comes up with...no one.

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May you ever walk in the Light, Shizune.

[MB52]

A young woman sits at the end of the bar, staring into her drink. She's hunched over, her head resting on one of her arms. In her other hand, she has a medal of some sort. It appears to be some sort of service medal from the Navy.

"Another please" she pushed her empty cup to where the bartender was standing

"One more coming right up..."

She was wearing a black tank top, some scratches/cuts were visible on her arms. Her jacket, a LN military uniform jacket was hanging next to her. Admiral Jessica Porter was what it read on its tag, though she wasn't an admiral... things changed... but she preferred it that way. There was much less stress this way...

Not too many people had approached her, it seems her LN uniform made some here a bit nervous... that's a shame.. she could use someone to talk to.. she felt isolated here... many still didn't trust her... most of her friends and loved ones were left back in Liberty... she'd paid a high price for fighting in what she believed in.. and for what? This dark bar? this loneliness?

The bartender returned and dropped off the 6th glass of Liberty Ale.... this ale may not taste the best.. but it was home, and it reminded her of home. She was already feeling the affects of the ale, its warmth spreading through her. She looked up at the bartender through drowsy eyes "Keep em coming..."

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I’ll carry this flag
To the grave if I must
Because it’s flag that I love
And a flag that I trust

[Daerune]

Christopher walked into the bar keeping his right arm away from his waist, He scanned the room some one was in his usual spot. his vision was not the best since the latest action he had just gotten back from, he was still a bit shaky on his legs. He moved to the table and realized the person siting there. "Evening Porter, seems your siting where I am normally, Mind if I sit down?" He looked down at her, it was clear she was in a down mood and she was using alcohol to deal with it. He didn't really approve of people hiding pain with drinking.

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[MB52]

She looked up at him... and cracked a slight smile..

"You know you don't have to ask, have a seat, and please.. its just Jess.."

She took a sip of her drink... "What brings you back to Toledo?"

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I’ll carry this flag
To the grave if I must
Because it’s flag that I love
And a flag that I trust

[Daerune]

He falls down into the seat, and rubs his right eye. "Needing supply's. as usual and maybe a little R&R for the crew." He obviously still suffering from minor blood loss. "You know, They gave you the Order suit for a reason." He shifts his eyes to those looking nervously at the two talking, making them uneasy as they looked away. "Guess the Brass hasn't found out yet, received a metal while we were busy." He gives her a Dedication to the order badge but he seems uninterested in it. "Seems now people are going nuts over these little things, trying to prove themselves." He looked at the empty glasses. "You doing alright?"

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[Sprolf]

A man - well, man didn't really do him justice. He was an old man, with a worn face and greyed, wavy hair, the marks of years visible all over him - walked - more like limped, favouring one leg over the other, testament to some old injury - into the bar - which was just the normal, dingy bar on Toledo. His dim blue eyes swept over the room; looking for enemies, or perhaps even friends; as he moved across it, toward the bar. He didn't frequent this establishment, but received knowing glance from one or two of the patrons. The bartender already glanced back at a line of bottles on the wall, at least one of which he knew would soon be sol.

This man walking in was wearing a black greatcoat that wasn't entirely regulation, which was stained with some rather questionable materials stains here and there. He was in the process of unbuttoning, to reveal a dark grey uniform of unorthodox design (more like a suit), as he walked across the room with his limping stride.

He settled heavily on a stool a few down from Chris and Porter, giving them a less than subtle glance of recognition and a dismissive wave of his gloved hand as he placed a large credit card on the counter, pointing a bottle of whiskey out for the bartender.

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