The Blue Lion

[jammi]

Andrew Peterson slipped into the 'Lion behind MacFarlane's Mob. He was fresh out of the Leeson's cockpit, and cradled his flight helmet in the crook of his elbow. The oxygen feed was wrapped around his forearm, with the connector plug dangling. Ducking under the good captain's arm, he slapped Scott on the shoulder as he sailed past.

"Not like you were ever going to make use of those plant pots anyway, ey?" He zipped off to the shelter of the bar before MacFarlane could swat him off his feet and throw him at something. There was a security guard mooching there, with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He even towered over Scott. "I bet they call you Cuddles, don't they?" Andrew grinned.

Slowly it turned to leer at him. "No," it replied shortly. "They call me Grimm." He withdrew his left hand from one of the deep pockets and laid it on the bar with a clunk, revealing a skeletal construction of bare metal. An augmented security guard.

"I bet you rule this place with an iron fist," Peterson quipped. There was a long and awkward silence.

"No," he withdrew the other hand, which was similarly augmented. "Two." Andrew winced. "I lost them in an unfortunate fishing incident." Andrew tilted his head to one side and peered at the guard quizzically. After a moment, he shrugged and turned to Sullivan.

"I'll have a pint of Cragmers Cambridge cider. It's on Mr MacFarlane over there - you can stick it on his tab."

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