Pygmy walks into his office, if you could call it that. He sits himself down on the old empty crate of beer that fills the room with the odor of its past contents. Opening his folders situated on an over-turned cast iron bath-tub full of small holes from brewing Mother's Finest, he glances over the newest files needing attention.
"Abraham James Sturidge.." He chuckles, shaking his head. "Well ain't he fancy, got a middle name wrote down 'n all. Bit of experience flyin' an Eagle?" He smirks, continuing, "You'll need it, Mister Sturidge. Our Eagle's are less Eagle, more duct-tape. Or in your case, electricians tape. Feheheh." He stamps a simple seal of approval with absolutely horrid smelling ink onto the application, crumpling it up and tossing it at his secretary. "OI! SUSAN! Do sumtin' with that!"