Lord Nelson's Arms - A large traditional pub at the edge of the Militarised zone.

[andreo009]

A man in a trenchcoat and Armed Forces cap walked in.
He hung it up near the entrance to let it dry. Slowly he turned and walked to the first table he could find.

Whispers came left and right as he looked at the table in front of him. Taken from scenes of another funeral he attended. "Isn't that..." - "Who? ... in here"

Carmichael nervously tapped Ella, his niece, her shoulder. "Get dewn therre and offer him a ... an ele or sumthing... goo!"
She galantly hopped towards his table. "Can I get yu anithingk sar?"
Bloom slowly looked up and gave a warm smile. "Just a pint please"
There was no question about it now, they recognised him as he quickly concluded from the nervous faces and ruckus around him.
"Hmm plan failed, I thought an unbarred jacket would do..." he mumbled.

His pint arrived sooner then anticipated. "There yu goe sar" Ella took a step back and held her plate vertically in front of her.
Just as she was about to ask who he was... Carmicheal intervened: "Ellah!" signaling with his right arm to get back behind the counter.
Bloom frowned at her as he was taking his frist sip. She gave him a short bow, on the edge of tumbling over and returned to the counter.
His eyes followed her as she went back, stopping at what seemed to be an Armed Forces officer. She was looking down at the table contrary to the many pairs of eyes who were following his every move.
"At least someone that doesn't care" he gently said in relief.

Layla Clay... He remembered the occasions he flew with her. Patrols, scrambles at Leeds, The Order incursion in Newcastle... Her and Folge saved the day then. She praised him in her report about his dodging manouvres. "Still can't fly a templar for a mile" He chuckled

He took another look at her face.
A face scarred from the atrocities it had endured. Eyes staring, bearing witness of a dampened soul. A voice, testament to a nearly scorched spirit. Was this worth it?

"This is all taking too long" he pondered. Barely even remembering his days when he was ensign, 2 years ago. It seemed like a lifetime.

"I can't even remember what she sounds like" he thought as he looked back at Layla.

It all went quiet around him as if he was about to pass out. The light stayed the same, however the sound faded. It soon made place for vibrations that could be felt throughout the entire builiding. 2 bright lights set down in front the pub. followed by clunk that resonated through the entire bottom floor.

Deidre, a young staff lieutenant pushed open the door. Quickly gazing through the crowd and stopping near Jeffs table. She stood next to him and gave him the latest.
"It ... has happened sir, protocol Lisbon is now in effect. We are ordered back to the Macduff." Her head turned down and her voice wavered.

"Stand up straight Deidre, we're leaving" He took one last sip and went for his trenchcoat. The communicator inside had 5 missed calls and 12 text messages.
He put it back in his pocket with the intention of reading it on the way.

Whilst straightening out his coat he suddenly stopped and lowered his arms as he turned to the right. "Give me a second Deidre" "But sah we-"

The scene around Laylas table went silent.
"Layla"
...
"It's time to go"
...
"They need us"

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BAF|MN ---- Her majesty's Bretonian Merchant Navy