Toledo Lounge

[Sprolf]

What could possibly be another part of that feeling the pilot felt was a man who just walked up from a corner of the bar to the bar itself. He was clearly a Coalition pilot, clad in their distinctive black greatcoat and dark, sharp uniform, but the greatcoat's insignia themselves were trimmed with a rather unknown blue colour, possibly indicating some status past his general grade as lieutenant. His face was narrow, drawn, almost unnaturally so, and it gave him the appearance of always looking around at people suspiciously - which was indeed what he usually did. A pair of narrow glasses were perched upon his nose, and from behind those windows, his grey eyes took in everything somewhat passively, it seemed, contradictory to his otherwise sharp looks. It seemed to belie control, or what he felt as control, of his situation and surroundings. It also gave anyone who looked at him for a bit rather cold feeling in their stomach, similar to what one gets when one attempts to beat a cat at a staring contest. A mean cat.

He spoke to the bartender in a low voice for a moment, passed him a clear bottle of something, labelled with a worn Coalition-emblazoned sticker, and returned to his seat with a pale green bottle of something else and two shot glasses, glancing about the room as he walked across it swiftly, sleek leather boots tap-tapping across the floor in an unwavering pace.

He placed the glasses and bottle on the table carefully, smiling at who he drank with - a rather rough looking Order agent, a navigator aboard a research frigate whose captain had some ties with the SCRA and its research.

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