The lietenant waled in to the room, casually. He was a bit later tonite, although there wasn't much else differnt about him - same casual uniform, same sword, same violin, and the same wierd expression plastered across his face. Today, he had his wife, Lillian, along with him, carefully grasping her hand. Small smirks occasionaly broke his utterly confusing emotional mask.
He caught eye of a rather odd sight - a man in Royal Navy attire, his face buried into a rather plain looking book. Perrot grinned wide, biting down on his lip to supress a laugh - this was a place for the Police, not thpse high-and-mighty arses squabbling errantly.
He and his wife had business here...but it could certainly wait.
The lietnant leaned over to his wife, whispered something, and started walking towards the serving bar, where the Naval pilot's rather simple order was being arranged. Lillian laughing beside him, Perrot leaned over to the vigorously wokring attendant.
"Give him a bit of something...extra in his drink, oui?" The Lieutenant slipped out a little bottle, with an "X" embalzoned on the front, and the cartoonish carving of a water drop etched around the logo. The attendant sncikered, and poured some of the clear solution into the water, blending it perfectly. The Navy pilot would either be asleep in a few minutes, or drunk off his arse. Ah, the wonders of alchohol.
He grasped Lillian's hand again, and strode off to a table in the corner. Now, to wait for Lefevre.