A Corse shot, a Sirian intercepted, a peasant properly... disciplined.
A fine day's work.
Pierre LeGloan marched into the Cafe triumphantly, as always. He loved this place; the croissants were decidedly good in spite of the setting, as if the bakers knew some sort of ancient technique that had long since been lost on the rest of Gallia. It was about time to settle down, and here was just the place for him.
"Bonjour, mon amis!" the fat man nearly bellowed, "Pleasant day in our fair Gallia, eh?"
The Capitaine made his way over to the counter, a big grin clearly visible beneath his mustache. He opened his arms, as if he was going to embrace the man behind the register, but suddenly froze when he noticed the lack of ready croissants back on the shelves.
His face abruptly turned a shade of red, his lips pursed. They began to split open, a shout fighting to escape, when the soft sounds of a violin began playing. Swearing under his breath, LeGloan rolled his eyes and just snapped at the attendant who quickly produced some coffee. He gave a curt, grating smile before saying, "Merci". Snatching the glass, he turned his back to the counter and made his way through the sea of tables.
The Lieutenant's violin playing was... alright, but it ruined a perfectly good opportunity to haze someone over the lack of his beloved pastry. He was fuming on the inside; a fine day, ruined! The agony!
He sat himself down at a lone table and took a sip from the glass. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't good. Wondering if his mood had somehow affected his taste buds, LeGloan took a look around the establishment, seeking familiar faces.
Ah, Lefevre...
He caught Lefevre's eye and gave him a little wave and a smile.
He better not try to sweet talk me into paying for that fighter he busted, or I swear by the King I'll...
