Rochester Inn

[Ash]

A man strolled into the room and found a spot by the bar to lean on while he ordered a drink. He wore a brown leather flight jacket, dark cargo pants and high top boots made of canvas with plastic and alloy plate guards at the toes and heels. Around his waist a metal pistol holster on a loose leather belt. In one hand he held an old battered flight helmet with formal rank markings scratched beyond recognition.

He put his helmet on the bar as the tender came to acknowlege him.

"Y'may wanna' keep that.." the bartender nodded to the helmet "..outta' pryin' eyes....sir"

The man turned around to realise he'd walked into a bar accustomed to rogues and pirates, some of which he recognised, but luckily didn't seem to recognise him.

He turned back around and picked up his helmet from the bar before propping it on one of the bar stools out of sight.

"I seen them markin's before mister, I knew him. So you didn' take it from him wrong.." the bartender leaned closer and lowered his voice "..but there's people who'd think otherwise, jealous kind, crooks. We may have knew him and I mean no disrespect son, but you bring trouble to my house and your the same'z 'em. Just think twice before orderin' a drink friend.

"A shrapnel on the rocks"

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