Nobody knew Alla had been on Lanzarote for hours, seeking refuge in the cockpit of his fighter as he finally entered the bar. It was the only place he could truly have solitude, and that was what he needed these days. The low droning of the jazz music went on unnoticed by him, consumed by his own thoughts.
Alla had just returned from a battle that altered his psyche and personality, but it would be hard to notice by looking at him. His straight black hair was as neat as ever, face full of color, and not even the slightest jitter as he moved towards a table in the corner. Both his hands were jammed into the pocket of his uniform, and his eyes focused on his feet as always.
Alla quietly took a seat at his table, making no notice of who was in the room while he muttered absent-minded to himself.
