[font=Agency FB]Feeling distinctly out of place in her blue flight suit, Liberty Air Force Captain Melanie Tyler shifted cautiously in the doorway for a moment, scanning the room for a bar stool. An expectant smile settled across her face when she found one. The Captain made her way to the stool, doing her utmost to wipe the aviation fuel off her hands onto the least valuable item of furniture in the setting without anyone noticing. She motioned for a drink, noting the bartender's nod of acknowledgement. Somethings were universal. Just was a shame that her service ID wasn't.
No discount drinks for the wicked, Mel. The brass had been keen to get the Air Force shifted out to Bretonia. No-one really seemed to have bothered to consider just how they were going to afford drinks once they got out there, and to her, that seemed a major oversight, particularly as Zulu Squadron had only just pulled into Leeds after nearly two days of straight flying and drills. Still, you couldn't win all of them. At least she was closer to actual combat now, and another step from the Hellfire Legion.
What the hell. Things could be worse. And all that flight time came with the applicable pay bonuses. The way her life was going lately, there was no point hanging on to it. With a tired smile, she turned to the bartender, ordering the Patriot's patrons another round. Once they were distributed, she raised her glass.
[color=#FFFFFF]"To the Queen!"May as well start thinking like a local.
A sympathetic smile played on her lips as Christina was talking. "Yeah, the beginning is always the hardest, you'll see, this job has its ups and downs every now and then, best is to quickly forget about the downs and to memorize the ups well. And of course it's always about the people, you know, people you can work with flawlessly, people you like and who respect you. Unfortunately, there's also the more.. uhm.. problematic folks around..."
The bar went quiet as Admiral Garibaldi entered the room, face like a bag of spanners didn't quite do her description justice. Pretty she certainly wasn't, standing six foot tall and built like a brick outhouse. Sturdy Girl also didn't make for an apt description, still it was what most of the lower ranks called her when she was within earshot. Garibaldi didn't like to think what they called her behind her back. She walked up to the bar. "A sparkling water, please" Once again, as usual for the Admiral, she sat alone and drank her water.
Saint Del is considered a holy healer of diseases of children, but also as a protector of cattle.
"Well, you know, there is Commodore Davis... emotional bursts are a normality for him, no matter in what situation, sometimes it's really useful and sometimes it's just damn annoying, oh how we had countless arguments about minor issues.. nothing but tiresome.. Oh and he experiences massive mood fluctuations on an hourly basis. On top of that he can be extremely importunate. Yea, well that's my opinion, I uhm.. guess you'll need to find out yourself. The second warning goes for Ad-" Layla choked on the coffee she seemd to have swallowed in the wrong tube when she saw Admiral Garibaldi entering the bar. She coughed a few times and then continued with a slightly lower voice. "A-Admiral Garibaldi, uhh, she's just ugly, eh." Layla cleared her throat and hoped that the Admiral would not come over to their table.
The door was pushed open softly and in came an exhausted woman. Aelena had been working on paperwork for most of the night for the Armed Forces; ever since she had requested a transfer to a desk job, her hours seemed to drag on. The only plus was a slight increase in pay. She might be a part of the Lesser Fleets (or "secondaries" as the slang was), but it was no picnic. It took away her time to sleep, since she had to continually argue and negotiate with that damn hospital to keep Ariel supplied with the needed drugs to keep her from dying.
Exhausted to an insane degree, Aelena dropped onto a stool. "Hot chocolate, four marshmellows." She said. Not a fan of alcohol or coffee, Aelena accepted the deink and paid for it from her meager amount of money, sipping it. Overtime wasn't fun. At all.
In front of the Door that led into the Bar "The Patriot" Mike asked himselfe: "How come I never heard of this bar?"
Mike grew up on Leeds and used to spent a lot of time in Bars after a long shift of Mining. But since he started in the Armed Forces he didn't get out that often anymore since training was important for Ensign Havering and after that the only thing that happende afterwards was to drop into bed in his apartement in Leeds.
Mike heard that in "The Patriot" the BAF personell would spend their freetime. And to get a glimpse of how they liked to socialize wouldn't hurt since there wasn't any training for him this evening. "Let's see how it is in there."
And opened the Doors...there wasn't one face that he recognised, well didn't meet anybody out of their ships exept Admiral Piett that was in the recruitement Office the day Mike signed up, but he wasn't here how it seemed. "Bartender the Drink that sells best please."
And sat down next to a big Women that drank how it seemed a sparkling water.
After he got his Drink Mike asked: "Not that into alkohol eh?"
While gulping down half of his drink.
“This font is good people said, this font is awesome others said, I say it works well enough to waste 2 seconds of your life reading this.”
A quite long time passed since Layla had last been in the Patriot on Leeds. However, not much had changed, aside from the fact that she had been running on minimal capacity over the last months and only got on patrol when really necessary. This was maybe too a side effect of her promotion to Commander. She felt how the lazy senior officer gradually began to grow inside her. Other than that, Layla had heard rumours that the Patriot was probably going to be relocated at some point in the future since the Gallic threat was impending as it had never been before.
So Layla stepped into the dim-lighted room, got herself a coffee from the bartender, sat on a random table and waited. For whatever reasons, Mike wanted her to to come this evening, she really did hope he didn't intend to 'refresh' and 'develop' their personal relation in any way by this meeting.
Having finally finished his Patrol in New London and Leeds Mike was heading straight to the Patriot after he managed to get out of his Ship.
Entering the Patriot after having been checked over by the Guards standing up front Mike entered the Bar, turning his heads once or twice until he located Layla sitting at an empty table.
The newest addition to the Armed Forces was nowhere to be seen yet.
Right seems like Alec hasn't shown up yet, no matter I still can have a nice chat with Layla.
He thought while ordering something alcoholic, after getting his drink Mike moved up to the table where Layla was sitting at, and then sat onto the stool opposite of her.
Glad you could make it Layla, *he gives a smiles* not often that I see you in Space.
“This font is good people said, this font is awesome others said, I say it works well enough to waste 2 seconds of your life reading this.”
George Richard Hall. Now only, "only" a captain, but with much greater and justified ambition. Always with a gallant posture, dressed in a dark coat, having a tidy, although not now, dark hair, and strict, dark eyes, with a piercing look, showing his endless anger towards the incapable lower beings, what was almost everybody else. He angrily opens the bar door and shuts it with all his power. He mumbles:
Bloody hell! Damn you! I damn you and I curse you to burn in the everlasting fires of endless hell!
His coat got stuck in the door. Almost tearing it, he stutters as he manages to free the coat.
Damn you!
Heading towards the bar, he kicks an innocent and probably totally unaware and absolutely surprised chair, hurting his toe in the process.
Bloody, incapable lower chair! Damn you to the everlas... *closing his eyes, George sighs* Bah...
Quickly turning his head away from the chair, like he just wants to forget it, George limps towards the bar.
A cup of Devonshire cream tea.
As the bartender turns away to find a teapot, George shakes some dust away from his coat and mumbles:
Incapable lower beings...
The bartender brings him a cup of tea. It is made of plastic. Feeling humiliated, George directs a grave look to the bartender, takes the cup and leaves.
He looks at the cup and frowns.
Plastic. Pathetic.
Walking towards the exit, he spots Mike Havering and Layla Clay.
Awful day, Mike! Terrible day, Mrs Clay. No offense.
George walks away and kicks another innocent bar chair, hurting another finger, awakening the previous hurt, and also spilling some of the precious tea out of the worthless and rather unattractive cup.
Bloody hell! Damn you!
He limps towards the door and swiftly and widely opens it. He makes a terrible noise when he shuts it.
A few seconds later, some swearing can be heard outside, then the door shakes, and then some swearing can be heard again. George has managed to free his coat.
![[Image: gamer5000.gif]](https://sig.grumpybumpers.com/host/gamer5000.gif)
![[Image: Del1.png]](http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a344/Spiderjerusalem1979/Del1.png)
![[Image: jeremy10.png]](http://i40.servimg.com/u/f40/16/80/35/65/jeremy10.png)
![[Image: 396AUfe.png]](https://i.imgur.com/396AUfe.png)