"No need for apologies, we are taking a break, after all, Gerald." Lefevre spoke as the Brigadier settled himself.
Gerald and Lefevre hasn't had much personal time over the past few days. Their assignment had been their lives in that time, and depending on how things went, it could be that way for a longer span of time than either had thought when they signed up.
Lefevre said nothing for a few moments, enjoying the peaceful silence, allowing his mind to focus on nothing more than the smells of the Cafe. The interrogation had literally gone on for days. The things they had been doing to the Sirian were necessary evils, though. They would save lives, hopefully both Gallic and Sirian. After all, once the invasion commenced, what good would it bee to take over space if there was nobody left to inhabit it? That was only if there was actually going to be an invasion. There had been no specific word from High Command on the matter, but the ridiculous gathering of capital ships and the absolutely hostile attitude toward Sirians suggested that something was imminent. He slowly pulled back to the present.
"We need to get him to talk, you know. He's got information we need. The most we've gotten him to do is indicate that he knows something useful. It's just a matter of figuring out what that is exactly."
What they hadn't been able to determine yet, however, was what this man actually did for a living.
"Who do you think he is? With the resolve he's shown, he's clearly not just a trader, but we haven't gotten him to say anything about a contact in the Council. What could he have possibly been attempting to gain by being in Gallic space?"
"Oui" He mumbled as Lefevre began speaking. There was a slight pause where both stopped to take in the time to relax, taking in the much needed break. Gerald leaned back, picked up the truffe and popped it into his mouth, enjoying the flavors, the smells, and the simple time to relax.
Gerald understood the need for the treatment of the Sirian, but even so he was still slightly disgusted at what was going on. Still, it was better than the Sirian having free pass through Gallia, his home.
His Home.
Gerald loved Gallia and all it stood for. It was quite peaceful, excluding the inner wars, and he was able to live his life as a bartender himself. Then the Sirian came and screwed it all up. They destroyed a personal transport of his to give a very special shipment, causing massive economic problems for is little bar, and causing it to close down. Those rats, he thought, Non good, life wrecking-
Suddenly Gerald noticed he was getting worked up, calmed down and took a sip of coffee. The Brigadier Major started speaking just as Gerald got out of his thoughts. He nodded and sipped his coffee, taking in what the Major was saying.
"I think he may be a spy of some kind. Maybe delivering supplies to local Sirian infiltrators, or some type of special mission they gave him. These are far fetched ideas, but you can never know. Heck, the poor man might just be a smuggler." he laughed as he said the last part, somehow finding humour out of the statement. It was probably from being stuck in the interrogation room for so long.
"Possibly. What we need, though, is to make him tell us why he's here. You'd think if he were a smuggler that he would just fess up, but the man hasn't. That's what intrigues me. What secrets does he have?"
That was the justification for what they were doing. The Sirian had secrets, the Police needed answers.
Lefevre sipped on his coffee again, and considered getting a croissant to satiate his rumbling stomach. It had been a couple days since he'd actually sat down and eaten a cooked meal. Cooking, that's something that he could use right now. The Major was far from a gourmet chef, but cooking soothed and relaxed him. Maybe there would be a chance to leave duty early tonight and attempt to make something fresh.
Lefevre glanced around the Cafe. As usual, the patrons were absorbed in their own business, the low murmur of speech mixing with the subtle background noises of the station.
Gerald agreed with how the man couldn't be a smuggler, but It left many doors. He could be a terrorist, a idiotic Sirian, or a very slow thinking smuggler.
"You know, the teams haven't completely check his ship yet, and we have been given permission to go on board for a peek ourselves. We might be able to use our knowledge to find something the teams missed, Using our knowledge of the situation and our training." He said between sips of coffee.
He noticed Lefevre looked a tad bit pale, and picked up his small paper cafe plate to show there was an extra one underneath the one he has been using. He put one of the croissants and put it on the plate, then slid it over to the Major to indicate he could have it if he wanted. He then picked up the second one and began eating it himself, deep in thought.
Such a...bustling place.
Little had changed, he mused. Not like there would be any reason to assume as such...still, it was pleasant to see it as it always was.
Lillian was, as always, sauntering behind him, her hand lightly in his own. His violin case was, also, carried lightly, pinched in his other hand. Moving nimbly, dodging through the crowd, he soon came up to the serving bar. An older server, Stephen, met him, smiling.
"Perrot...it is good to see you again, mon ami." Stephen said, in his rather gravelly voice.
Perrot nodded, letting go of Lillian's hand, and setting it on the bar.
"The...usual, for Lillian and me..."
As Stephen rushed off to fill the order, Perrot turned around, lazily glancing around the cafe.
Two soldiers wearing white uniforms walked in and stood near the doorway.
A few seconds afterwards, a young man about his late twenties wearing what seemed to be extremely expensive clothing, promptly stepped in through the doors he was accompanied by a female wearing a white evening that had a split heading up from the bottom of the dress to the middle of her thigh. A few people gasped and instantly moved out of the way but he merely smiled and kept going. He stopped and looked over at the woman and whispered some orders to her. She nodded and turned to leave quickly, waving to the two guards to follow her on the way out.
Amongst the police and other people onboard the station in the Cafe, there was small talk going on about the son of the King being here, and certainly the small talk was indeed true. He smile faintly and walked over to the counter where the waiter looked up and dropped a glass on the floor in shock. "Uh..what can I do for you my lord?" The waiter said, his tone of voice saying he was shocked. The waiter hesitated and looked down at the broken glass and back up at the Prince.
"Don't worry about the glass, Monsieur. I'll pay for a new one. Now, I would like a simple glass of water. If you could, hm?" Joseph said smiling and leaning forwards on the counter. The waiter nodded and quickly hurried off. "Quite amusing how he dropped the glass." He replied to himself, pushing off from the counter and turning around then leaning with his back against it looking at the people staring at him.
"Oh come on, Madames and Monsieurs! It's just your prince. Carry on with what you're going to do!" He shouted, a light smile working its way to his lips.
Royalty on Gap...
Hell, that was unexpected. Perrot set his violin case down, lightly, motioning for Lillian to sit beside him, at the small table.
"Mon amour..." she said, quietly. "Is that...the prince."
He nodded, slightly. "Oui, Lillian...it comes to mind - what exactly is he doing here?"
He sighed, looking back at the serving bar. There was a whole puddle spread about the floor. So -that- was where the crash came from. He didnt have to guess too much to figure out who had done it.
Leaning over to her ear, he whispered "Be mindful, Lillian...we dont want an incident."
She nodded.
She was seething. That arrogant imbecile. On her station of all things! Probably wanted a quicky while he was at it. She was moving faster than she usually did, her cane clicking angrily against the metal floors. Her long swallow tail coat fluttered lazily after her as she stormed down to the cafe.
Having a royal on board Gap would mean tightened security. When unannounced, people doing their less then refutable business tended to get caught. She finally stopped at the entrance of the cafe, leaning on her cane to catch a breather. There he was. Antagonizing the bar. Wonderful. He'd probably shoot the poor fellow that had dropped the glass. And then she'd need to find another waiter who was half as competent as the poor fellow who shivered as he collected a glass of water.
She leaned against the frame of the door, watching. Maybe now is not the time to bring attention to yourself, she thought.
Amelie caught sight of the prince, who had just entered the cafe. She quickly direted her gaze away from the entrance. She grimaced and began to sweat, and rested her forehead in her hand, elbow connecting with the table.
I hope to the stars he isn't in here to take me away for dinner. Oh, the things I get into when I play along...
She took a gulp of her drink and made herself appear busy with her personal datapad.
People were rushing around the puddle, desperately soaking it up, with rags, mops - even their clothes.
It truly was astonishing, the manner people instated when Royalty was about.
Glancing around again, he looked at Lillian.
"If anyone touches you, or the violin, show them the gun, oui?"
She nodded, and placed her hand on the pistol at her hip, turning her gaze to the commotion, as Perrot sauntered towards the puddle.
Soon, he found Stephen.
"You can allow your watstaff to return to their posts..."
"Save you breath..." he snapped back, and then quickly regained his smirk. "Dont berate yourself further, oui? You have a job, mon ami..." He chuckled. After a few seconds, Stephen laughed, too.
Leaning back on the bar, he glanced back to Lillian.
Thankfully, no-one had been shot yet.