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Dazed by the last few seconds, Axel found himself trapped between two crazy women, neither of which would be merciful towards him. Fuchs' voice was recognizable from somewhere within the bar, but it was unnecessary to the situation.

"Uh, t-'tag, McFarlen, Eistochter. My apologies, I wasn't aware the bar would suddenly burst to life and I'd find myself looking down the barrel of the shotgun that are your eyes, Eistochter. Don't take that as flirting, by the way, since I am in no situation to do so."

From casual to suddenly stern, Axel replied to Freya then to Sparks.

"Ah, McFarlen. What a... surprise to see you here. What? Was Zwickau too much for you? Or did you run out of test subjects and come back to harvest more?"

Suddenly Freya raises her hand and before Axel realizes what's happening the sound of her flat hand interacting with the skin on his cheek echoes throughout the station. As she removes her hand from the face of the stumbling Axel a clear red mark in the shape of her hand becomes visible. "Your name seems to be quite fitting, Eichel. Still I'd suggest you think a few seconds before you make a remark in the future and remember who it is that's standing before you."

She walks past Axel and gestures towards the bartender for a drink, he knows by now that she always wants a glass of water if she doesn't specify it otherwise. She takes a seat next to Alex. "Good to see you, Fuchs." She frowns at Sparks. "McFarlen.." She shakes her head and turns back to Alex. "Aren't your people a lovely cozy bunch, 'Oberst'? Come on, comfort her."

An unusual remark. Comforting people never seemed Freya's highest priority yet her face doesn't reveal any sarcasm. She looks concerned, whatever the reason may be.

Perhaps, it was the hand that slapped his face, or the following remark that made Axel re-evaluate the situation within the Widerstand. Perhaps, it was the sudden change of character that made Axel re think his approach. But either way, he shouldn't have to take such sass from a so called 'witch' that ran the Widerstand.

Axel approached the (dare he call her) women and gave her his opinions on the matter.

"The Vorsitzende of the Widerstand shouldn't show such hositility to her members, Eistochter. If you're the face of this party, think about the public consequences that may follow after backing handing a member. Imagine the retreat of the supporting parties that paid, in both lives and finances, for us to be here, simply because you back hand, abuse or embarrass your members." Axel leans back on a table, crossing his arms and kicking his legs out slighty.

"You show more traits of the corrupt Kanzler than a political leader that is supposed to represent Rheinland's people."

Axel shifts his gaze lazily to Sparks.

"Crawling out of Zwickau was a good idea, McFarlen. We need intelligent engineers such as yourself to further our efforts."

He smiles and stands up and recites his family name and meaning with perfection.

"Eichel: acorn or oak, relevant to trees or other organic matter. Not used as a term to describe someone in your unprofessional matter. Aufwiedersehen, Eistochter, McFarlen."

With that, Axel leaves the bar.

Alex wasn't quite sure what just happened. He'd never heard those sorts of words out of an Aktivist before, and he certainly didn't want to here them again. So now he was left with a steaming Freya and a depressed McFarlen. Just my luck, he thought.

Gott. I don't know what Erich was doing with Axel, but that is not the way I'm going to have one of my Aktivists acting. Consider this being dealt with, Freya

Alex tried his very best to put on his stern face.

"GOOTEN TAAAG!", a high pitched bretonian voice echoes as Lizzie steps into the bar, the lady still dressed like a preppy aristocrat as her usual, not really sinking into her new life so well. "Ahah! There it is! A place for intellectual meetings and discussions about the future of the poor people of Rheinland, only for our elite minds, stimulated by the wonderful treasure that is Rheinbeer, jjja?"

Ignoring all of the previous scene, the naive lady vaguely hums what seems to be an approximation of a chant she may have heard at University once during a short lived protest. Really, her presence is nearly insulting so carefree she is, and so terrible her impression of a Rheinlander accent is. It doesn't stop her from ordering a round of drinks on her tab for everyone present, though. Raising her glass, which to her dissapointment is not Oktoberfest-sized, she presents herself to everyone present. "Hallo! I am Lizzie McLowell, another proud member of our movement!"

This has to be a mistake, right? Who in their right mind would've allowed her in?

"Fuchs, get Eichel on daily cleaning duty for an entire month." Freya pauses. "...bitte." She remembered that she isn't actually allowed to give orders to Fuchs now that he outranks her when it concerns the Widerstand so she had to actually ask nicely.

As the bar is suddenly disturbed by the newest visitor she frowns. "Is that supposed to be.. Rheinlandisch? I'm so glad you never tried that McFarlen." She glances at the glass she receives. "And why did she give everyone beer. Some people might still need to fly." Then rather unexpected coming from Freya: "I do wonder what it tastes like though.. never tasted it." She looks up when Lizzie starts to introduce herself, leaving her drink for what it is. Yet there's no rant about how a guerrilla-fighter should behave or dress. This new woman is in fact so very much unlike Freya that she has caught her curiosity.

"Aktivist... McLowell? Come here and sit down, bitte." She gestures at the empty seat opposite to her, which happens to be next McFarlen, unintentionally dividing the table in two Rheinlanders on one side and two foreigners on the other. Typical for Freya, she goes on without introducing herself, hoping that McLowell does not recognize her from any scary stories she might have heard from other members. "You appear to be a rather... unusual figure here. What brings you here?"

Freya frowns. "Just like all of us here indeed, but that's rather obvious of course. A fighting force has people wanting to fight." She sighs. It appears there is no new woman before her. There's only a lost girl.

"But you don't appear to be a fighter, nor do you seem to have a background that's even vaguely similar to the majority of those around here. How come a... what is it? Libertonian? Or maybe Bretonian?" Freya wasn't sure. McLowell did sound a bit different from her Liberty Navy contacts and the only Bretonians she ever heard appeared to barely speak the same language. Then again they happened to the Mollys, so Freya's impression of Bretonian was fairly inaccurate. "Well, a non-Rheinlander anyway, how come such a person ends up here and were did you come from? And wearing such a weird costume as well." She points at the dress. "I know uniforms aren't required when you are off-duty, but I've never seen something like that dress before."

Surprisingly, Freya didn't really sound unfriendly at all, instead appearing to be actually concerned and also quite fascinated.

She hops off the table, but misjudges the height of the jump due to her large robe and lands on her rump, stunned for a brief moment before she turns around to answer Freya. "I'm from Cambridge, actually, descendent of a long lineage of doctors and pharmacists.", she says with a wince as she stands back up. "In fact, my family is minor Bretonian nobility, which is why my mother sent me to Rheinland to continue my studies in biomedical engineering. She's afraid that the Gallics would try to come after us or something."

She then approaches Freya, sitting on the table rather than sitting on the chair, her lower back still killing her after the fall, but she gracefully tries to contain her pain. "Instead, I've found the most magnificient people of Sirius, with the most interesting culture and language. Bretonia's working class always was oppressed, but we always were so passive about it. But you? You ACT on it. You go and get what you want! ...And I guess your recruiter on my campus was cute, as well. Too bad he was arrested.", there is a thoughtful hum that comes after this odd declaration.

She then baps her chest and takes a proud stance. It almost looks silly, really. "If medical assistance is what you need, I am Nummer Ein at what I do.", the clear lack of experience the lady possesses about life in general seems to suggest otherwise to anyone with a tiny hint of common sense. "As for this dress, well, it's what I had when I left the campus, actually. I do have some lighter clothings, but nobility needs to distinguish themselves to be able to guide their people. Do you like it? I've got a few more like these, if you'd like to try them on. Maybe I could contact my couturier, even..."