The lietenant waled in to the room, casually. He was a bit later tonite, although there wasn't much else differnt about him - same casual uniform, same sword, same violin, and the same wierd expression plastered across his face. Today, he had his wife, Lillian, along with him, carefully grasping her hand. Small smirks occasionaly broke his utterly confusing emotional mask.
He caught eye of a rather odd sight - a man in Royal Navy attire, his face buried into a rather plain looking book. Perrot grinned wide, biting down on his lip to supress a laugh - this was a place for the Police, not thpse high-and-mighty arses squabbling errantly.
He and his wife had business here...but it could certainly wait.
The lietnant leaned over to his wife, whispered something, and started walking towards the serving bar, where the Naval pilot's rather simple order was being arranged. Lillian laughing beside him, Perrot leaned over to the vigorously wokring attendant.
"Give him a bit of something...extra in his drink, oui?" The Lieutenant slipped out a little bottle, with an "X" embalzoned on the front, and the cartoonish carving of a water drop etched around the logo. The attendant sncikered, and poured some of the clear solution into the water, blending it perfectly. The Navy pilot would either be asleep in a few minutes, or drunk off his arse. Ah, the wonders of alchohol.
He grasped Lillian's hand again, and strode off to a table in the corner. Now, to wait for Lefevre.
Lefevre was in a good mood for a change. Today hadn't been such a bad one. The patrol had found a small group of Maquis who were feeling rather mouthy and dispatched them easily enough. They'd even been joined by the Princess Aurelia DeFrance herself. Although at times irritating, accompanying the Princess was one way to get noticed.
The Sous Brigadier knew, however, that he probably hadn't made the slightest impression upon the lady. He was beneath her class, and that's all that mattered.
The Cafe was pleasant as usual. No Internal Affairs agents there to shoot anyone. There was Perrot and Lillian sitting at a table off in the corner, Brun and Chevalier betting on a game of Nations, and...wait...what was a Navy pilot sitting nearby? What on Gap was a Navy man doing at the Cafe? Poor fellow, he must be new. Lefevre glanced back at Perrot, who met his gaze with a sly smile. What had the Lieutenant done to the man...
Lefevre strode to Perrot's table, gesturing to the attendant to prepare his usual along the way. Pulling out a chair, he sat across from the Lieutenant, nodding a greeting to Lillian, and then speaking to Perrot, "Well, Lieutenant, I am here. Anything more on our...uh...problem?"
Beauregard enters the cafe, bloody and bruised, along with him, a woman dressed in black, even more bloody and bruised than Beauregard, you could tell she was half dead, broken bones all over, crying. Beauregard dropped her on the floor, next to Bernard Brun. Bernard! I have a present for you, alive like you said, I encountered her near Valence base. It was ended quickly, ran into her own mine barely making it out into a pod, which was tractored, I sent a transmission to your name, check when you have the chance.
Amelie approached the cafe that she had neglected for days, and ordered her usual decaffeinated mug of coffee. The drink was soon ready, and she strolled over to a table near the glass that provided the orange vista of planet Drome. She sat with her back to the planet, becoming a silhouette that watched the antics of the various others in the cafe.
She watched as an exchange occurred; a battered woman for a Gallic credit chip. The young woman's soft, pained cries seemed to drown out what the men were saying, and the second man left with both the girl and a look of disappointment in tow.
A way a lone a last a loved a long the riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay,
brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.
It had been some time since Luc Lefevre had been to the Cafe d’Observateur. A week - maybe two - and he was desperately in need of some good coffee. What they had nearby for the officers was only coffee in name and did nothing to resemble the smooth aromatic blend that the Cafe was known for.
On his way through the doors he was abruptly pushed aside by SBg. Brun, dragging a woman behind him who looked as if she’d been to hell and back. Looking through the doorway, what he saw was another Royal Police officer - wasn't his name Delacroix? - standing, twirling a credit chip between his fingers, and merely watching as Brun dragged the woman out.
Things are not always as they seem…
Lefevre cautiously walked through the entrance and across the cafe as its patrons either got up and left or returned to their previous conversations. The majority of those leaving looked quite shaken at what had recently transpired. Lefevre made a note to himself to bring up cafe etiquette at the next briefing. The frequency at which these sorts of encounters occurred within the walls of an otherwise peaceful bistro was becoming intolerable.
Over the past couple weeks, though, Lefevre hadn’t done more than hear these stories. There was a reason he’d been promoted twice in that time, and it wasn’t because he was slacking off. Non, the most recent one was most likely due to the capture of the Sirian and the potential information he could give. Lucas Gerald and Lefevre both had been on the patrol that night the Sirian had wandered into Royalist space. He was posing as a bumbling trader, with a large cargo ship completing the image. Small slips here and there during questioning had tipped the interrogators - including Lefevre and Gerald, who had been assigned to stay on after the capture – to realize that this man knew more than he let on. A Lieutenant was currently in charge of the investigation, but there had been stirrings that it would be transferred up to one of the Commissaires.
Lefevre grabbed his mug and thanked the attendant. He paced over to a booth against one of the walls and sipped musingly on the day’s brew. Gerald was going to be there shortly.
Lucas Gerald walked towards the Cafe, almost afraid of the place. He hasn't been here for a month it seemed, but of course it was only a few days or weeks. The last time he was here, bad news was given to him, so he started dreading the place and avoiding it if possible. Today he couldn't avoid it.
He was passed by Brun dragging what looked like a sack, only to find it a person. Gerald shook slightly and stepped into the cafe. He hated this place even more.
The aromas hit him, the smell of the coffee, the foods, the waitress, everything was almost peaceful. After a quick look around, he saw something just happened and the spell was broken. He slumped and grew sullen, wandering to the counter to get a cup of coffee, and with a second thought to gets an extra, along with various foods on a plate. He bought the stuff, nodded to the cashier, then looked around. He finally caught sight of Lefevre and started to stroll towards him. He then thinks he bought too much food, and sneaks it to others plates in a almost commercial fashion. Once he only had one fifth of what he started with, which included his two cups of coffee, two croissants, and a truffe. He sat himself down across from Brigadier Major and spread out his meal, moved one cup of coffee aside, and sipped the cup of coffee before him.
"Bonjour, Major Lefevre. I am finally here. sorry for the wait."