The sound of a deep clunk was heard as a young looking man in a battle uniform dropped what seemed like a suitcase full of metal components on the ground, his battle clothes stained with cheap oil and what seemed to be like ale as well, the man looked around with a tired look and muttered to himself.
"Darn those lads..if ya can't mount a darn turret like its supposed ta be, why do ya even try..if ya can't make it turn forward, ya dun' mount it at all..waste of energy."
A quick push of strong, metal plated leather boots against the suitcase slipped it under an empty desk with one chair, near the exit to the engendering bay.
It was Andrew's favourite seat on this base and he was all too happy to enjoy a good drink after a hard days work. Nodding to the bartender, as he knew what he would request, he slumped back into the chair heavily and let out a sigh of relief.
"What a day....and yet...so much to do..."
He murmured to himself and smiled at the young lady, who brought him his drink, a dusty bottle and a small glass, oddly enough, so shiny and clear in comparison to the bottle it almost shadowed it with its own luster. Odd way to see that, as the lighting in the particular part of the bar was not the best.
Andrew sighed deeply and uncorked the bottle and got out a rag, placing it to he tip of the bottle he topped it over and let it soak just a bit, before starting to remove the oil stains from his arms, holding a few scars a mechanic would have.
Soon enough the oder of very strong alcohol filled the room as he did this and if someone would watch, he could even get out a few specks of fuel from his outfit.
Throwing the rag onto the suitcase underneeth, he reached out for the bottle again and poured some of the clear liquid into the small glass and set the bottle aside, after putting the lid back on.
The man would stare at the glass for what seemed a few minutes before he leaned back into his chair and got out a peper from one of the inner pockets of his vest. Upon reading it, his hand had slowly began to reach for the drink, but after his eyes were set on it, it changed its course a little, after a pen, near an ashtray.
A few scribbles here and there and he was standing up once more. The man reached down to take the bottle, uncork it and palce the glass to the tip, pouring the liquid back and placing it back on the desk. He took his suitcase, the sound of metal heard just fine as he left through the doors.
The lady picked the bottle up and chuckled to herself, moving over to the bartender once, more, swaying her hips to the joy of the others. The gruff man only looked at the door, then at the dusty bottle.
"You know...that Mort fellow...he never does finish his drink..."
The lady only placed it back under the barstend and smirked
"He never has started one to finish..."
The bartender only shook his head and murmured, going back to tend to the other costumers