As the Verkehr came to a halt in the Bruchsal hangar bay and was refilled with repair 'bots, Jamieson hopped out of the cockpit and clambered onto the deck. Walking into The Portside Embassy, he made his way to the bar with purpose.
"Hey pilot, want a drink? Maybe something to take the edge off?" said Dutch.
"No thanks, but I bet you know what's going around here," replied Iain, although without his usual accent.
"Wait, what?"
"I... I dinnae ken. Just seemed like the thing tae say."
Getting over their mutual bewilderment quickly, Dutch pulled a pint of Vogtland Weissbier, and pushed it over the bar to his comrade.
"I'll tell ye, Rheinlanders ken how tae brew a grand pint; better than half the stuff we used tae get on Leeds.... Maybe after a few more runs tae the Mollys they'll let me haul back a crate or two ae their whisky. Now that is a fine tipple!"
"Indeed, I'm sure they wouldn't mind a keg or two of our own stuff either," mused Dutch.
With a nod to the Ambassador, Jamieson turned from the bar and, spotting him in the corner, made his way over to sit at Erich's table.
