After many long hours of talk in a much too small room with the representatives of the Rheinland Goverment and the Bretonian Ministers talking, discussing and arguing they've decided that a break was needed and thus adjourned.
Outside of the Capitol Building standing in the ankle-deep Snow limousines were waiting for the Politicians, officers and other security members that were present in said Conference.
Cars already running with the heating cranked up and the headlights on, everybody made haste in order to not stay in the cold winternight which New Berlin was known for.
First to depart were the guests followed by the rest that had their own Residence somewere in the same District as the Capitol Building.
Plowing their way through the snow the sky was lit by the Stars, after a short drive that lasted about half an hour without seeing many to no people outside the limousines with the foreigners arrived at the Luxury Hotel Waldorf, first all of their extra clothing that was neccessary to even be able to move outside of heated buildings or Vehicles without getting chilblains was taken off, then everybody was shown to their rooms.
Having arrived in his suite Mike saw that his small case of things that he had taken with him for the stay in Rheinland was already lying on the bed.
First thing he did was to take a shower, too many people in a small room sure can make a room get damp fast, and the smell isn't very pleasant either.
The uniform tucked away Havering made his way down to the Reception, or what should be the reception.
Where is the next best bar that doesn't require me to get back into one of those awful winterthingys again. And no I'd rather not go to the Hotel Bar.
With that said an employee showed him a way through the maze that was the Hotelconnection with other buildings in the area, a short walk later they arrived at the bar.
Just as Mike entered he remebered what was irking him on his way here....
He didn't know one bloody word in Rheinlandish.
Always the things that should be obvious.
He sighed and took his chances hoping that the Bartender would eventually manage to grasp his show of hands.
Which in the end wasn't neccessary, they understood him just fine and even were able to retour some jokes though not without a very strong accent.
“This font is good people said, this font is awesome others said, I say it works well enough to waste 2 seconds of your life reading this.”
"And then he asked the other man: 'what's worse, apathy or ignorance?' He just leaned back, sighed and said 'I don't know and I don't care.' Bwhahahaha!"
Layla, too, started laughing uproariously, just like all the tough men at the bar would do after duty, only that she was no man, but a woman who was living almost her entire life in a club of men. This club was the Armed Forces and it had hardened her during her time of active duty. Almost unconsciously, she had lost the important traits of womanly tenderness and compassion, because they could prove hindering in the execution of her daily appointments, so many recruiters used to drum into her. But she started to feel it now, that lack of earnest affection towards people, especially beloved ones. She had hardly contact with her parents anymore and in an uncomfortable way she was gradually growing tired and weary of the company of Johnny. His retirement didn't seem to do either of them any good on the long run. Having drowned such urges of lightness and vulnerability in the masses of coffee and beer, Layla had become numb and saggy, both on the inside and the outside. She was sick of bossing around and displaying forced dominance over her male peers, she really was. Oh how she'd want to be able to play the innocent victim again, like back in the day when she first met Johnny.
Returning her focus from her crowded mind into the rather dull reality of the late-night atmosphere of the underground bar a local had recommended her, she inadvertently caught sight of a man wearing a BAF uniform standing at the counter. Layla's tired eyes eventually identified the man as Fleet Admiral Mike Havering, a rather good friend of hers, as numerous admirals during her career had been.
"If you'll excuse me, mien Herr." Layla turned away from the young Police aspirant she had been talking to for the last 20 minutes and made her way towards Mike.
Having grown rather fond of the local brewery Mike ordered another beer.
Knowing not to make a complete fool of himself and the Armed Forces, he reminded himself not to get dead drunk...
Always good to try something new, and I'm not regreting it so far.
He said whilst taking another gulp from the oversized beer glass.
Still standing at the barcounter, he took a look around to see what kind of people were hanging around at this time, he couldn't say night seeing that night on this side of the Planet wasn't going away for the next couple of months.
As he swept his gaze over the visitors he noticed that most had some sort of uniform, he couldn't say what uniform but most of them must have to do with the Military or belonged to a similar branch of the Goverment.
Finishing his beer he nearly choked on it when he saw Layla moving towards him.
She had just recently been demoted back to Lieutnant Commander and he hadn't really talked to her in a while.
Mike likes Layla, he can still remember the night when she redjected him in her Estate Garden on Cambridge.
He'd gotten over it with time, but still couldn't let go of her completely.
Bartender, I need another one of these indicating the empty beer glass.
“This font is good people said, this font is awesome others said, I say it works well enough to waste 2 seconds of your life reading this.”
John Clay. A rather skinny fellow in his late twenties, and a retired Admiral of the Bretonian Armed Forces. It had been like that for quite some time, his last duty was carried out on 9th January 818 A.S, and he hadn't really been caring for himself ever since. He got weaker, thinner and dull. It was no longer that happy and positive Johnny. His retirement was actually caused by a mysterious disease which forced him to sleep for a few months, and eventually erasing much of his memory, even his beloved Layla. His memories were slowly coming back though, but he was never the same. He was somewhat grumpy, even unbearable sometimes, often complaining about his and Layla's lives. They barely saw each other since John recovered from his illness, making John unhappy and paranoid.
It was another sunny day on Cambridge, at least where his estate was. The sun he had always loved so much wasn't raising his mood anymore. He woke up completely alone on his, and Layla's bed. He couldn't remember when was the last time he saw her there lying beside him. It was either before his illness happened, or a really long time ago. At least that's what he was thinking that moment. Anyway, he got up, dressed himself into his home clothes, and went downstairs to the kitchen to make himself something to eat and drink. Every single day started and ended the same way. The same damn stereotype, repeating over and over every single day for more than a year now, and John was gradually getting tired of it. Due to his memory errors and somewhat slower reflexes, he wasn't allowed to pilot a fighter anymore. Oh how he wished he had never gone on that crazy trip to Harris with Layla. It took the last thing he had - his licence needed to pilot a fighter.
Bretonians are famous for their passion towards tea-drinking, and John was no exception. He made one that morning too, but nobody could say he actually liked it. Even the goddamn food was getting horrible. His gaze met a photo, where he wore an Admiral's uniform. Good old times, Armed Forces. Great fame, low responsibilities. Why? Because he had arranged it. He was recalling those times where he shared the chair of the Fleet Admiral, leader of the whole Armed forces, with Piett, he was recalling those times when he formed that famous squadron with Woodrow and Davis. Barely, but he recalled. And he wished he could go back there. But it wasn't possible.
John then found his portable communicator. He thought he could send a message to Layla, just to make sure she was okay. Oh right, someone would come and tell him she had died in action in case something happened, but it would certainly make him feel better if he contacted her.
He quickly typed in the following message: "How's is going, babe? I hope you didn't manage to screw up anything yet, and I do hope you won't. So... are you alone now? Do you have a room? Is it great?"
John finished typing the message, sent it, and then just threw the device into the same place where he found it. It was another dull day in front of him.
[10:46:32] Wolfs Ghost (Murphy): And actually, the KU Dessie is the best GB.
[19:29:19] Joseph (Aphil): SCRA|CPW-Capitalism.
What was it that was squeezing some nerve or whatever on her back and left forearm all the time? She had been feeling uncomfortable in her uniform all day. Admittedly, the size was not the biggest and it subsequently fit tight, but she'd always liked it that way, mostly for practical reasons and maybe also a bit to draw the men's attention, though she reluctantly admitted that. Could it really be that she was so not at her best anymore that she didn't even fit in her own uniform anymore? Layla depicted with great dismay her gradual tendency towards abysmal fatness. God no, obesity is something for grey ex-admirals, not for young officers like her, not for women anyway, she thought. "I really need to exercise more again." Layla conceded while grinding her teeth and prodding various parts of her torso.
"Salutations Fleet Admiral Mike, what's up tonight?" Layla saluted with a blatantly obvious ironical undertone in front of her superior, colleague and friend and then took a seat right next to him. "Hey bartender, get me one of these as well." She said to the grimly looking, stout man motioning at the hugely over-sized beer glass at which rims the bubbles of foam were still gluing.
Glancing over to Layla as she sat down next to him Mike tried not to stare.
The way she was dressed in a uniform that seemed like it was a size smaller than it should was provoking to say the least. I think the next thing that needs to be done is banning too tight uniforms
He thought whilst taking a swig from the beer that was just brought to him.
Taking a short look around he hopes that nobody would be getting the idea to go and talk how a high ranking Officer from Bretonia was sitting in a public bar minding his own business.
Last thing that was needed now were some pesky people asking questions about that treaty business with Rheinland.
Still teasing me with fomalities.
Mike chuckles whilst trying not to be too tense. Just attempting to relax after all this political stuff. What have you been up to?
Returning to look at Layla trying to concentrate on her face.
“This font is good people said, this font is awesome others said, I say it works well enough to waste 2 seconds of your life reading this.”
Leaning against the counter and smartly crossing her legs she replied: "Ah you know, chit-chat here and there, some of those green Polizei officers are so cute." Layla glanced yearningly at the young man in his very early twenties she had been talking too before. He really was green, one could not only see that by the colour of his uniform, but also by his somewhat insecure expression on his face when he was talking or looking around. Murmuring a hardly understandable 'Danke' towards the bartender as he shoved the glaringly yellow beverage in her hands, Layla moved an inch closer towards Mike, desirously smiling. "I am really glad I don't have to bother with all that dry banter, just keepin' the old gentlemen's bums safe is well enough for me." She laughed heartily. Suddenly she again felt uneasy somewhere at the lower part of her stomach and grimacing with slight pain, she was forced to alter her position. After a couple of rather slack sips from her glass and in a much more disillusioned way as well as with a weary expression on her face, she said in a completely different tone than before: "Something's been beating up on me lately, Mike, the demotion was just the tip of the iceberg.." In that moment her communicator uttered a row of sounds and Layla took the device out of her pocket, sighing. Silently, she read what was in the message. After some quick pondering she texted back: "Nah, don't worry, just hanging around bars and stuff, talkin to random people, it's cold here and the negotiations are getting on slowly, but hopefully I'll be back in a couple o' days. Love ya, L." With an even greater sigh, she stuffed the device back in her pocket.
John was about to go for a walk around his garden like he used to do every day since he retired when he heard his communication device. He rushed towards it, only to find out Layla was hanging out around bars. He sighed. This didn't calm him down. It actually freaked him out. He took the device and typed in a message: "Just go sleep sooner. You'll need it during your trip back."
He sent this, and subsequently put the device into his pocket before leaving the villa. The garden he loved so much looked somewhat abandoned. It didn't serve as the oasis of peace anymore. Sometimes John was asking himself: "What is going on with me? Why am I unhappy?" He was depressed, and worried about Layla. She didn't feel comfortable around him anymore, and John felt it. She was getting further and further from him, and he didn't know why. He had no idea what to do. He could only wait.
Days like that seemed to be infinitely long. He was so lonely. But at the same time, Layla didn't scatter his loneliness. She lost this magic. Was it because John retired, or because he changed after his illness? He didn't know the answer to these questions, yet they freaked him out.
[10:46:32] Wolfs Ghost (Murphy): And actually, the KU Dessie is the best GB.
[19:29:19] Joseph (Aphil): SCRA|CPW-Capitalism.
Mike knew she'd mention the Demotion somewhere, swinging his glass watching the yellowish liquid stir, Mike tried to think how not to sink deeper into the pit he felt he was already in.
I'm sorry to hear that things arn't going so well for you right now,
Watching her write something in her communicator while he was talking, at least you can spend some more time with John that way.
Giving a smile Mike took another drink from his beer, feeling like he didn't improve the situation with what he said.
“This font is good people said, this font is awesome others said, I say it works well enough to waste 2 seconds of your life reading this.”
Layla had been in a constant state of mixed feeling over the past weeks. She was walking on the slippery slope between raw joy and pleasure on the one side and emptiness and depression on the other side. So far, she'd managed to push the latter aside most of the time, but it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to pretend to enjoy things. It was about damn time she experienced something new and genuinely exciting as well as comforting, not only to her libido, but also to her heart. John wasn't really able to cover either of these sides anymore, she felt.
"Aw ye, Johnny, I dunno..." Layla said almost to herself and only partially audible to Mike. In an attempt to break through the ice and change the topic, she asked considerably more enthusiastically: "They gave me an awful room at some cheap hotel downtown, the washbasin is dirty and the bed smells.." Layla paused while looking around and moving an inch closer to Mike again. "I gather the special guests have fancy accommodations too, haven't they?"
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