[font=Cambria]Lanzarote was an island adrift in a sea of what might have been. Wreathed in scattered detritus, the remnants of ambitions never materialized, standing lonely vigil over a world which offered only enough resource to ensure that she would never fully die.
The patrons of her one unnamed bar sat similarly wreathed in the smoke of the collective cigars and cigarettes that the weak environmental systems never quite managed to clear; perhaps out of deference for the men who sought an additional layer of isolation from the world. Those who spent their reverie staring towards the heavens would see a collective trail drawn from each man towards the bar's one fan, tracing a thick contrail of ash with each revolution.
Built into what had once served as the station's conn center the bar commanded no view save that of the lonely landing deck, where the curious people watcher could observe the great airlock crack to admit the occasional automated shuttle or even more rare visitor disembark from the docking cradles.
In all respects the her beginning marked her current form. The spartan utility of the command deck supplanted by the spartan utility of the bar. Built of simple metal, her tables and chairs of similar design, all laid out beneath a dim light. When the deck lay silent the creak of the station could be felt as much as heard, when the rare occasion merited that the room should be filled with song it was as though the walls would seize the cry and raise it up.
For the reverent silence of her current form was but a veil over the burning hope that had been carried by those who had founded her, hope and a burning vision for the future which had carried the first explorers to discover Gran Canaria. Hope which was etched far too deeply into Lanzarote's bones to be dispelled.
Or maybe that was just the romantic in him trying to squeeze something out of his surroundings. A body might not have much of a call over the cards they're dealt, but they can decide how the play them. If you ended up in this bar chances are you're clutching your hand for one reason or another.
[font=Cambria]It was empty here, almost completely abandoned. It was like this place had read Wexler's thoughts. A place where everything he wanted was in one place but without the talking crowd. Most of all, he was here for the name. The Rebel's Corner. Fitting given the current situation he had found himself in. A silent atmosphere had struck the bar that was only given life to by the sounds of cigars being smoked and worn out glasses being raised.
He knew Junior-Lieutenant Lazarev was around here, somewhere. He had done a good job as of late, always coming back with good news from the Omega-50 skirmishes. Flying primarily with Lt. Colonel Alesky, Wexler never had but one chance to participate on those missions and as such was mostly unknown to Lazarev. Wexler was actually unknown to most people in the Coalition other than what his rank demanded people to know about him. But that was nobody's fault but his own, in the end Wexler liked it that way.
One could say however that Alesky had become a good friend of his. The level of honesty they shared towards each other had established a form of trust that Wexler never had managed to possess with anyone else, and the cooperation to forward the Rebellion Movement had built respect.
He was also a bit worried Colonel Rhade. Yes, he wasn't fit to lead a whole movement but that doesn't deny his abilities to be an excellent wing-commander. Leadership can take in many forms and just because you aren't the decision maker doesn't mean you aren't a leader. A leader inspires people, keeps the morale high and makes sure a group sticks together.
Wexler's failures to be social nullified a lot of these aspects of leadership, he was a great tactician with the necessary devotion to the Coalition movement to ensure his superiors that he was a man of loyalty. But Colonel Rhade was needed for the other parts. Wexler could only hope for a time where they could cooperate for the better of the movement, because in the end that is all Wexler cared about. If it meant that the Rebellion could prosper with the assistance of Colonel Rhade, then he must have him by his side.
No doubt, Lt. Colonel Alesky was also very "socially gifted" but those skills were used on other areas. He was a man who could turn any agreement into reality and this was in essence crucial to all the major operations of the Rebellion Movement. He was probably the single most important individual the Rebellion had, but still, there was a spot for Colonel Rhade, a spot that needed to be filled and could only be so by him. Wexler knew that Colonel Rhade's quiet disappearance was a deliberate move and he knew it was a matter of reputation. Hope was indeed all that was left, hope that Rhade would see things Wexler's way.
Perhaps then, they could actually win this damn civil war.
[font=Century Gothic]Black circles under his eyes and a painful feeling on his back defined Lazarev's semblance since he was re-assigned to Lanzarote. That didn't mean he wasn't proud about the efforts he was making on battling the Volkhan patrols in Omega 50. He knew he was somewhat the new guy there, the one that nobody ever heard about so it was time to highlight, to prove the rest that he was able to succeed.
Socializing was one of his strong points, but now he was more focused on lurking Omega 50 than any other thing. That's why he preferred silent places where he could meditate about his next move, his next target, and making sure he'd bring good news to Alesky and Wexler. He stepped into the Rebel's Corner, the only place in the station -apart from the hangar- where he could find such silence, allowing him to concentrate and analyze all the data retrieved from his skirmishes in Omega 50 in order to be more effective the next time he would jump in combat.
[size=small]<span style="font-size:10pt;line-height:100%][font=Times New Roman]It had taken almost an hour to come here and every part of her body felt like on fire. Now as she walked slowly into the bar, she felt strange. She came together with Alla...he guided her safe here, but she left him in the hangar bay only with a few words.
Alla Alesky, he was the main reason for everything that happened with her life since the last past months. She was happy and she felt a strange calmness. Few days ago she would have raged about the things everyone was talking about on Islay. Alla and Sequoia, Alla and Ambrosia. Few days ago she would have been scared for all the new dangers she would face in the name of the Coalition. But she was totally calm. Alla would come too, maybe they could have a chat. But she was here to get to know the others... the other men and women on which side she would be fighting now.
So she looked around in that mostly empty bar and wistling an old workers song from Leeds she knew from her childhood she walked on.
Ling calmly and slowly entered the bar, much cleaner and refreshed than the previous evenings. The morale in the Rebel camp was higher than ever before with the return of the Havana and Alvarez. For Ling, it meant fresh supplies to the Xi'an and his gunboat crew was now at full strength. It also felt good to be in a fresh and clean uniform. Lt Xu had command of the Xi'an back in Edinburgh and was making preparations for the coming operations. This had allowed Ling to scout ahead and get in contact with the forward elements of the war. It had been a couple of weeks since Ling was on the front line. Too long in his opinion. He stretched his arms and legs out.
"Hrrrrngh. All I ask for is more leg room on an Odin and I'll be much happier."He muttered to himself.
He had spotted Wexler and a few other Junior Lt's. Ling was much like Wexler in many ways. Ling's sense of honour and duty spanned generations of his family's humble farming lives. It had meant that a "small community" mentality prevailed. Ling had a few very good and close friends - however that number had been cut down viciously in recent weeks. It suddenly occurred to Ling, he had very few friends left in the Coalition. He made a conscious effort to try and socially network a bit more tonight.
"Ni hao"He bowed slightly."May I get anyone here a drink?"
He hadn't originally elected to tend bar, it just happened to be the best seat in the house when he had first wandered in over a year ago. None of the occasional regular who wandered through had seemed to object to this change in whatever status quo they had adjusted themselves to and, with time, he had been entrusted with tasks as sophisticated as cleaning glasses and looking after the bottles each of the regulars set aside for themselves.
His status of wandering tourist seemed to be upgraded to bartender when the rent for both his room and the cradle his ship occupied suddenly was covered by the station. He maintained the room and adjacent controls as best he could without making any drastic changes and, when the opportunity merited, brought in something new from the outside for those who were looking for it.
Seems that none were, as he had built up a bit of a stockpile. One which he imagined would soon be put to use when the fourth new body walked through the door. Which was about four more new faces than he'd seen in about twice their number of months.
With a gentle kick of his boot the sound system fired up a jazz ensemble, sitting just low enough in the background to drown the worry of carried whispers and, without losing his place in the book propped against his knees, began the clean out the glasses not familiarly used by his primary customers.
[font=Century Gothic]Sergei was almost falling asleep on his seat when the background music 'woke' him up. Whenever he tried to remember the past skirmishes in Omega 50, his mind was eventually disconnected, like begging for some more sleep hours. He took a gulp from his glass filled with some kind of liquor as he heard somebody whistling a rather familiar song for him. He turned his head to the source of that whistling, noticing a girl a few meters from him.
"Coming from the poisonous mists of Leeds, may I assume?" Sergei asked, making a great effort to avoid yawning. [color=#FFCC99]"Good to see the toxic waste didn't silence the workers clamor at all..." He added in a lower tone, wondering if she would have any link with the Coalition.
Nobody knew Alla had been on Lanzarote for hours, seeking refuge in the cockpit of his fighter as he finally entered the bar. It was the only place he could truly have solitude, and that was what he needed these days. The low droning of the jazz music went on unnoticed by him, consumed by his own thoughts.
Alla had just returned from a battle that altered his psyche and personality, but it would be hard to notice by looking at him. His straight black hair was as neat as ever, face full of color, and not even the slightest jitter as he moved towards a table in the corner. Both his hands were jammed into the pocket of his uniform, and his eyes focused on his feet as always.
Alla quietly took a seat at his table, making no notice of who was in the room while he muttered absent-minded to himself.
[font=Cambria]Wexler who had always loved the dark corners of any bar, creeped out from the shadows which had shrouded his appearance when he noticed that Alesky had made a quiet entrance. And just as quietly Wexler decided to slalom pass the empty tables to finally sink his whole body down on the chair opposite to the man.
Still not uttering a word. He turned his head towards the bartender and nodded, signalling Simon to come. He didn't even manage to open his mouth before Wexler requested two glasses of whiskey along with the bottle that came with them.
[color=#FF5555]"I don't care what you like you are drinking whiskey with me now." He said jokingly to Alesky.
People rarely saw Wexler's humorous side, but Alesky, someone who had recently become a friend of his saw it far too often.
Alla didn't even look up as Wexler addressed him. It was no mystery who approached him, not by a long shot. Most of the rebels were afraid of him, for reasons that remained mostly unknown to him. His head popped up at the mention of Whiskey, however, glaring in Wexler's general direction.
"That stuff's poison to the brain. Almost as bad as that green junk Jonah tried to get me to smoke a few times back at Islay. Order all you want, but it's not going in me." Alesky replied in a barely audible voice.
He had always been quiet, and had an intense dislike for anything mind-altering. He didn't even like to rely on his medication, and he wasn't going to indulge in alcohol for reaction, joke or not.
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