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Sullivan nodded cheerfully. "Working industrial station this, no space for recreational facilities. You've got us, and you've got the staff hotbunks, and... that's about it." He wrinkled his noise in disappointment. "Might want to try popping down the lane to Gateshead if you've got time to spare. 'Lot more going on there."
At this point another ExSec pilot stormed in with a face like thunder. This one a sergeant from the look of it. "Afternoon, sar'nt," he snapped, repressed memories of an Army bootcamp oh so many years ago flooding back. He slid her whisky across the counter and added the heavily reduced bill to the tab.
"You two ladies enjoy y'selves. Don't overdo it if you're on duty, aye?"
It was a long flight - all the way from New Berlin to Newcastle. Tired, Ed walks in through the door and immediately notices the no vomiting and no sex sign. Sighing dejectedly, he heads straight to the bar and sits down, not even looking around.
*Gimme a glass of the best whiskey you've got.* he orders, his voice barely audible.
He props his head on his left hand while waiting for the drink and then turns to the bartender while asking him quietly,
*What's up with the sign, mate? We ain't that bad...* After thinking about it for a second or two decides to correct himself and adds *...usually.*
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Sullivan slid the glass across the counter and added yet another bill to ExSec's tab. He raised an eyebrow at the question. "Bellock", he replied. That was all that really needed to be said.
Edmund raises an eyebrow at the answer and immediately tries to remember some of his interactions with Bellock.
*Makes sense I guess...* He plays a bit with his glass before taking a sip.
*Damn, this is some good stuff. I guess I should come here more often.*
After admiring the taste of the whiskey he decides to think about Bellock a bit more and perhaps even suggest some solution of sorts.
*So he does all these stupid things all the time, why don't you just bann him from the bar? I mean, he could always drink in his ship - saves us all the trouble of having to be around him.
He takes another sip of whiskey and quickly adds *If you do bann him though, it wasn't my idea!*
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"Funny you should mention that," he said while polishing a glass. "That was tried before. One of the trade managers - Peterson, I think it was - banned him from the Empress' Legs on Gran Canaria because he kept threatening to murder the locals."
He sighed and shook his head. "Smoothing that out cost Bowex near enough $400,000 in anti-psychotic drugs, resulted in an escaped bear from the New London Zoo and forced an apology to the Royal Society for the Appreciation of Textiles." He chuckled to himself ruefully. "He's a strange bugger, that Mr Bellock. I'm not even entirely sure if he's completely human. He must have dirt on someone in HR or something."
He frowned. "Y'do realise some of your co-workers are sat in the corner over there, aye?"
Ed shudders while listening to the story about Bellock.
*Yeah, I think I will be avoiding him as much as possible after this little chat - bloody lunatic.*
He raises an eyebrow after hearing that he has collegues in the bar. His eyes start roaming the room looking for anyone of particular interest. Ed was just about to ask the bartender what he meant, when he sets his eye on the two other ExSec in the establishment.
Shrugging lazily, he turns back to the bartender. *I think I'll need at least one more drink to be brave enough to interrupt those two. Sian can be very bad. You should have heard the threats she threw my way this one time she was mad. Death threats would have been better.*
Sian, overhearing the conversation, calls across the room:
"Ah, come on Ed! I thought we were passed that, you still looking for me to atone for my sins? This cat has cut it's claws... I can't speak for Miranda but she hasn't tried to kill me yet. That counts for something."
She gulps down the last of her whiskey:
"Mr Bar... actually what is your name? and is there any Rheinbier behind the bar?"
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"That'd be Mr Sullivan, Sar'nt. James Sullivan." He double tapped the bar top and a menu shimmered into sight. Pinching it with his index and forefinger, he span it around and pushed it towards the bar stools in case Sian wanted to come and look. "No Rheinland imports at the current time, I'm afraid."
Pointing to each menu section in turn he ran through the selection. "Got the best of Bretonian breweries though - Gin and Stout from New London, cider, bitter and spirits from Cambridge. Whisky from Graves that by all account tastes like pig swill, but you lot seem to like it. We do a fair cocktail as well. Nothing fancy like you'd get on Waterloo, but good enough to pass the time."
He snapped his fingers remembering something. "Oh, doubt you lot'll be interested but a Universal freighter stopped by a few days ago and delivered our order of Libertonian stock. Ale mostly. Liberty Ale, Freedom Brew, Eagle Sauce. All the usual pisswater they like out there."
"Oh... thank you Mr Sullivan. What is in this "Eagle Sauce" drink? I can't stand the rest of that Libertonian dribble, but never heard'a that one."
Already a little red-faced, she walks across to the bar, stubbing the bar stool slightly, to hear better and ready herself to receive another beverage.