@commander-zoe
Eld planted both his hands firmly on the heavy wooden door and heaved. As the door swung open, he was hit in the face by an almost literal wall of sounds, smells, a sights; a cacophony of chatter and clinking tankards, rising and falling in volume and pitch like waves rippling across the surface of a lake; the heady aroma of stale beer and tobacco smoke and roasting joints of meat; harried barmaids weaving between tables, their brightly coloured skirts swirling around their legs.
He grinned widely before striding into the maelstrom.
Eld loved pubs. They were just so full of energy. On the eve of an expedition, he invariably found himself in one, slap bang in the middle of that swirling storm of life, enjoying every moment. Normally he dragged the rest of his Squad with him, but tonight Gunther had begged off, and Petra and Auruo were nowhere to be found. Different people prepared for expeditions in different ways, he guessed. Personally, he liked to celebrate a life well lived.
He walked forwards, slaloming round people. As he reached the bar however, he stopped dead in his tracks. An unusual but familiar figure was hunched over the well-worn wooden counter. The wild nest of hair, pencils firmly jammed at odd angles in her ponytail; it really couldn’t be anyone else.
“Good evening, Squad Leader Zoe.”
He eased himself on the stool next to her, a warm smile on his face.
“Seeing as we’re ‘off duty’, would it be completely against protocol for me to ask you whether I can buy you a drink?”
