Martin Crieff | Cabin Pressure | That Bar

[mm_z]

It's a rather scrawny chap who wanders into the bar today, his nose buried in a notebook of sorts. He seems to be revising its contents with a red biro. And he most definitely has not been crying recently

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[sandhu_kids]

"Why are you crying?" asks Fry, master of tact.

[mm_z]

Martin quickly moves to dry his eyes.

"I'm not," he insists. "I'm not. It's just allergies. I'm not crying!"

And he did not just get yelled at by his boss again. Not. At. All.

[sandhu_kids]

Fry offers him a tissue.

"For every woman teased for shedding a tear, there is a man who wishes he could express himself." he says. "So don't bottle your 'allergies' up."

[mm_z]

Martin does his best to glare at the kid. It comes off looking rather more nervous than he intended, though.

"I'm fine. Really."

He's never been a particularly good liar, but at least he's persistent.

[sandhu_kids]

"People don't cry when they're fine, they cry when they're upset, injured, ridiculously happy, or have something in their eye. Most of those don't make you go red here." he points at various points of Martin's face.

"I'm Fry."

[mm_z]

"I have allergies," he insists.

He sniffles slightly.

"Martin. Captain Martin Crieff." He points at the four stripes on his jacket sleeve.

[sandhu_kids]

"Hm. Not Holmes. Unless you married and took a partner's name... Probably just as well, they'd murder you at family gatherings."

Fry reaches out to look at the four stripes, which are nicely parallel.

"What are you captain of?"

[mm_z]

"I'm sorry, what?" Colour Martin very confused.

"Oh, uh. I'm an airline captain. I fly aeroplanes for a-- I fly aeroplanes."

[sandhu_kids]

Fry's phone bleeps. He reaches out for the crutches he'd ditched against the wall. He's been trying to weight bear a bit more.

"We built an aeroplane at school."

[mm_z]

"Oh, here. Let me, er, get that."

Martin fetches up the crutches for him.

"Really? What sort? I bet that was a lot of fun."

This kid doesn't seem too threatening. Yet. Martin has been wrong about these things before, though.

[sandhu_kids]

Fry is thinking much the same about him.

"Thanks." He starts moving towards the bar, gesturing for him to follow.

"We designed our own for House Physics. The competition was for the team whose plane got the furthest down the field."

[mm_z]

Martin couldn't threaten a fly. And if he tried, the fly would just insult him.

He follows after Fry, slowly starting to calm down from the complete tear-down he received from his boss.

"That sounds like a lot of fun. We never got to do anything like that in school. I would have liked to, though. Who won?"

Something occurs to him.

"Hang on, what did you mean by someone was going to murder me?"

That calm? Totally gone.

[sandhu_kids]

"Well Wiggins took the House Physics trophy from the whole day, but Orwell won the aeroplane competition. I'm in Orwell, and we're in the lead overall."

He looks around.

"Nobody, you just look like someone I know."

[mm_z]

"Someone who's in danger of being murdered, you mean?"

Martin starts looking around for anyone who looks like they might want to do him harm. This... might have been a mistake, since it also serves to remind him that he's not in Fitton any more. He has to grab hold of the Bar to keep from falling over.

[sandhu_kids]

"No, I was referring to the fact that their family are intense and teasing, not murder in the literal sense."

Fry, with difficulty, gets himself sitting on a barstool, then glances at Martin.

"Are you about to pass out? I know the recovery position but try not to hit your head on the way down because I don't do blood."

[mm_z]

"I... I might be, yes," Martin admits. "Where are we, exactly?"

He sits down on the floor, because it's the easiest place to get to.