(Untitled)

[milkbonesoldier]

Sergeant Wells has not had the best of days today,b ut at least he got to shoot stuff. That's alway s something of a balm to his nerves- not so much because of the shooting itself as because it means he's doing something he knows inside and out

Comments

[bothbutneither]

Gren moves to head upstairs and put his saxophone away when he sees a military man of some kind or another, from some world somewhere. The word comrade sticks in his brain and he can't get it to leave.

So he stops by the table.

"You a soldier?" It's already kind of obvious, but he's not very good at breaking the ice in any sort of casual way at this place like he was at home.

[milkbonesoldier]

Wells looks up from his table, expression curious for a moment; then it occurs to him that around here, anything could be the mark of a soldier. He nods instead. "British Army," he says, "from 2002. Sergeant Harry Wells, at your service."

He looks the other fellow up and down thoughtfully. "How about you?"

[bothbutneither]

"Used to be. PFC Grencia Eckener, Titan Alliance, 2067-68." He glances down at the saxophone in his hand. "But more recently, just a musician."

Just. It sounds too humble. He should have applied that to his military background: he didn't make a very good soldier.

"But everyone just calls me Gren."

[milkbonesoldier]

Wells nods. "Good to meet you, then, Gren," he says. "How's civilian life treating you?"

He's got no idea whether this is immediately after Gren's service term is up, or long after, or what; but it seems a safe enough question to ask, and a good opening into further conversation should something arise.

[milkbonesoldier]

"Eh." Wells shrugs. "Nightmares last night, Amanda being all friendly-like for no bloody reason this morning, and I got yelled at for not being aware of the existence of flying babies when I went outside for target practise in what I assumed was a safe bit of the real estate. On the other hand I did get my pistol score back up to where it used to be, so that's always a plus. Yourself?"

[milkbonesoldier]

Wells accepts the beer. Only a very great fool turns down free beer from a trusted source, and he is not a very great fool.

"Chicken, eh?" says Wells, who normally would consider this odd but who has met the talking rock. "How's the bike coming along, then?"

[redsnout]

"Snhrt?"

Food, along with moving objects, is one of those things that almost automatically attracts Scribble. And tonight it's the smell of Wells' soup that's got her attention.

The chick stares up at him hopefully, blinking slowly as she holds one foreleg in a begging posture. "Yeep? Yeep?"

[milkbonesoldier]

Wells looks down.

"... what the fuck are you?"

[redsnout]

"Yeeeep," she calls again, this time with a more plaintive note. She's small! She's cute! She's...pointy! Who could resist that little reptilian face?

Still hopefully, she paws at the air, gaping her jaws. Maybe he'll get the universal 'food goes HERE' signal?

[milkbonesoldier]

Well.

Yes.

Possibly the small pointy lizard will not mind the fact that Sergeant Wells is attempting to go vegetarian, 'cos what she's getting, see, is a chunk of potato.