[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=b8860b]Reginald Keystone[/color][/b][/i][/h1]
[img]http://33.media.tumblr.com/76ca11af5771405a055ca9291e9e4b2b/tumblr_nvhilyU39J1qcxymno4_500.gif[/img][/center]
[hr][center][color=b8860b][b]Location:[/b][/color] Qasr El Nil Barracks (Officers' Club) [/center][hr][hr]

	[color=b8860b]"My, but those lads with the Fourth Estate are imaginative..."[/color] mused the elder Keystone, putting one paper to the side and selecting another in the small stack of newsprint on the table before him. They all seemed to be very interested in his nephew Peter, easily making him the Talk of London, and so by extension, the Talk of the British Empire. Many of the periodicals exalted the young man, his tenacity and cunning in surviving the horrors of the past few years and his resolve in returning to find his childhood sweetheart. Some predicted that he would soon be on the road yet again to find his lady love, prompting an utterance of, [color=b8860b]"Oh my, I see they [i]did[/i] scratch up an accurate detail, hmm..."[/color]

	Reginald paused his light reading to attend his tumbler of whisky, and rattled off a sentiment to the slender man behind the bar. [color=b8860b]"You know, good sir... in my youth, the average newsman printed facts, you see. Proper and solid fact, mind you, about current events and local happenings, that sort of thing... But it seems lately to be a sordid quagmire of sensationalism. Takes a practiced hand to sort out the riches from the rubbish as of late. Quite. And I've not even gotten to the rabble-rousers yet."[/color] 

	The bottom of his glass was found some four seconds later, and the Lord Major decided to have a fill of his pipe. It was a practical, short-stemmed affair; a pipe for a military field officer. He packed it fully from an old fashioned tobacco pouch and set it between his teeth, resting gently as to avoid unnecessary scratching along the mouthpiece. He produced a curious brass lighter and sparked it to life. The device was well crafted and polished, obviously an handmade item - crafted from the brass of a spent gunnery casing. He touched fire to leaf and drew air through the pipe until a dull orange glow emanated from the bowl. Satisfied, Reginald returned to his reading. 

	[color=b8860b]"Oh, bother..."[/color] he groaned. The next headline was less than gracious; it detailed an account where one reporter voiced a theory to Peter that his beloved Vera was the culprit responsible for the death of her uncle and the subsequent grave robbing. This attempt to paint the Lord Major's adoptive niece in such a manner infuriated him, and in classic Keystone tradition, Peter did precisely what he would have done in for such an occasion: Peter put his fist in the reporter's eye, and apparently let fly a slew of words most ungentlemanly but quite possibly highly appropriate. 

	[color=b8860b]"Yes, and it bloody well serves that cad properly."[/color] he said aloud, making note of the name of the reporter. In the event that they ever crossed paths, Reginald wanted to give the man a supplementary opinion to Peter's, in a manner and attitude similar to the original. Perhaps he could darken the other eye. [color=b8860b]"Nobody drags my family through the mud to sell Periodicals. Nobody."[/color] 

	[color=b8860b]"Now... to find the funnies section..."[/color]