[hr][hr][h1][center][color=0072bc]Anton G'iscard
"L'étincelle"[/color][/center][/h1][hr][hr]

The barrack the rag-tag team of unlikely teammates was not as bad as Anton had expected it to be when he was transferred there. Having been in a P.O.W. camp in Canada for a while, he had somehow grown accustomed to the lack of proper beds, good meals and the radio that he and his comrades of pilots had been lucky enough to enjoy back home in France. This barrack was much more like it. Nothing too fancy, but better than the shacks he and the other prisoners had to live in. There were even Germans there...How dared they?

The team had already been through one session of training that morning. Nothing Anton hadn't done before, though the lack of armed guards around you did wonders to keep up the motivation. Those inside the barracks had decided to take the time to rest before whatever more excercise Captain Stevens had for them afterwards. Some took a nap, some probably meditated, and one read a book. And Anton? He was more sensible.

He was shaving. 

The face of the tall and lanky Frenchman was once again cleanly shaven, except for the moustache upon his lip that he treasued. A prisoner at the P.O.W. camp had suggested to shave it off because of reasons. Anton had suggested the man go do something very unpleasent to himself, and walked away. Here, however, he felt that he was welcome to dress and shave in whatever wish he wanted. And besides, the rest of the team didn't look down upon him quite as badly. 

As he had just wiped off the last patches of shaving cream from his now shaven cheeks, he heard the door to the barracks open. Turning around, he saw Captain Stevens march in. 

[color=0072bc]"Oui, mon capitaine!"[/color] Anton replied back to the Captain, hurrying over to his bunk to put away his shaving-kit and get his gear ready.