[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 (Courtyard -> Officers' Club)
[color=b8860b][b]Skills:[/b][/color] N/A [/center][hr][hr][center][hider=Qasr El Nil Barracks]
[img]http://english.ahram.org.eg/Media/News/2015/12/16/2015-635858681525689318-568.jpg[/img]
[color=dimgray][sub]Egyptian Museum located at the top right, diagonally across the street from the Barracks.[/sub][/color]
[/hider][/center]

	It wasn't the first time that Reginald had taken his supper from a bottle, and it likely would not be the last. This was becoming a very, very negative evening for the Lord Major, one of the more disheartening of his decades of service to the Crown. Something had to have happened. He was almost sure of it now. This was not good. Reginald had already placed a phone call to the local constabulary on the matter mentioning a missing person and giving a general description of the man, the fellow he was with, and the fact that both were unaccounted for. It was more of a call-upon for professional courtesy than anything else, seeing as the law was quite clear on what constituted a missing person in Cairo. They didn't quite fit the bill on that one. Hopefully, he was just being an overprotective old man. Somehow though, he knew he wasn't.

	Reginald had eventually found his way into the Officers' Club, empty though it was, and was pouring himself a tumbler of brown liquor from behind the bar. I had gone above the point on the glass that would have distinguished it as a nightcap, sloshing about as the liquid continued to roll from the bottle. He stopped before it became a matter of crude, plebeian coarseness, but it was still a formidable glass of booze. He sat there for the longest time, just sipping from this glass and coming to grips with the worst case scenario, all the while trying to convince himself that it was a silly notion. 

	He wasn't sure how long he had been slumped at his favorite booth in the back when a solid clinking sound was heard directly in front of him. It was a small ceramic plate, set down by a certain obnoxiously loud Corporal. The plate was laden down with a simple, cold meat sandwich with an olive pinned to the top by a frilly toothpick, a whole pickle, and a glass of warm milk on the side. Reginald looked to the Corporal, who merely nodded back at the Lord Major and pushed the plate in front of him. In return, Reginald lifted his glass as if to toast the man, but instead plunked it down heavily in front of the Corporal and gestured to the seat across from him. 

	The Corporal wordlessly accepted the glass and sat down, but refused to take a sip until Reginald began putting solid food on his stomach. After a few tense seconds, the Lord Major relented.