[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)
[color=b8860b][b]Skills:[/b][/color] N/A [/center][hr][hr]

	It was early yet, as compared to most of the drinking population of the Barracks, and so the Officers' Club was rightfully empty save for a slender man who stood behind the bar, absently rubbing a tumbler glass with a cloth. Final touches for the sake of presentation, most likely. Spotting upon flatwear or drinking vessels was an almost unforgivable transgression - they were British, after all. Standards had to be met. Reginald gave the bartender a sharp nod, prompting him to immediately grab for a bottle of whisky and a glass. [color=b8860b]"Two glasses, barkeep, and a straw. Private booth."[/color] 

	Reginald took himself and the box of personal effects to a booth in the back and drew a curtain around it. He set the box on the table, and waited for the bartender to arrive before he said a word. Now with drink in hand and a sense of minor accomplishment in tow, the Lord Major quietly awaited a proper response from George. He did not want to wait further to get into this discussion. They had alcohol, privacy, and a box of personal effects. It was storytime. Reginald offered a drink and the straw to his guest. After all, impatience is a poor excuse for bad manners.