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[h3][color=662d91][i][b]Alexander Polawski[/b][/i][/color][/h3][i][b][color=662d91]Location:[/color][/b][/i] Mess Hall (C) 
[i][b][color=662d91]Skills:[/color][/b][/i] N/A
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[right][img]https://i.ibb.co/wQvcSqr/Tuna-casserole.gif[/img][/right]
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	Ah yes, a hippy that had thrusted his toe into a solid piece of wood, steel or concrete harder than a runaway 80's fridge sliding down a set of stairs. Good one, one very much to Alexander's liking. It was nice, just plain and simple nice conversating unfolding between two old geezers at a dinner table. Alexander would have given his fellow veteran a sly smile and a laugh at his proposed meaning, however his forlorn look persevered as Aeron continued telling him what he knew. 

	A rock fell heavily on his shoulders, a lump in his throat blocked any word and flashing images blinded Alexander, accompanied by the echoing words of Aeron. "Yes, there were…" 

	Alexander should have expected the answer really. It hadn't been probable that their little island settlement had survived as long as Alexander had done. Then again, for a traumatized one-legged Mugsy he had been lucky. Still, the thought of them all gone had blocked out everything else Aeron had said, until they slowly filtered in through the fog of troubles. Alexander began to nod in silence, still holding a spoonful of TUNA CASSEROLE in his hand just a few inches before his eating hole. Eventually however he turned to Aeron again and forced out an answer to his friend. 

	[color=662d91]"Yes…that would be…helpful, Aeron. Thank you. I had some good people out there, before…"[/color] Alexander began to utter an explaination, though the words failed him as he spoke. His tounge tied itself up, refusing to elaborate on just what his heart wanted to tell Aeron. His mind was drawn back to their very first day in CMB, the questionaire and his answer to one specific question. [color=662d91]"…before it all went to Hell in a handbasket. Not too special a tale, I suppose. But it would ease my soul to know at least."[/color] 

	Alexander sighed heavily and attempted to eat the now spoonful of cool TUNA, though he only managed to chew on the fishy soup. The lump persisted, a protective dam holding steady. But what? His tuna from going in, or his truths from getting out? Through a mouthful of overly-chewed TUNA, Alexander tried to divert his troubled mind over to another topic, though the past remained. [color=662d91]"It's a long shot, but did you hear from anyone else from the battalion? I hate to say it, but I guess it is safe to assume none of them have been around these days?"[/color] 

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[h3][color=B8860B][i][b]Nigel Cooper[/b][/i][/color][/h3][i][b][color=B8860B]Location:[/color][/b][/i]  Outside of Education Center (M) -> Mess Hall (C) 
[i][b][color=B8860B]Skills:[/color][/b][/i] N/A
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[right][img]https://i.ibb.co/LrnKm2S/Nigel-Hadrian-1.jpg[/img][/right]
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	The great thinkers of the great civilizations of ancient Greece, Rome, Egypt, Persia and many more would have been fine allies to have in that decisive moment our neo-Roman teacher found himself in. Surrounded by people in front and behind him, all moving up the line awaiting a much-awaited destiny, Nigel wished he had put more thought into his mental abilities that day after a long day of hard Herculean labour. Stepping ever closer to this aforementioned Destiny, capital D, he hoped the long-gone Platon, Socrates, Cicero and other great minds of their time woulds shine their words of wisdom down upon his mortal being. 

	What to eat for dinner? 

	Nigel, stepping forward in a line he knew few people and stood far apart from those few he did know, had to think fast it seemed. The choices threw themselves with great force at his mental city walls; salad, casserole or sushi? Like the Hastati lined up in formation, the first in line and watching Gaulish barbarians charge towards their flank for brutal combat, Nigel was unsure of what to choose. He was deep in this Battle of Allia, only now noticing that the Professor had stepped in behind him alongside another lady he did not recognize, when he was thrust into battle, ready or not; it was his turn. 

	[color=#B8860B]"Erm…I…a salad, please?"[/color] Nigel blurted out as his turn came and went, now standing with a plate of tuna salad in his hands. The battle had ended just as quickly as it began, though who won the mettle of steel he could not tell. His confusion was only confounded by the words coming from behind him, making him turn and look perplexed at Rosie as he got out of line. 

	Minotaur…bard…what?

	He had heard of bards before, having attended more than his fair share of medieval/renaissance fairs in his lifetime, possibly in passing around those DnD-games, but one of the minotaur origin? Nigel would have scratched his head, had it not been for his hands being occupied by the tuna salad plate. He did however patiently wait for the Professor and Rosie to get their food before he posed the question of a century…well, a question. [color=#B8860B]"I'm sorry, but I could not help but overhear you mention the Cretan minotaur. A bard, a minotaur bard? I don't know much about, well, the game of DnD if that is what you are talking off, but…just, how?"[/color]