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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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	If Alexander had expected anything other than a negative response from Aeron, his sliver of hope still took a bad hit upon hearing the General's words echoing back at him. He didn't know - He only wished, and even then a fair share of their Brothers in Arms had come and gone at this point. Alexander breathed heavily, slowly and tiresome in and out, steeling himself for the cold reality that had always surrounded him. 

	He was alone, and had been quite alone for a long time. 

	The old veteran rubbed his face, attempting to block a trickle of tears from his eyes, thankfully without any fishy oil or spicy seasoning on his fingers to make bad even worse. What else had he expected? For all of the old gang to magically show up there at CMB, those guys who bid farewell to Alexander back in '72 and never looked back? The fellow veterans that stopped by once in a while for a chat and pat on the back with a "We're in this together, Alex…"? Those young buddies of his buried six feet under? Mason? 

	No, Alexander shouldn't expected miracles like that. 

	Alexander got his act together in the end, swallowing hard and looking back at Aeron as he promised to have Rolodex look into it. [color=662d91]"Thanks, Aeron. It means a lot to me, even if she finds nothing…or nobody there…"[/color] Alexander mustered a feeble show of gratiude, forcefully returning to his tuna casserole for a few silent moments. He didn't know what ran through his mind, perhaps thoughts too powerful for him to comprehend without breaking down again. Alexander must have looked like quite the miserable old bastard, but then again he felt like one. Like in one of those movies, only less good looking and badass. He was no Sylvester Stallone or Chuck Norris, though perhaps he had fitted in as an old mafioso?

	Slowly Alexander pulled himself together and looked back at Aeron, putting down his spoon and putting on a smile, albeit a small one. [color=662d91]"You're lucky to have your family here, to have them safe and close. Even if your youngest one took great risks to find us…I guess she is kind of my family now too."[/color] 

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[h3][color=B8860B][i][b]Nigel Cooper[/b][/i][/color][/h3][i][b][color=B8860B]Location:[/color][/b][/i]  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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	Clearly Nigel had just entered some quite barbaric territory with his curious conversation, with the Professor turning his attention to him quicker than a projectile from a Roman ballista and her warning not to encourage her. Before he had the chance to heed her warning and make his escape quick, the Professor had left Nigel behind for the proverbial death in the hands of Rosie, her minotaur bard and one of the girls from the other survivor group. Quietly Nigel prayed to the powers that might be or have been, hoping he hadn't just entered back into the kind of strange world of Hank and Wayne again. 

	At least he was invited to join Rosie at the table, which was something he supposed. Nigel slowly looked around for any saving grace, be it Thana, Erica or anyone else he could excuse himself with. The table with Rosie and Amelia was the only option then. Cursed be him by Hermes the trickster! Nigel sighed, but joined at their table in a confounded silence as he listened to the two ladies discuss this game of D and D. 

	In-between him nibbling at his plate of salad, a thankfully light meal in contrast to the heavy heat that had followed him all day long, Nigel tried to follow the conversation about the tabletop game with more twists and turns than the Odyssey. At least half of it sounded something coherent, possibly even half-Greek in its origin which prompted nods from Nigel, though the other half make him look with raises brows. Vikings, dead shipmates, urn with ashes on a staff? Not to mention the cow bell Rosie insisted on. 

	[color=#B8860B]"Yes…I too must question the choice of a Viking cow?"[/color] Nigel decided to chip in, having ceased his salad-eating for the moment to bring in his personal expertise on the subject, at least he thought so. [color=#B8860B]"Surely if you want to have a minotaur with the proficiency with the musical prowess of a bell, a better fit would be better suited with a Minoan esthetic, no? Think about it; the Minotaur is Cretan, Greek, with bronze weaponry raiding the shores of Egypt."[/color] Nigel said to Rosie, ending on a quick and quiet note as he looked over at Amelia who he had barely spoken with earlier. He felt embarrased all of a sudden, knowing he perhaps had no idea what he was talking about. From what he knew this was a fantasy game, and he knew those kinds of worlds rarely bound themselves to the rules of reality. Don't get him started on the lack of agriculture in the Lord of the Rings, and certainly not the movie "Troy". 
	
	Nigel quickly turned back to his salad, idly picking at it as he quietly spoke. [color=#B8860B]"But I suppose I do not know much about the world of DnD. I might have been better suited in such a game set in our own world, in the days of Scipio Africanus and Hannibal…My apoligies."[/color]