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The boss man's remarks had been directed at the other Darcsen, the way he addressed the room no doubt just a smokescreen to put up the veneer of impartiality. The only person at risk of trouble for the moment was the psychopath gunner. But still, Victoria couldn't help but feel just a bit singled out. No looting, no depravity, no generally acting the part of some battlefield ghoul picking over the dead. Those were the things Victoria was best at! Telling her not to be a scumbag was like telling a member of the officer class to not be a total jackass, or an artilleryman to not be a complete coward. It simply went against the natural order of her being.

Or was she just upset because she knew he was right? Maybe it was both, or neither. Victoria was just grateful that someone else had decided to run their mouth and thus drew attention away from her. Hell, the pompous lecture even distracted her from Michael's dogshit puns so the situation really wasn't that bad. At least until Mehetabel decided to explode into a rant of her own. 

She stayed silent while the damaged young woman gave her sob story, the torched village and the whole war is hell thing that Victoria actually bought into herself but found rather petulant when expressed this way. Still, her storming out in a huff when they were supposed to be on a mission in a little while was probably not a good sign and Victoria would rather be in the presence of another nutjob than some high horse NCO. At least she could understand the fucked up thoughts in Mehet's head. 

[color=4F97A3]"I'll talk to her now."[/color]

The runt could play therapist after the mission if he felt like it, Victoria would get out ahead of the problem. Snatching the abandoned pint that had just been served the Oceanic strolled right out the door, whistling sharply to grab the gunner's attention.

[color=4F97A3]"Torturing the enemy is one thing but leaving behind a perfectly good drink? Now [i]that's[/i] a crime."[/color]

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The conversation had shifted from troubling to annoying in the space of a few sentences. Most of the team either voiced their affirmations or just kept their mouths shut, either answer being totally acceptable to Alex under the circumstances. But the private with no regard for life and an appetite for violence wasn't content with simply being a brute. She attempted to defend herself as if she was in the right, a voice of reason speaking against the crushing ignorance of the machine. A display fit for a religious martyr of some sort perhaps, not what was essentially a child throwing a temper tantrum.

And she was right. Alex didn't know her story nor did he care. Whatever some Imperials had done to her and her family he would not let her vent her rage onto another bunch as if they were all interchangeable. The sergeant gripped his cigar tighter and held out a hand in front of Valkur's face, his massive dog having stepped forward with a growl at the sign of aggression towards the master. There was no need for any of that, not immediately anyway. Alex doubted she would see reason but hopefully she would at least reign herself in.   

The outburst had taken his attention off everything else to the point that he didn't even notice the newcomer or hear his name and rank until a few moments after. 

[i][color=thistle]Alexandre?![/color][/i]

It couldn't be. The man he had ridden with at the beginning of the war had been a Lieutenant, a member of a noble house. Moreover, he was dead! Cut down by machine guns with most the regiment, a proponent of the old ways slaughtered by the new. But then who was this imposter wearing his face? The match was too perfect for it to simply be some lookalike. Maybe a bastard sibling, one from a secretive tryst? But then why was the man staring back with the same shocked expression? There was only one option, one too world-shattering to be true.

Michael was not dumbstruck like they were and thus made his way over, introducing himself before either of them could pick their jaws off the floor. Shaken from his stupor Alex stubbed his cigar out on the table and cleared his throat for attention. [color=thistle]"I'm sure that Private Blanc is doing just fine. In fact he and I have some business to discuss. Daunte, if you'd please make sure that Furst, Roe and Morvan are squared away? I don't want to wait any longer than is necessary after the others get back."[/color]

They could go and do jumping jacks in the latrine for all he cared, he just needed to get back in control. A quick order to buy himself a moment, to fix his carefully composed demeanor after a violent shock. [color=thistle]Private Blanc if you'd take a seat."[/color]

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