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There was something strange about dealing with Mehetabel, a weird mix of déjà vu and amusement. Watching the woman explode had been like staring into a funhouse mirror, the reflection distorted yet still holding some recognizable qualities. The chip on her shoulder, the aggression bottled up inside, the disdain for authority and the belief that war should be fought in as brutal a fashion as possible, all traits Victoria possessed but was perhaps a bit better at controlling. For example, Vicky wouldn't be flipping her shit just because someone whistled at her.

[color=4F97A3]"Yep. Figured you could use something after that display."[/color]

Her smile was a vicious one, baring teeth and making the scar across her face distort. 

[color=4F97A3]"You really went in on the sarge, not that anything you said was wrong. Too many jumped-up NCOs hoping to win a commendation around here."[/color] 

Alex and Jean were pretty much the same damn person as far as she could tell, the same hand-wringing little bastard unwilling to actually get a little dirty while fighting a war. Just like the corporal had frozen up and gotten Thomas killed so would the sergeant make some sacrifices in his quest for honorable glory or some other rubbish. And that made Mehetabel the same as Victoria, a violent punk who knew the way forward was through a sea of mud and blood.

The Oceanic threw up her hands in mock appeasement, grinding a bit of dirt beneath her boot heel as she glanced back towards the pub. [color=4F97A3]"Nah, I'm not really trying to go back in their until he comes looking. All that moralizing makes me sick."[/color] It hardly seemed like the sort of environment fit for a battlefield looter. [color=4F97A3]"You seemed like better company."[/color]

'Better' was a strong word. More fitting company certainly but there was very little actually 'better' about either of the pair.

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Alex was a Darscen, a Vinland Darscen specifically and damn proud of it too, but his people's practices and philosophies had never really been a source of light for him. He had an interest in all the tales and customs obviously and wore the pattern with pride yet never turned to his heritage when he needed guidance. Yet now he was wishing he had turned out to be more of a spiritual man because having some sort of higher power guiding him would be very useful. The other Alex had somehow survived getting cut down by Imperial machine guns and walked back into his life years later with a lower rank and a new name, seemingly just as surprised to see Schäfer as the other way around.

Valkur sensed his master's discomfort and moved forward to expect the stranger only to find his path blocked. Alex grabbed the dog by the face and pushed backwards, a maneuver that would cost anyone else their hand but with him was simply taken as an order to be followed without question. The hulking brute of a mastiff settled his bulk on the floor with all the weighty lumbering of an ox, leaving the two men alone to figure out what the hell was going on. Still reeling in shock Alex reached out for any sort of mental handrailing, scrambling to keep himself upright. Imperial. He'd switch to Imperial, force his brain to refocus.

[color=thistle][i]"You went down, so did most of the others. I rallied the survivors and we rode away in retreat. The cavalry charge died that day so they reassigned me and here I am."[/i][/color]

Easy. Simple, clean-cut and devoid of any mystery. Alex's circumstances could not have been more straightforward. Alexndre's on the other hand, his was a mystery. Now he would have to explain his side of the story.

[color=thistle][i]"Quite the demotion you've been hit with. Care to explain how a son of Roland-Florence ends up as a mere soldier of the line?"[/i][/color]

His tone was perhaps overly flippant but it was what Alex needed in the moment. Put up a barricade until everything made sense, keep some distance so that he could grapple with the fact that the boy-lieutenant he had mourned was a living, breathing grown man. 

[@Nimbus] [@AdmrlStalfos19]