Among the chatter in the rec room, one could very easily pick out the sound of laughter coming in a little louder than the rest. Leaning against the counter of the bar was the source of the laughter, a 180 cm tall Australian chap sporting a maroon button up shirt with the top buttons undone untucked from a pair of black jeans that were just long enough to barely touch his shoes; a pair of trail shoes much like Skye’s only in a dark gray. It was none other than Xander Clarke: Callsign “Glitch”, Raven’s own expert in all things tech, and self proclaimed jokester. Grasped in his hand was a half full pint of beer, very clearly not his first of the night, as he waved it around while regaling a story of a recent adventure to anyone who would listen.

“So the plane is going down right over the Persian Gulf, and our only way out is driving a god damned BTR out the massive hole we made in the cargo bay. So we say ‘fuck it’, hop in and slam on the gas! Now, I’m thinking we’ve got to be the biggest loons in the world to try this, but nah! Six! I repeat, six of those mercs decided ‘Not without us, ya don’t!’ and dove after us! Half the drongos didn't even have parachutes! Not that it would have done 'em any good. With the firepower we had, most of ‘em were pretty much swiss cheese before we hit the water.”

Xan chuckled at the last part of his story before raising his glass to his lips. Just as he took a slip, a new arrival to the party walked in. As soon as Xan spied their commander's red hair, he set his glass down and pushed himself from the bar to greet her.

"Oi Mum! Good to see ya! Pull up a chair! Grab a cold one!" Xan said pointing his thumb back to the bar. There were plenty of more proper or professional titles Xan should have used when addressing his superior, but he preferred the one that suited her most. Even if she disapproved. 

"Aww you shouldn't have." Xan said as Skye broke out what was very clearly an expensive bottle of whiskey for the team. "I should probably pass, I'm four in already… Oh what the hell? I'm not driving anywhere tonight." Xan concluded cheerfully. He turned back to the bar to grab an old fashioned glass, but ended up grabbing an extra after he overheard Greyson’s remarks about the bases' defenses.

“Lag?” Xan asked as he placed the glasses on the table and began to pour a drink in each. “Mate, nearly every important piece of hardware here was either built, tested, and or fully installed by the lovely Laura Zeiss. Ya can’t beat German engineering, and that sheila is best of the best. Course, if you have a complaint or concern you could always take it up with her. Just, uh, make sure she’s not holding any heavy weaponry. Or large objects that aren’t bolted down.”

As he spoke, Xan picked up the glasses and casually walked over to where Greyson was seated and held one out for him to take. Should he accept, Xan would clink his glass against the brit’s. If not, he would simply attempt the same offer to someone else in the room. Either way resulted in him continuing his little rant.

“But if the counter measures are your worry, I promise you, not even a seagull can get close to us without proper clearance. But by all means, if you think you can bypass them, be my guest. I’m sure ol’ Mat has given it a go before.” he jested with a sly wink in Mateo’s direction. He took a sip from his glass and immediately made a sour face as he attempted to swallow. It wasn’t that he didn’t like whiskey, he just didn’t drink it that often and was not prepared for the strong taste from such a refined vintage.

“Woo!” Xan let out softly as he was able to get the spirit down. “Tastes like wood and has a hell of a punch. Jamie! How come this ain’t your callsign?”