The Shadows of Peace - Battle Cries

Chapter XVIII ~ 28/11/2095

                                               Casa De Riesgo, Algeria

00:00

Sylvia Simonova

She was escorted through the labyrinth of passages lit with lamps containing unwavering flames and flights of stairs with elegant and detailed designs, leading up, but to no heaven of solace better than isolation. She was, to be honest, quite terrified of her reality. Though unprepared, it was in her best interests to play along. And she had learned to take interest in her best interests to implement her individual interests.

Ian Skyes

He watched the people who were invited, trying to identify them from smaller, older records; understanding their way of living, trying to blend in better although he was not in any way sucking at it.

A few moments into noticing people, the barman knocked on the table behind him and placed him a drink in a designer rock glass. He picked up the glass, and sipped on the drink, savoring a single gulp before he could take no more of the fizz. He almost slammed the glass on the table.

"What happened sir?" the barman asked.

Although he would go for being humble, he had to show some rage for respect here.

"You ask me what happened?" He spoke, menacingly, albeit in a neutral tone. He only had to look a wild Asian vigilante, not be one. "You are given one task. To serve people. To serve 'drinks' to people. And you are supposed to serve what they ask for, aren't you?" He took a breath. "And yet, you fail to do it efficiently?"

He knew he would be able to garner attention, and he was totally right in assuming that because a second later, a man walked up calling him out.

00:01

Ian Skyes

"Hey man, take it easy," the young, sturdy man in a leather jacket said to him.

He still kept on the show. "What's it to you? Scram your way away."

"I will, but don't you want opinions on what you order for drinks."

Only with that, the barman could gather the courage to speak up, and even then his voice was shaky enough, only a slip away from stammering. "Sirs, I now realize that there has been a mistake. Both of you had ordered the same drink, but with minor differences. We have made an error in serving them. And I apologize for the same. I will, right away, make another glass for both of you."

He was about to let that happen and encourage it too when the stranger stopped the bartender.

"No, no, no. It's perfectly fine. Drinks are the key to knowing a man. What better way to befriend than to taste one's tastes."

The bartender looked relieved at this, but he kept continuing 'being diffident' until he was out of sight.

That brought him to the subject at hand, the man who sat opposite him. The man stretched his arm to pick up the glass he had put down, and that's when a silver chain slipped from his polo and hung on his neck, dangling an inch over the table. He got quite a glimpse before the charm slid under the man's jacket. It was a gun. Not just any. An AK-47, silver, sworded. He was damn sure that it looked familiar, and yet with everything that was running down the nerves of his mind, he could not think of any matching memory. Not in the moment. He jerked himself out.