[Washington, D.C. - Earth - Sector 001]
"Here it is!" Rojac decreed, pointing by pulling a gloved hand out of his long winter coat. Across the street, on the bottom floor of a quaint little hotel wa the sign for a quaint little pub - it's named
carved and painted in an aged wooden sign, 'the Dubliner'. "It looks just the same as I remember it."
Walters looked out from between the turned up collar of his heavy greatcoat and reindeer fur lined hat. He looked at the brick built frontage and at the very traditional looking frontage for the pub.
"The same as you remember it? I take it you've been here before. I know San Francisco is quite a distance from here but was this during your time at Starfleet Academy or before that?"
"Back in my days back at Harvard, I would come down here to meet some friends that went to Georgetown." Rojac said. "I'd leave Union Station, just as we just did, and meet up with them here." The Captain put his hands back in his pockets as the pair crossed the street.
Walters gave a sentimental chuckle. "Sounds not that far off my youth before joining up." He took another look at the building before turning back to Rojac. "So what's the plan?"
Rojac checked his chronometer and sighed. "I told General Sharpe to meet us here." He looked around briefly. "Maybe he's already inside?"
Richard was indeed inside, at the bar, wearing his usual marine uniform with the ribbons and insignia on it. He was nursing a glass of scotch that he'd ordered about fifteen minutes before-hand, just waiting for his colleagues to arrive.
"Well he either meets us inside or not. It's freezing out here so I say we go in and find a decent table, what say you?" Walters said placing heavy emphasis on INSIDE. He waited whilst the Captain made his decision.
The Captain smirked, noticing his XO's discomfort. "Well then, let's go inside."
Walters followed Rojac in and up to the bar. The barman turned to them and upon seeing the bulky build of Walters decided to take his order first. Walters couldn't help but smile and say in a slightly Irish accent "Pint o' plain please and whate'er me good man here's havin'."
Rojac brought a hand to his forehead. "Just a whiskey, on ice please."
"Oh god, another Irishman." Richard said, spotting the Starfleet pair. "I swear to god, I'm surrounded by your irritating kind, with your folksy wisdom and your quaint accent."
"Ah the good General himself, and I see all terted up fer the occasion. I take it nobody bothered to tell him the meetin' isn't till the morrow mornin." Walters said.
"Some of us take pride in our uniform, son." Richard said. "Doesn't hurt to set an example."
"Not if yea don't take into account makin yerself a prime target for Rommie assassins, terrorists and yer average run o the mill loony, no...no harm at all." Walters quipped.
After receiving his drink, Rojac thanked the bartender and walked over to General's table. "Your wife isn't too upset about losing you to duty so soon after the honeymoon is she?"
Rojac smiled. "She'll get over it." He toog a long swig from his glass, reducing it's contents down to a half an inch of liquid. "Well, welcome to D.C. gentlemen." Rojac said. "Our shuttle doesn't
leave for San Francisco until 1100 tomorrow, so we have all night to haunt my old stomping grounds." He took a swig from his glass, "Any requests?"
Neither responded.
leave for San Francisco until 1100 tomorrow, so we have all night to haunt my old stomping grounds." He took a swig from his glass, "Any requests?"
Neither responded.
"Well then," Rojac said, holding up his glass, "drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may die!"
[End Log]
Major General Richard Sharpe
Commanding Officer
First Marine Expeditionary Force
SSF First Taskforce Command
Captain Cropa Arnold Rojac
Commanding Officer
USS Chimera NCC 96899-C
SSF First Taskforce
Erassian Major Scott Walters
Executive Officer
USS Chimera NCC 96899-C
SSF First Taskforce
