I'm a little teapot, hear me shout!

[Murdo Boss]

It was time for liquor, and Mungo knew just where to get some. He’d been hopping across bars in London all night, but when they were all closed and he was only beginning to feel the familiar buzz, the Scot knew where to turn. There was Inn near the base, and after stumbling his way over to it, was greeted by a doorman at the front entrance. Having only one thing on his mind, Murdo neglected to even pass off a greeting to the man as he slithered past, and instead headed straight for the front counter where he rented a room for the night.

Keys in his pocket, it was time to hit the bar and being one of the only ones open this late, Mungo thought it’d be empty, but boy was he mistaken. Not only were people in it, but it was practically full with only a couple tables vacant along with a couple stools at the bar. He was amazed and had to check his wristwatch for a second reading of the time, and seeing it was almost two in the morning, he shook the amazement from his head and plopped into a stool at the bar.

“Gimme…two pints ya fuckin bassstard!” Shouted Mungo, trying to be heard of the ambience of the bar and the jukebox that was blaring somewhere or another. It was filled with soldiers, much like any other bar in the city, and with the soldiers came beautiful women, all of whom passed by Murdo without a second glance, but to his disapproval as he turned around in his seat and started on the first pint.

His oogly eyes and rough looks turned off even the most horned up soldier humper, and his harsh words and brash attitude didn’t help either. Gradually people around him started to move as his mouth spout words he couldn’t control, going on about everything from the dog and pony act of the military, right up to the treating of POW’s and the Fuhrer himself. Desperately the bartender tried to calm the loud mouthed Scot, but the liquor in him made him invulnerable as he insulted everything around him before finally dropping his head hard on the table. Just a little breather before he would be back at it again.

[Jason McCarthy]

Sleep weighted on Jason's eyes as he walked through the chilly streets of England. All of the rocks in the street started to blur as he walked some more paces. Then blackness, he blinked a few times to wake himself back up. He hadn't slept in three days because of so many wounded. Thankfully a Surgeon and a few of his assistants came so Jason could have a day or two from the hospital. He needed something to perk him up, whether it be a hot meal or just a hot cup of coffee. Then the answer came came to him in the form of an Inn. He glanced at his watch and was surprised when it read two fifteen. Jason was very thankfull that the lights were still on.

Warmth ran through Jasons cold body as he opened the door. It felt comforting to him to see so many people talking and laughing with each other. He made his way to the bartender, then a loud bellow came a few feet away from Jason. "Gimme…two pints ya fuckin bassstard!” The profane words made Jason roll his eyes in disgust. Then from the same mouth started rambling on stories of random things. The bartender kindly asked Jason to hold on as he tended to the angry man. Jason sat on one of the closest stools and waited patiently. He looked over towards the noise, the man was obviously drunk and unruly. The bartender definately would not be able to calm this man down.

A few seats near the yelling were open, so Jason seized the oppurtunity. He made his way to one of the stools near the man. The language was familiar seemed almost like Jason's, but different. A Scot, great. Jason thought to himself. He heard the man start to go on about some POW's. Jason listened intently without interrupting the man. The detail he went into made Jason think of what he had seen in those camps, with his own eyes. The worst Jason had ever seen was not the POW camps, but the concentration camps. It actually brought him to tears the first time he witnessed it first hand. He didn't want to experience it a second time.