[center][h1][Color=DF0101]Haakon J. Elvsgaard[/color][/h1]
[img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/cd/b7/cf/cdb7cf9754449c877b71d1294663eaa9.jpg[/img][/center]

[hr][center][Color=DF0101]Location:[/color]Egyptian Museum ---> Qasr El Nil Barracks [/center][hr]

The sight of Josephine was the only positive encounter Haakon had between their exit from the museum and their arrival at the barracks, his shame present ever-still, especally once Peter himself joined the group as they made their way to the home of the British soldiers. Haakon gave a smile of gratitude towards his American friend, while doing his best not to cross eyes with the others. But in his shame, he wasn't simply trying to avoid the others at all costs. On the contrary; he was trying to think of how to best reapproach them, this group of unfortunate souls that he was sure to be a part of for the longest time. 

Haakon sat down at the seats reserved - or rather assigned for them, in this kind of place it was Lord Mayor Keystone who's word was law - as far away from Peter as possible, quietly and perfectly happy with whoever else seated beside him. He gladly welcomed the booze they were offered, Haakon himself taking a glass of scotchs himself, although a glass of French [i]Cassis de Dijon[/i], a favourite of his would have been preferable, but he kept his mouth shut. Instead he decided to quietly listen, making sure he would not make the same mistake twice. 

And good for him, for if he had not had his mouth full of booze, he would he began to question Peter. His words echoed through Haakon's mind, making the cogs turn ever so slowly; [i]I was in a POW camp these last years... that's where I have been all this time...[/i]. Something was off by that statemate, something Haakon's journalistic instincts grasped for all it was worth. Casually pulling out his notepad and pen, he began to write something down, before making eye-contact with Josephine and closing the notepad. Anyone who would read what he wrote, would read in Haakon distinct hand-writing; 

[Color=DF0101][i]Krigsfange -> 1924. Krigen over 1918/1919. 1919-1924? Hvor? Spion? [/i][/color]

But this was a question for another time. For now he drank his scotch and smiled at those still not tired of him.