[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=b8860b]Reginald Keystone[/color][/b][/i][/h1]
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[hr][center][color=b8860b][b]Location:[/b][/color] Qasr El Nil Barracks (Courtyard)
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	[color=b8860b]"Crown's Orders, yes quite."[/color] said Reginald in a knowing, reassuring manner. It wouldn't be the first time he had heard that phrase, admittedly one he had used himself on more than one occasion. The phrase was rather final in it nature, especially when paired with appropriate paperwork. Orders of the Crown meant that whatever conversation said words were interjected either had to cease, or be taken with the utmost of respect. At the very least, if one invoked the authority of the Crown, they controlled the pitch and yaw of the conversation for the next undetermined length of time. 

	Considering who this was and the circumstances of the last time the Lord Major had seen him, he did not require Crown's Orders to lend an awful lot of conversational latitude. When Peter had finished speaking, Reginald piped up with, [color=b8860b]"Composure Under Extreme Interrogation, my dear boy. There really should be a medal or presentation of some sort for it."[/color] His face took more of a downturn as emotion bubbled behind his features. Lest he internalize something he really ought not, Reginald almost blurted, [color=b8860b]"I am abashedly sorry, positively regretful that we could not locate you in time. Had we any idea you were still among the breathing, I would have faced Court Martial to recover you, Peter. As it was, we were steadfast in belief that we were trying to reclaim a corpse, and I could not justify the risk to my superiors to have us continue, not with the offensive on. I am indeed plagued by regret. If there is anything at all that I can do to help you readjust or get into proper sorts, then you have all of the influence of my position at your disposal. You have but to ask, sir."[/color] The words out of his brain and into the air, sincerity in every syllable, Reginald looked a little lighter, metaphorically speaking. He even decided to fix himself a drink. 

	The Lord Major procured his own tumbler and took a couple of bottles off of the cart. To begin, he dipped a modicum of warmed honey into the glass, followed by a more than healthy dram (or three) of Fine British Gin. Reginald mixed the two thoroughly, even to the point of foaming the liquid lightly. He took a second to inhale the escaping vapours, then got back to his business of finishing the beverage. An amount of red, transparent liquid poured from a bottle featuring the picture of a pomegranate, amount equal to half of the existing contents of the glass, was added quickly. Finally, a fair amount of the raw fruit itself, little red-corn seeded bits of sweetness, garnished the finished product. He slid the glass over to Peter, and motioned an offering to the others. 

	[color=b8860b]"I realize this isn't quite the sophistication of a proper Single-Malt, but I do suggest that you give it a go nonetheless. It is a popular recreational beverage, local to Cairo. There is a proper name for it in Arabic, you see, but the natives prefer to simply call it "Gin & Juice". Quite refreshing; deceptively potent."[/color] 

	He picked up another glass and began breaking down the rest of the pomegranate, continuing wistfully about the drink. [color=b8860b]"Yes, one may see the occasional member of the mercantile classes upon uncovered carriage, its wheels revolving across the thoroughfare as they take in the smoky discharge of smartly lit hookahs, partaking small imbibes of this "Gin & Juice", all in a very relaxed manner. Likely, they use the time to mull over pressing financial issues. Or allow such financial issues to weigh upon their thoughts."

	"But it is a lovely touch of Cairo, I suspect you all may enjoy."[/color]