[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 [/center][hr][hr]
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[img]http://www.g7smy.co.uk/war/02/barracks.jpg[/img]
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	Reginald accepted the note from his subordinate, giving it a once-over before folding it in half and slipping it into a shirt pocket. He looked down at his glorious repast and sighed. This was a breakfast that he had been looking forward to sitting down and enjoying, and indeed it was one worthy of a man of his social stature and noble bearing. He was a Keystone, after all. Back in Sussex, that meant grand, sweeping homes and estates within Brighton and in the country surrounding; balls held in his honor (or the honor of whomever he chose that hour), and, if he so desired, a life of quiet study and reflection, dotted by hunts and parties and forays into the upper crust of Great Britain's social scene. Even with the tarnish upon his reputation, which was quite arbitrary, as everyone knew. 

	But here, in this place, he had respect; a thing that was earned through a lifetime of service and combat. Such a thing could not be given to him by the aristocracy, it had to be earned. He had respect, and a crapton of ordinance, plus the manpower at his disposal to make damned good use of said ordinance. Most of all, this earned him a decent, [i]uninterrupted[/i] breakfast when he called for it, except for today, apparently. When military business came into the equation, it took all of the joy out of the experience. 

	But no! Reginald was bound and determined to have his relaxing bit of morning indulgence, despite the presence of the messenger from the prison and his less-than-cheerful note. [color=b8860b]"Yes, quite."[/color] he stated flatly, then looked to said messenger with a touch of cheer on is face that he most assuredly did not feel, and spoke to him in near flawless Egyptian Arabic. [color=b8860b]"Nem bialtabe ya saydi. wa'awad 'an 'akun saeidaan lilghayat lilaimtithal. Wayurjaa 'iikhbar siidikum bi'ana alshakhsayn almaeniiyn qayd alaihtijaz ladaa aljaysh almalakii litakid amr la silat lah bialmawdue."[/color] He took a fitful sip of his tea, and continued glibly, [color=b8860b]"Sayatimu altaeamul mae hadhih almas'alat bidhaka' baed saeat al'iiftari, wa'ana 'atawaqae [i]alsalim[/i] aldiyafat 'azharat 'athna' wujudahum fi hadanat alkhasi bika. La tazal ladayna qadaya lm tuhal mae hadhin... I trust this is adequate for your Master, sir?"[/color]  

	Reginald gave a nod to William, standing just nearby. [color=b8860b]"Ah, Mr. Drake! I was hoping you might find your way to us this morning. Do join us for a spot of morning repast, if you would."[/color]   

	It was at this moment that the Lord Major noticed the entrance of Peter and Vera. His dear nephew looked joyed, but Vera... An odd feeling crept over him, as if something was off, somehow. Like there was a signal he missed or overlooked in the shuffle of the past day or so, but couldn't quite place. It was vexing. Instead of addressing it, he waved the two of them over. His bubbly joy was, to all, still present, though it was curtailed slightly. [color=b8860b]"Well then, the Fellowship is nearly all here! How capital. Now then, let get a bit of shop talk in, now that we have the honor of Lady Munn's presence."[/color] He wasn't sure what was bothering her, but figured that an intellectual project to focus on would get her mind off of whatever was making her feel amiss. Then a discreet question later. It was frightfully British of him. 

	But Reginald did suddenly feel an unintended touch of compassion. But just a touch. [color=b8860b]"Miss Clark, Mr. Elvsgaard? I insist that the two of take your absolute fill this morning. The day promises to be long, and possibly quite arduous. You may feel thankful for a full belly later."[/color] There was a genuine look of concern, or at least something resembling it. The look was fleeting however, dashed away by a tiny pleasure as he procured the most lovely brace of scones and a dish of blackberry jam.