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Zell was forced out of MacKensie's room by way of being poked repeatedly in the waist and hissed at.  [colour=pink]"Go, go, go, go..."[/colour]

"Ow - alright - [i]ow[/i] - I'm going, jeez..."

Zell stumbled out of the room and quickly made his way down the corridor to his own room.  When he got to his door, he looked back in time to see MacKensie's door shut.  A little in shock, Zell shook his head bewilderedly and went inside.

He was soon in the shower, feeling sorry for himself as the water blasted on the top of his head.

"She's ashamed of me," he muttered to himself.

Zell, for the first time, had found himself on the short end of what he and his friends liked to call, 'Surfed n Turfed.'  Most of the time, when hooking up, both parties understood what the deal was.  One night - maybe a week or two at most - just a bit of fun, no problem.  Occasionally though, there were those girls who had much higher expectations of the engagement.  This kind of problem often led to hurt feelings, emotions toyed with etc.  Now Zell understood what it felt like to be one of those girls.  It was not nice.

...

Dressed and ready to head out, Zell left his room and walked down the corridor.  Sadly, he looked upon MacKensie's door as he passed it, half-hoping she would open it.  She didn't.  By the time he was once more facing front, his expression was rearranged to a more typical carefree, content and confident vibe.

Stepping outside the Mended Drum, Zell put his hands on his hips, took a whiff of the air and looked around.  Setting off down the street, he walked as if ten feet tall and king of everything, nodding an occasional greeting to a passing stranger.

"Hi."

"Afternoon, miss."

Of the few who bothered to respond, not a single citizen mirrored Zell's energy, which made sense considering the suspense and despair of the siege had been increasing with each passing day.  Zell was overcompensating anyway.  Underneath his social mask, he considered that he was in no fit state, mentally, to go to the Military Centre and see The Lions.  It was honestly a good job that his drill sergeants were extremely competent trainers.  Between Baphomet pecking his head, almost abandoning Valhiem with the Ambassador, and complications with MacKensie - Zell had been an absentee Captain of the Garrison.  Even when he [i]was[/i] there, he wasn't [i]all[/i] there.  And speaking of Baphomet; the bastard was quiet at the moment, but Zell could just imagine the devil laughing his ass off at Zell right now.  The self-loathing part of Zell's brain, albeit small, was rather loud right now. The Englishman mocked himself for being such a pussy and skirting every opportunity to be ultra-clear with his feelings to MacKensie.  Ego bruised and insecurity at an all-time high, Zell simply tried to ignore his thoughts and push his feelings deep, deep down in the abyss with the rest of them.  It was easier said than done.

"Fuck, I need a beer."