Joseph TaylorThere weren't many people in the Stag's Head pub at 10:30 in the morning, barring the staff getting ready for the lunch rush to come and the proper drunkards that had come in to start their mornings off "correctly" with a pint of the black stuff, but those present looked when the door opened and the young man, striking even dressed casually in jeans t-shirt and black leather jacket, stepped inside; his dog tags were out over his shirt for a change, the light jangling of the metal audible as he moved. One of the other Kinfolk behind the bar gave Joseph a quick up-nod, which was returned with a nod from the sidhe in kind as he made his way up to the bar. "Hey Joe. Little early for your regular..."
"A bit, yeah." He nodded with a small smirk, taking a seat and looking over the selections of whisky lined up behind the bar. "Will get two shots of the Jameson, though."
"You've got it." She smiled quietly, moving to get the shots ready while the sidhe pulled his phone to check the time. He had a minute or two to spare when she brought them over, giving him a nod as the two glasses were set before him. "Let me know if you need anything else."
"Will do. Thank you." He gave her a nod in return, picking up one of the shots and looking over his reflection in the amber-colored liquid as he waited for the clock to wind down, thoughts going back to when this particular day became something more than simply a day in December. Word of the attack had reached the sept the same way it had everyone else - by radio - and even the trueborn had been surprised by the news; he hadn't been the only one of the Kinfolk at the sept who joined the nation's military when the call went out, but as far as he knew he was one of the few that came back, even as late as it ended up being.
It had been a member of his squadron, whose brother had died during the attack in Hawaii, that had started this particular tradition, and Joseph liked to think that those few that were still around had continued it like he was doing. It was a small thing, a nod to those who had died in the service of their country, but it was a sign of brotherhood that transcended time; their sacrifice would not be forgotten, even if many today no longer recalled it as the "day which will live in infamy."
As the display on his phone rolled over to 10:34 he raised the shot a little higher. "To the Arizona." He downed the shot in one go, wincing a bit from the burn of the liquor as he set the empty glass down. The second was raised in short order, a quiet "To the Oklahoma" uttered before polishing off the shot in the same way as the first. The glass was placed beside its brother, a long, slow breath let out by the sidhe as he sat back in his seat.
That war was a lifetime away, true, but he was still proud of the time he had served and those that he had served beside. Now another battle was on the horizon, the fight against the Wyrm's forces ever-raging; if he was lucky he would come out clean on the other side, although he knew it wasn't a given. All he could do was fight as hard and as smart as he could, and he planned to do just that. Gaia willing, that would be enough get him home again.
Head to this artsy, waterside enclave to snap a selfie with the iconic Fremont Troll and to enjoy the neighborhoods delicious offerings and free spirited charm. This room encompasses Meni Dumpling Tzar, Pacific Inn Pub, HA! , Fremont Sunday Market, Show Poney, Fremond Brewing, MiiR, Fremont Abby, Norms, Browers Cafe, and George & the dragon Pub
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