I'll Drink To That [Buzz/Hamish]

Buzz was in the UK, mostly to see old buddies who'd decided to retire here, and partly because he had t oget out of Wisconsin, like way out...far enough away he didn't have to think about Milwaukee for a while. The Omnic- Human Coalition of Milwaukee was starting to wear on him, they kept doing crazy things while trying to get sympathy. He was over it. He didn't care, omnic or human. He decided on a bar.

It looked nice enough quiet yet, he noted a man already there, seemed like a tough sort. Buzz was a big man, not tall but definitely burly. He settled in and leaned forward a bit, dog tags dropping down before he tucked them away. He only kept them because they were a medical tag. He figured he'd rather not go into anaphalactic shock because of a morphine dose he wasn't allowed to have. He slipped over some bills. "Whatever's on tap," he said and a pint was provided, it took some getting used to, warm beer. Ale wasn't something you drank cold like a pilsner, it was kinda weird. He took a swig. Raising a brow. "So, what branch?" he asked sort of out of the blue.

There was this thing, where military personnel could basically spot one another from a mile away. It was the way you sat, the way you acted. Practically had a smell to it. Buzz wore his on his sleeve...literally he had an anchor on one arm, a sailors mark. No one would ever mistake him for infantry or airforce. He took another swig.

Travelling the world wasn't easy on a budget of absolute fucking zero, but strangers in foreign lands tended to be kind to a bloke who could spin a charming air like he could. A little of that good 'ole Scotsman charm and they practically begged him to stay and regale them with his stories. His most recent train hopping had brought him to King's Row, so he was in the UK now, was he? He shrugged and snorted, supposing that there were worse places he could be.

He supposed he should find a place to bed down, but his attention was quickly grabbed by the pub that seemed to radiate warmth, "wehell, if'n yew wants me t'come an' 'ave a sit down, m'lady. Yew need only arsk." He chuckled as he turned his feet in the direction of the pub, all but kicking open the doors as he whistled loudly, "oi laddies," He called, addressing everyone in the pub, "this place is deader'n a fockin' tomb!" Of course, he was used to pubs back where he came from, where there was always raucous singing. Of course, he planned to spend what little money he did have on getting shitted, what else would a crazy Scottish bastard do?!

He looked in the direction of the other two men at the bar, deciding to take a seat next to the big burly fellow, "oi, yer my kind'a cunt yew are, don't care wot yew put in yeh so long as it gets ye off yer ass!" He snorted in a loud laugh, obviously finding himself hilarious. He waved to the barkeep and chortled, "gimme th'strongest shit y'got!" If he didn't leave here stumbling like a fool, then clearly he hadn't spent his time well.

Ian looked up from his drink and glanced around at the burly man's question, though he was the only other person at the bar so it must be addressed to him. Funny, he could put away the uniform, have years pass since he'd actively served...yet some things just stuck with a guy, he supposed. He could pick out the same sort of traits on the other as well, now that he looked over at him.

"U.S. Army. 68 Whiskey....er...combat medic." The other didn't strike him as army, as he lifted his drink Ian got a glimpse of his tattoo. No, Navy.

Before he could say anything else, they were joined by a rather boisterous Scottsman. He wondered if the other two were friends, and nodded to the new comer with a suddenly amused expression. "Evening..."

Buzz gave a nod, with slightly pursed lips. It was impossible to leave the military behind entirely, it stuck with you in scars and stature. "Ah so American, Army's not bad; I was a sailor myself, USS Nimitz, Deck Chief;" he replied in kind as he took a swig of his beer, his eyes wandering over to the rather boisterous Scot. Well certainly he had an air about him. Buzz wasn't much of a party person, as evidenced by his considerably unimpressed expression.

"Yeah? Well, I'm just a bit cheap, this trip isn't exactly the most affordable," he replied in his rather neutral sort of tone. Seemed this fellow would be starting trouble. "Oh, right, names Buzz; least that's what my friends call me." He offered a hand first to the more mild fellow, before he offered his other to the Scot. Double handshake. "What brings you folks out to England?" A simple question. He'd sort of come to the bar to trawl, as he wasn't much for the gay scene; too many uncomfortable softies around.

But he'd take the easy conversation as well. Local slice of culture as it were, considering the Scot.

Ah, so he was in the presence of military men, he should have figured that, "Ha! Evenin' t'yew both, lads!" He was eager to belt down his drink when it was slid to him, eyeing them both, "how is it military blokes always end up in the same place? Like some kinda fockin' witchcraft, ain't it?" He snickered and eyes Buzz, nodding, "Oh same, same. I'm travellin' the world on a zero dollar budget, I am!" He scratched his chin with a grin, "that's where the kindness'a strangers comes in 'andy!" He'd been hopping house to house, it had done him well so far.

He gave the man's hand an eager shake when it was offered, giving him a wide grin, "Hamish! Yew kin call me whatever yew want!" He tapped his chin and hummed thoughtfully, "I'm seein' the world, train hoppin'! Life as a stowaway!" He snickered, waving for another drink, as his was empty.

Ian leaned over, shaking the offered hand. "Ian Kelley." He settled back into his seat. "I'm out here for business. I kind of wish it was more of a vacation, standing up in front of crowds and arguing with them all day about how your ideas have merit...damn exhausting." his eyes widened for a moment in emphasis, before picking up his glass and draining half of it. The more he started talking, the more obvious the New York in his accent became.

He looked over as Hamish asked how military men always found each other. "Maybe...we all have some sort of subconscious radar or something, we....ping...off each other." he looked serious for a moment, then grinned with a shake of his head at the absurdity of the thought.