More concerned with bullets? What kind of place did this woman come from? "I feel sorry for you, Harriet. My friends and I, we were more concerned with getting drink than the bullets. And the bombs. So long as they didn't blow up any of the pubs, we were alright." Peadar had to suppress a bout of laughter from witnessing Harriet react so strongly to a bottle of Guinness. "You have been on the wagon way too long. May I be the first to welcome you back to the dusty road. May the party go on." Peadar finished his bottle, and nearly dropped it a second time that night when a loud voice called his name, and the Nord's name.
If Olaf was a Nord, this guy was a super Nord. Over six feet tall, more muscular than Magni, the plethora of tattoos, this guy was not someone to mess with. And it turned out that Peadar and Olaf had messed with him. The way he asked for them, this guy could only be Stieg Ericson, their boss. Usually it was a bad idea start off on bad terms with your boss, and Peadar and Olaf had started off on some of the worst terms you could think of. Peadar's only hope that he didn't know what they looked like were destroyed when he walked right to them, and informed them that they were supposed to report to him, accompanied with a glare that carried the intensity of a thousand burning suns. Before Peadar could say he thought that was tomorrow and maybe save his life, all his fears were dispersed with a friendly let's get this over with next round's on me. "Pleasure to meet you, boss. I'm Peadar. I make mechanical parts, assemble them, and repair them when needed."