[ WP ] `` I was just lookin ' for a friend . ''

`` Well, he's not'ere. I suggest you just move along, footsloggger.'' 
 
 The speaker was a corporal of dragoons, the crimson chevrons on his greencoat sleeve indicating such, red being the color of the mounted infantry. His Neo-Grecian Helmet was on the table, its metal crest covered with a horsetail mane. A Pattern'57 Sabre hung from his waist, the straight blade covered by a wood lined metal scabbard. Around the table was a lance corporal and three troopers, all with mugs of beer in their hands. All staring daggers at Private Rhys Paget. 
 
 A smile crossed the foot soldier's face, an amiable look that disarmed many confrontations in his home of South Lyon. A shame he was n't in South Lyon. 
 
 `` I was told to meet him here. It would not be kind of me to leave him wondering where I went off to. I think I'll stay.'' His attention turned to the man behind the long counter. `` A porter, if you'd be so kind.'' The scrape of chairs on the wood floor. 
 
 `` I did n't know I was n't be clear enough,'' The junior NCO said, venom low in his voice. `` Move along, mud. This here place is for cavalry soldiers. The cannon fodder drink over at the Bayonets. So get.'' 
 
 Paget crossed over to the bar where his pint was, taking a sip of the dark brew. 
 
 `` I'm not so sure. See, my friend like's a particular beer they got here; Brenner's Pale Ale. As far as I know this is the only place with it. And besides, why should I bother listening to you? You're a bad cavalryman and a shit infantryman. You're like an ugly ass mule and as sterile as one too.'' 
 
 *That* set them off. 
 
 The corporal lunged at Paget, thumbs raised to gouge out the footsoldier's eyes. He leaned back away from the prying hands, before sending an uppercut to the dragoon's chin. The brass knuckles he slipped on at the bar counter knocked the NCO clear out, sending him toppling to the sawdust strewn floor. The other corporal leaped from his chair, toppling it over as charged Rhys Paget. The Lyonier caught the man's shoulder in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. The dragoon kept running, slamming the infantryman against one of the posts that supported the second story of the tavern. He followed it up with the flurry of blows to Paget's ribs and face, stopping only once Paget stomped his heavy hobnail boot on the man's toes. Howling, the horse soldier did not act quick enough to stop Paget from smashing his forehead against his nose. He screamed as it broke, blood dripping between his clenched fingers as he backed away subconsciously, leaving just enough room for Paget to kick the man in the groin. The cavalryman fell like a marionette with its strings cut, cradled around his wounded manhood. The last three troopers glanced at one another, before all bum-rushed him screaming. 
 
 Two grabbed a hold of his arms, pinning him to the wall as the third drew forth a long wicked looking knife. A grin just as evil blossomed on his face like a poisonous mushroom. 
 
 `` You should n't'ave done that. Now you're gon na regret it.'' 
 
 A look of alarm on Paget's face smoothed over to a smirk. 
 
 `` I'm not too sure about that.'' He laughed. 
 
 The knife wielder turned his head just as a haymaker was thrown. The blow sent him sprawling, a spray of blood from a bit tongue misted the floor, the sawdust soaking it up greedily. The trooper was about to get up until the new arrival punt kicked the bastard in groin, lifting him a clear six inches off the ground. 
 
 `` What'd I miss?'' Asked Private Will Clemens. 
 
 The two remaining dragoons dropped their previous prey and hurled themselves at Clemens, but a looming shape prevented them. Two massive hands the size of bear paws grabbed their faces and smashed their heads together, the two men knocked out clean as could be. 
 
 `` That was fun, got any more?'' Said the six foot seven tall Private Matthew Barrows. 
 
 Paget wiped at dripping blood, snatching a kerchief from one of the downed dragoons. 
 
 `` No, but I do have a beer with your name on it, both of you.''
