A man in imperial guard regalia walked quickly down a corridor. He stopped at the door to the bar and hesitated. He shook his head and entered. He looked at the foreign faces looking for any in his regiment. He saw none, the harakoni Warhawks were probably still in the rack. Thomas Brantley shook his head, he had no idea why he and his regiment were here, nobody did. He sat at the bar and took off his helmet, and unslung his rifle, setting the former on the counter and latter next to him propped up. "What's on tap?"