Procul stepped his shiny, black boot onto the concrete surface, and turned to see a stocky man with a thin, curled mustache and a head of bushy, light-brown hair standing back at him, frowning. A pipe protruded from the side of his mouth. Procul removed his hat and brushed his feathery, blonde hair gracefully, and bowed his upper body, pressing his hat to his chest as he kept his piercing blue eyes coyly on his commander's. Procul righted himself, fixing his hat on.
"Commander Steigh. Always a pleasure." Steigh ground his teeth into his pipe.

"Follow me." Steigh, as land commander, had to keep a positive reputation among his subordinates. Land commanders were easily replaced, and thus he made it a point to always scold capitans in private. Steigh stomped angrily to an open door protruding from the platform as Procul took long, easy strides behind him. Steigh continued stomping down a short spiral staircase, emerging in the mess hall. It was a low-roofed, dimly-lit wooden structure, oddly transporting in the steel skyscraper, with a bar at one end and wooden benches all across the carpeted floor. Only capitans and higher were allowed during non-meal hours. They sat on opposite ends of a leather booth near the bar. Music played from a gramophone somewhere behind Procul and to his left, spouting tinny lounge music.

Procul took off his hat and placed it to his right on the table's surface.
"Do tell me how your wife is doing. Still buxom, I hope?"
"Would you mind telling me, Procul," Steigh said with his signature harsh haste, "why our regularly scheduled Spanish freighter did not arrive yesterday?"
"A Spanish freighter? I never knew you all had Spanish shipments here." He cocked his head: "You'd think my commander would tell his loyal capitan about such shipments." Procul began to idly flick the feather on his cap. Steigh bit harder on his pipe, puffing short bursts of smoke out his nose intermittently.
"What was your vessel doing over Yorkshire, capitan?"
"Oh, we decided to take a scenic route, you see."
"A scenic route?"
"Yes, sir." Steigh bowed his head, and removed the pipe from his mouth.
"Procul, due to your consistant insubordination, I hereby declare your dishonorably discharged from Her Majesty's Airforce."
"And if I told you I had secret Spanish aeronautical technology?" Steigh pursed his lips. He pasued for a moment, fixing his hazel eyes on Procul.
"I would ask you to show it to me."
"Well, I couldn't do that if I were discharged."
"You were never discharged. I don't know what you're referring to." Procul gave a sly smile, and his (normally wide) eyes grew the tiniest bit thinner.
"You like me, don't you? Come on. Admit that you like me." Steigh's face began to grow red.
"Procul, this is juvenile. I order you to show me the captured technology."
"Only after you admit that you like me." Steigh jolted up, barely taller than when he was sitting down. He inserted his pipe back into his mouth.
"I'll order a search of your ship!" Steigh began to march towards the staircase.
"What, in front of everyone, and with no reason?" Steigh halted and turned his head, his index and thumb on the bowl of his pipe. "That wouldn't be very good for public image, would it?" Procul gently adjusted his hair with his thumb, putting his cap back on.
"What do you /want/, Procul?"
"Just admit it, chum."

Steigh removed the pipe from his mouth and exhaled a large quantity of smoke. He turned his head away from Procul, his wide, short frame silhouetted in the light pouring from the skylight above.

"I like you, Procul."