He rubbed his thumb on the foggy glass, with a slow sigh. "Major of Intelligence," he spoke, "Sounds prestigious and glorifying, til you find out it costs you weeks of sleepless nights and hundreds of miles from the people you love," John digressed in his sleepy, basey, croaking voice. He took a stiff sip of alcohol.
"Well, I'm sure that you can get a little sleep just one night," she said, taking in the military medals on his red coat. "Do you have a name, Monsieur?"
"André, John.. John André," he replied, his words skipping.
"You must be very brave to be the Major of Intelligence, Monsieur André," she remarked smoothly, wiping the far edge of the bar.
A smile teased the corner of his lips. "I hardly see a battle anymore. What makes you say that?"
"Don't you start out as a foot soldier?" she inquired, pausing her work to look over at him. "And you work your way up. N'est-ce pas?"
He cleared his throat, "Vous avez raison."
She arched her eyebrows. "Tu parles Français, Monsieur?"
"Et trois autres langues," he added.
"Pas surprenant," she remarked with a small smile, walking back over to him. "Une pleine?"
"Je suis plus familier avec l'espagnol," He added with a small smile.
"Ah. Je suis venue de France quand j'étais plus jeune. Une pleine?" she asked, motioning to his glass.
John nodded briefly, and apologized for not answering her the first time. "My father was French," he spoke. "My mother was Swiss,"
She turned to fill his glass up again. "My father was British, my mother was French," she remarked with a smile.
"Ah.. He commented softly. "I've.. Always loved Europe. Not just my home country," he spoke.
"Your home country – England, oui?" She put the glass back in front of him.
"Yes," he took a hefty drink from his freshly capped beverage.
She smirked. "You're quite the drinker, Monsieur André."
"For tonight," he laughed heavily.
"Is something the matter?" she asked, briefly wiping her hands on a clean towel before setting it aside.
"As I said.. Just the trials of the job, Madame. Nothing I can do to change it," John confessed.
"You can enjoy yourself tonight," she remarked with a smile. "And… it's Mademoiselle, s'il vous plait."
"Mademoiselle, forgive me," he smiled apologetically, brushing flyaway hairs off his brow.
"I accept your apology," she said softly.
He finished his glass with a few massive gulps.