“Of course! Coming right up, sir.” Abia gave the soldier a genuine smile as she briskly made her way behind the counter. She spoke sweetly, her accent giving away her lower economic status. “Apologies you had to see that,” she called out to the gentleman as she bent down behind the counter to grab a glass. After placing the glass on the polished wooden surface, she turned to the wall to grab her best scotch she had in stock. “Sometimes my chickenbrain likes to forget what I’m doing and go on its own adventure.” She continued, laughing a bit from her mildly self-deprecating joke while pouring the amber liquid.<br/><br/>Once finished, she grabbed the glass, gave the counter a quick wipe with an old rag beneath where the glass had been, and walked back to the gentleman seated at one of her tables. “There you are, sir.” She placed the scotch next to the man and retreated her rag back into her pocket. “Is there anything else I can get for you? A warm meal? Soft bed?”