As Robert sat down, a large shadow fell over him. The source of the shadow could, depending on the observer, be generally described as 'Localized tectonic movement', or 'living mountain', or, simply 'Big'. The second thing people would notice was that said living mountain was scowling, the expression of displeasure on his face enhanced by the drooping moustache that pulled his face downwards into an even deeper frown, and the cigar clamped between his teeth, a thin plume of smoke rising from the expensive smoke.<br/><br/>"Asking for a demotion already, Robert? You're doing a wonderful job of making me reconsider your current position as Fire lance's lead." Erich placed one hand on Robert's shoulder, the gentle pressure reminding the<em>Marauder</em>pilot that, for all the wrinkles around his eyes and grey hair, Erich kept in shape and had at least fifty pounds of solid muscle over the next-largest person in the bar. Leaning forwards slightly, his dark eyes glittered in the bar's gloom, the red embers of his cigar lighting the space between the two men. "Think hard before you pull a knife the next time you earn a clubbing over the head from a superior. Next time you won't be visiting a bartop."<br/><br/>Straightening, the huge man picked his path with aplomb, settling on a bar stool a few seats down from where Walt was 'holding court'; an ashtray and bottle of Tiquimbi Dark Ale waited for him as he began to relax, taking a long pull from the beer before inhaling a slow drag from his cigar. "Hey. Walt. How many are we expecting?"