"Good afternoon," Boomed Colonel Flashman's basso voice, doffing off his hat at the presence of the lady. To the Colonel it was a genuine shock and surprise that she paid no heed to the medal at first glance.. and indeed this may be the unique establishment that his colleagues told him about. Perusing the offered tea and whiskey for a moment, his gaze lifted back to the lady's eyes and continued.<br/><br/>"I would very much like some Blue Label scotch, if you please. Black may do just as well if you have none of that."<br/><br/>His manner of speech was hardly presumptuous nor very gentlemanly, though he was dressed like one of the aristocratic officer class. Plucking off his leather gloves finger by finger, the more he spoke the more he sounded typically middle-class. When his hands were removed they were shown to be heavily-calloused from years of handling weapons and the like, though to any casual observer one may presume that he was a mere laborer.<br/><br/>Flashman considered the setting of the establishment for a moment then, deeming it to his satisfaction and appeared as if he was looking for something.. or even someone in particular. Settling his field of view upon the hostess once more his hand was extended to her with military precision.<br/><br/>"Ah, but where have my manners fled to? Colonel Flashman, m'lady. Ninth Hussars."