Kortrijk, Vlaanderen, post Sharpe's return from the bar with DJ

[mm_chanter]

the lights in the farmhouse are at a relative low; less than friendly eyes may still be on the place from the outside and besides, night's coming on. the main room - it might've been a proper living room at some point, but it's full of mismatched chairs, at least one table, a battered radio and its share of spare assorted equipment now - is far from empty of people. Some cluster together in threes and fours, some sit alone, quite a few are in and out as errands demand. Conversations are as low as the lighting, but just as present.

"{day wasn't a total loss,}" one man says from his position in a chair backed against a wall - it's the taller, heavier one who'd taken it upon himself to search Sharpe for weapons. The square-jawed woman turns away from a paper-scattered length of tabletop long enough to roll her eyes at him in what looks like exasperation rather than disagreement, but doesn't comment in words.

"{Room wherever,}" says the medic's younger brother, gesturing with one arm at the haphazard seating. "{for now. Anybody tries to get a debrief together and it's off, though. Not sure how much sense that makes, but that's how it tends to go.}"

Seba doesn't know Sharpe's history, after all. that's a fair assumption not to make.