Bilton - Working Title

Bilton - The Pub

The pub was crowded and noisy. Even though smoking had been banned for more than a hundred years, it still smelled of centuries of burnt tobacco, ale, and gin. Though it was close to Dartmouth’s campus, Bilton seldom took the short walk, preferring to spend his time studying.

Tonight was different, the last day of classes before a long holiday break, a chance to blow off steam before heading home, a release sorely needed by all of the Cadets. Bilton had something else to celebrate. He was the youngest pilot ever recommended for flight training, he might still be turned away, but Fearsome Fionna’s recommendation carried a lot of weight.

A yell from the long dark wood bar greeted him as he closed the pub’s door behind him. “Bilton, Bilton over here, man.” Gilbert, his roommate, was already several sheets to the wind. “Let me be the first to buy the young pilot a drink.” His speech was noticeably slurred.

“Not the youngest pilot yet, Gilly.” Bilton demurred. “Not even officially the youngest flight trainee yet —

“Pis-Posh, old man.” Sliding a shot of something towards Bilton. “If old Fionna says you’re a pilot, then you’re a pilot!”

“I wouldn’t call Captain O’Reilly old, Gilly.” Downing the shot, feeling a burn from the strong spirit, bourbon he thought. First, she might hear you, and under that flight suit, I’ll bet there’s a fine-looking woman.” Waving at the bartender, Bilton called out, “another sir, if you please, and kindly open a tab; on my credit please.”

The bartender nodded affably. Bilton was one of the few Cadets he’d extend credit. The bills went directly to his Bournemouth family estate and were paid promptly by return message. Sometimes within minutes. He’d mentioned that to Bilton once; Bilton’s reply was puzzling. “Dear Malcolm, he’ll pay whatever’s needed to keep me away from his precious prize.

Not everyone was happy, Drake at the end of the bar, took his eyes off the slender blonde he was chatting up, long enough to shoot a look of hate at Bilton. He had made his distaste known long ago, but Bilton’s latest triumph brought it to the forefront. The blonde, shorter than Bilton’s five foot six inches, gave Bilton a bright smile. He recognized her. She was part of the noncommissioned flight crew, already Royal Navy, she was on temporary duty assignment (TDA) to Cranwell. Like flight school for him, this was a plum assignment for her. To get here, she had to be good at her job. He smiled back at her and gave her a slight nod. The devil took him then, and he waved at the Publican once more. “Geoff, it would please me greatly to buy a drink for the young lady Drake is chatting with.”

“Mr. Bilton, that might not be a good idea. You and Mr. Drake don’t always see eye to ey—”

Bilton put his hand on his heart. “Geoff, I solemnly promise that there’ll be no trouble. The young lady is a member of the ground crew who serviced my plane today, and I want to thank her.”

Geoff shook his head and walked away, mumbling. “There will be trouble, and there’s always trouble, especially when young men and women are involved. Geoff made the young ladies drink, and striding down the bar, he placed it in front of her. “Compliments and thank you from Cadet Bilton, ma’am.

Bilton heard her surprised laugh from his end of the bar. She smiled and raised the glass to him. He raised his next shot, and they drank together. Drake launched daggers from his eyes at Bilton, which made him laugh after four shots of whatever he was drinking.

The crowd ebbed and flowed, and Gilly ordered more rounds and a bit of food, all on Bilton’s tab, of course. Admiral Sinclair, Bilton’s favorite professor, stopped by to congratulate him, and he refused a drink before retiring to a back room filled with other officers.

A commotion started at the other end of the bar; someone had spilled a drink on Drake. Drake was in the process of picking a fight with the unlucky patron when the bar’s bouncer intervened. A huge Jamaican, the former Royal Marine Master Sargent brooked no-nonsense. Drake quickly found himself heading for the door. His attempt to claim the petite blonde failed when she shrugged off his arm.

Picking up her purse, she walked down to Bilton. Nodding at the stool that Gilbert sat on. She asked. “is that seat taken Mr. ?”

“Bilton,” He answered her. Looking at Gilbert. “Get up Gilly”

“What’s that, now.” Gilly’s words slurred heavily; he spotted the blonde. “Oh my, certainly! Where have you been all night, m’dear?”

“Waiting for Mr. Bilton to be free.” Her smile lit up. “He’s quite the hero, you know. Dead sticking a heavy bomber into a landing is no small feat.”

“Ahh, yes.” Grinned Gilbert. “He’s my best friend, you know, taught him almost everythin—

“I’m quite sure you did.” With that, she turned her back on Gilly and flashed her smile for Bilton.

Gilly shrugged, rolled his eyes, and went back to drinking.

“I can’t call you Mr. Bilton all night.” Her light green eyes lit with mirth.

“No, you should call me Hiram or Hy as my friends do.”

“So Hy it is. I do so want to be your friend. I’m Olivia.”

“Well, I am delighted to meet you, Olivia.”

“You seem to be quite the TBC

...I'm only the trombone player!

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