‘Very well. How would you prefer for me to address you?’ ‘Meleth.’ It was an elvish name, that much Verite recognised immediately from the ac...enting, but it was not so much a name as merely… a word. Then she snorted gracelessly when she realised what it meant. ‘Your name is ‘love’?’ The woman grinned over her shoulder, before her attention was briefly drawn away by a young woman entering. She was perhaps in her early thirties, but there were faint signs of greying at the front of those curled. "You know, Sarge, the usual sort of tart: big Bristols, long legs, and long hair." I asked him if she was young or old, or if she had a name."You know, Sarge, them lights in The Kettle are really dim, she could have been a teeny-bopper or a grab-a-granny. I think Jazzer called her Ingrid, or Helga, or it might have been Gerda."I made a mental note to get Clarky off my platoon as soon as possible, the man was a moron–he certainly was no Superman.I found a photograph of Jazzer in the platoon. More

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