Dill frowned. "What do you mean, 'our sort?' Students?"
The barman stood. "No. Students are fine, as long as they respect other patrons. I meant people like you."
Sam nodded several times. "He means people with a socio-economic background of upper-middle-class with a high tendency to the upper end of the Asperger's-autistic spectrum." He blinked at the barman. "Don't you?"
"No I meant z—"
"That's enough Bernard." A woman at the bar stood, her stool scraping across the floorboards. Two men at a table a little distance away looked up for a moment before returning to their breakfasts. "They can't help their alternate lifestyle. I'm sure the boys don't mean any offence."
"We don't. We're just feel a bit off-colour." Dill looked at the woman with a growing expression of horror. She was dressed in quite a smart business suit in charcoal grey with a pastel blouse covering her well-endowed chest. Her designer heels and matching handbag would have marked her as a professional without the glittering array of gold adorning her neck and wrists. Her long dark hair was held at the back by a simple gold barrette . It was her face that made him falter. One eye socket was a mass of scarred tissue surrounding a smoky globe. "Er..."
"Turling. Julie Turling. How do you do." She held out a hand. "You're new around here, aren't you?"
Dill shook it reluctantly, keeping his distance. "Not really. We've almost done our first year at the 'Tec. First time in here, though. I've never noticed the door before."
"What happened to her face?" Sam had never managed to be tactful and he tugged on Dill's sleeve. "Dill?"
"Sam. Shush. Not in company."
"Oh, right." Sam stepped right up to Julie. "What happened to your face?
"It's a long story,"
Sam sat on the stool next to hers. "Buy us a pint, then?"