Drunk Musing
Drunk Musing
Summary: A partied-out Markovic wanders into First and Last. Meets new friends.
Date: 2657.315
Related Logs: Patrol Element Delta Aftermath

Paz and Pip sit at a table in the First and Last, speaking over a large collection empty Pint mugs, with the older man looking rather worn out, if truth be told…but given the scuttlebutt that might or might not be making the rounds, this pair of pilots were some involved in a very nasty skirmish with some Kilrathi, not long ago. "I do hope that the WinCo gave you a medal to go alone with the stint in the slammer, Paz….you did something worthwhile. Nothing should stand in the way of protecting your squadronmates." The look he gives her is appraising, clearly. He seems to appreciate the younger officer, especially since she helped save his ass, too. "I think I'd like to meet this Archangel…he seems like he might be more my sort than the WC." A shrug indicates he's just blowing off steam, and he glances toward the sounds of someone else entering. "Who's the Captain? She might be the first grown-up looking pilot that I've seen, save for Jolly." A wink, and his words are actually not whispered at all. Tact? As if. And then he adds for his squadmate.."Might ease up on the drinks, lass. You're looking to be on the verge of entering sloppy drunk land…and I won't have drunks flying my wing." His grin is teasing though, if only she knew his own drinking habits.

Paz takes a lusty swig from her pint, extends her right fist then mimics a cranking motion with her left as she slowly extends the fickle finger of faith amid many squeaking sounds. "This Bud's for you, sir." she grins defiantly, "I'd tell you to rotate, but I dunno if my arm would take the weight." she adds, eyes glittering playfully. "Much as I love my Scim, no way I'm taking her into combat totally sober." she giggles.

The Captain at the bar doesn't show much notice at first to her attention from the other pilots in the corner. She gets her pair of shots in a small mug and downs them quickly. There's a quick grimace across her expression as she shudders them away. "Good Lord. That tastes like you poured them two days ago. Heavy porter, da?" Her accent takes a tour around eastern europe, never quite settling in one place. Her English even takes a British hint. The blonde finally ventures a look around the bar and settles on the man who spoke up. "Not my fault I have seen a corner and peered around it once or twice." The Captain looks like she has already had a few, just by her eyes. Luckily the intonation is friendly and delivered with a quick smirk. The bartender deposits a thick ale and turns away quickly, moving towards another pair at the other end.

There is a very british sniff of defiance, and Frethan chuckles at Paz's suggestion for him. "Lieutenant, only my ex-wife was allowed to turn me into a puppet the old fashioned way, and I finally cast off that shrew." As for the the Captain's comments, it draws for another of those clipped, but clearly sincere bouts of chuckles, and he holds up a hand, as if cautioning silence, he points to a seat at their table. "If you join us…and agree to keep a secret…I'll tell you that I've not only peeked around a corner or two…I've…" A pause, and holds a hand, as if telling them to wait for the amazing punchline…"I've actually managed a trip around the block." He might be a bit tipsy, himself. They have been drinking quite a lot of thick beer.

"I went around the solar system one time." Paz hiccups…"Wasn't exactly what I expected. Mars came up too fast…Venus never set and Uranus…." she blushes slightly, chuckling. "I'll let you fill in the blank there."

The Captain chuckles and lifts her pint in salute. "Amen to tripping around corner." She saunters over. Carefully. "Just by what I managed to catch it sounds like you two have had an interesting evening." Her smile leaves a trail across her eyes as she takes a seat. "Dejana Markovic," she introduces. "Here's to finding the dark side of Sol on accident, da?" she cheers, lifting her pint a bit.

"A few less kittens to spill our milk, if that qualifies as interesting, Markovic." A grin, and clearly he is in drunkenly self-effacing part of the evening. Distracted for a moment by Paz's stretch of…words, the end and her blush merely draw forth a literal facepalm from the Brit, a shake of his head, though he does finally decide to lift his own mug as one must do when someone offers a cheer. It is law. "Frethan Jenthson. Pip, most just call me."

"Paz Garcia-Lopez." the young Latin pilot adds. clumking mugs. "And before I make an ever bigger ass of myself, think I'd better find my bunk." she says, then hiccups. "Yeah… my bunk….Oh, and, Markovic." she says, pulling herself upright with great effort and leveling a salute to the two senior officers. "As the man once said….
"There is no dark side of the moon…..actually…it's all dark.." she says seriously before staggering towards the lift. "Pardon me, 'scuse me…" she says as she departs. "Whoops! My bad." she giggles as she jostles a brace of blackshoes.

"Yes, I think that qualifies. Did some of my part today, myself. First blood in four years. Good times." She takes a quick sip of the dark beer and seems to take some pleasure in the taste. "Good to meet you, Miss Jenthson." She looks to the man rising, then, her brow quirked. With the finishing, she smiles. "Interesting viewpoint." She then looks to Jen and offers a question: "Who are you flying with? I'll admit I am new to the group, myself."

"Four years? That's nothing, lass." Yes, apparently, Frethan refers to any female as lass, ranking or otherwise. "It's been nine for me. Imagine. 9 years without a kitty dead at your hand." And, he sounds drunkenly serious, if that is even possible. Like he wouldn't quite say that otherwise. "How did you do? I was rather pleased, myself. I managed to re-pop my ace cherry, in the past two days…took out some kitty Count that appears to be one of their Aces in a Hhriss, for good measure. Bastard fragged one of Broadswords, and killed a gunner, though." A scowl, and he studies her with interest, waiting to her about her combat exploits of the day.

"I just came aboard, myself. I'm flying with the Minutemen…you couldn't get me in one of those tissue-paper death-traps, they call a Stiletto, at gunpoint…"

The Captain shrugs with her beer close at hand. "It sounds like you did better than any of us can claim. Though I guess it depends on a point of view." She listens to most of what he has to say with a small smile upon her face. Otherwise, the woman seems to picture of content. But the last draws a quiet chuckle. "All depends on how willing you are to get your butt shot off, I guess. I couldn't stomach bombers, myself. I take it you fly those history makers, yes?" She inclines her beer towards him with the question. The exploits of her day remain uncommented on.

"Broadswords? Piss on that. I like to be able to turn a little bit quicker than a sow. I started off in the old Hornets, of course…but when I transitioned to Scimitars, I found the love of my life. The occasional torpedo run in a 'Sword is interesting, but I'll take a Scim over any other ship in the Fleet. Even that new Rapier, I've heard about." He clearly is something off a strange mix of hot-shot, and self-effacing middle-aged man. He seems to revel in his recent kills, but seems equally interested in hearing how the other flight did, gesturing with his non-beer hand.."Do tell about your patrol. It is always important to know what other flights are running into. Especially when you're not sure you can count on the WingCom to be straight with you. So, spill it, lass."

Markovic's grin spreads, her eyes showing the laughter before it reaches the vocal chords. When it does, its a soft soprano. "Mister Jenthson, you sound like a gentleman I can debate with. All too rare in this atmopshere." She inclines her head in reverence. "Its a shame we do not have similarly opinionated personalities teaching back at Saint Johns." With his last, she sighs. Its a heaving gesture that starts at her shoulders. "Myself and three others scouted a patrol earlier tonight. Major Pickett, Captain Korsakov and a Lieutenant Aquiliana ran it. We got jumped off a nebula off Port. We rolled in hot and went in fangs out. We each earned our kills. The Major almost ate it but we came out on top. I would call it a success." She shrugs with the last, sipping her beer.

"What's wrong with the instructors at Saint Johns, if I might ask? I've served my time as a combat instructor at a few postings, with the last being twelve or so years ago, and…they were for the most part, okay." A pause, and a slight frown, and Frethan adds, with a bit of admission…"Even if some of them are a little less prone to instilling the aggressive spirit of attack, always attack, that I tend to prefer in my subordinat…" A chuckle, and a head-shake. "In my comrades, I mean." Stupid combat has him thinking like he used to, rather than like he should be now. "Our illustrious WingCom, managed to get struck with non-combat related technical issues a moment after the Sarthas jumped us on the first leg of our run." Maybe it is the drink, or the similiar attitudes he has sort of found, but he is grousing a bit, now. "I hope the man isn't afraid to fight. I haven't actually asked around, much. Seems a bit chicken-shit….a bit too proper for my taste."

The Captain lifts her eyes to the ceiling with her beer - slightly. "'The spirit of attack, born in a brave heart, will bring success to any fighter aircraft no matter how highly developed it may be.'" The quote comes across nearly slurred in her accent, but is nonetheless delivered as if committed to memory like a proud scar to the skin. "I am of the same school, my friend. However, the problem I have seen lately is that too many are interested in teaching schoolhouse lessons to the children rather than pushing their students to really -try- themselves at maneuvers. You know what I am getting at, yes?" She tilts her head towards the man. "Very upsetting. The Navy needs more teachers who have been shot up and tested under fire. Less academics." She sighs and takes a long sip of her beer. His last observations leave a quirked brow on her othersie expresionless face. "Nyeeeet. He is yellow?" Blink. Blink. "Grim got me dinner last night. Seemed a proper fellow. Though I must admit I have not seen him mix it up. You say he lacks the constitution???"

Hands shoot up in an effort to dissuade her from jumping to -that- conclusion, but the Lieutenant speaks quietly…"I didn't say that, exactly. It could be coincidence…and he handles himself decently in the simulators, to be sure. But, it is more a feeling that he is taking the idea that one must be strong, to think that one must be hard, and insulting to drive his pilots. He insulted the flying of a man that had vaped him three out of five times, and suggested he continue to study to become an adequate pilot." A very diffident snort at that, touching his chest. "To treat any experienced pilot as a rookie shows a certain blindness toward proper command. You push those that need it, and respect those that are your equal or superiors. You do not insult any man, merely out of annoyance at defeat." Yes. He is clearly grousing a bit much, bit he is an older fellow, with a -lot- of opinions. "Such an attitude, and from what I have seen…that gives me cause to wonder…is he overcompensating because of a lost edge? Or some new fear? You're an experienced combat pilot…" A shrug…"We've all seen it happen to the best of pilots. They become afraid, and take it out on their subordinates." Frethan can be a dick when he wants to be, apparently. "As for favored axioms of pilots, Captain…I am fond of one that my first flight instructor, a civilian fellow told me…You fly the aircraft, it does -not- fly you." A grin..

"I believe that it what you are complaining about, among your peers at the Fighter Weapons School, no? Teaching students to let the airfcraft rule their actions, and not vice versa?"

Markovic settles back in her seat, letting the man speak his piece. She sips her beer a few times but doesn't interrupt. Likely someone, at some point, took the time to explain to her when it is time to shut up and listen to someone who knows what they are talking about. Its few seconds before she finally addresses what he has to say, though. "Aye. Too many teach that the aircraft limitations are where your engagement envelope ends. I believe otherwise; that the pilot's ability to kill begins and ends with what resides here." She taps at her heart. "To push for and attain kills- to support your teammates in combat? This is not a system built into a Stil. It is either in your heart or it is not. It can be learned, though. But the aircraft is only a tool of the soul. The spirit utilizes tools like the mind holds to ideals." The words she speaks roll off her lips as if they might be tattoo'd on her forehead for all the weight and belief they carry. "As for the CAG, I can understand. You and I are of a similar school. To lead comes from two things: Example and excellence. Admonishing a pilot is not for public consumption. Awarding a pilot is for all to see. I believe that leadership is an art born in a stout heart that has spent time cutting its teeth under difficult teachers. You would agree?"

Kessel has arrived.

"I do believe that we are in the same page, Ms. Markovic. Though, are rather better at expressing it in detail." A smile at that admission, which does not seem begrudging in the least, either. Frethan taps his chest, much as she did. "Much as that is where the fight -must- come from, in a truly excellent combat pilot, I have chosen to lead from there, in my many years." Pip does take his forehead, still politely mimicing her movements, in a way. "Though, I have had excellent commanders that chose a more cerebral approach. I am simply better able, and far more apt at teaching through example, rather than explanation. The best find a way to merge the two in a way that I have never been able to manage, I must concede." A moment of consideration is given, and agrees with her final statement easily…"My further observation of our WingCo is that he is a liar. Even a simple like such as calling a superior performance a mediocre engagement, is enough to lead one to believe such a thing. I can't abide those that lie to their subordinates. Not without bloody good reason. And one's ego is not nearly good enough reason."

Markovic and Jenthson are sitting off in a corner of the bar having a quiet discussion. Markovic is half-dressed in a flightsuit that is unzipped with its arms tied around her hips. Each of them have a beer and seem to be fairly animated in their discussion.

Responding to some previously unnoticed pressure, the ships hull squeeks a long deep moan, masking a somewhat dramatic entrance for Dr. Jared Kessel, who limps slowly twards the bar. Even from a distance he appears somewhat unnerved, his head moveing side to side, possibly releaving a neck pain, closer, his fists clench and release, closer still, his eyes move about the room, one eye ever so slightly faster than the other.

" Long night? " The barkeep asks.
" Long day.. " Kessel answers, seating himself a few seats away from Jenthson and Markovic.

Again, the Captain keeps herself quiet until the Lieutenant finishes. She listens closely to what the man has to say, smiling more with his words. "Da. I agree completely!" She seems to finally bring some serious emotion to the conversation with her inflection. "To lead without heart is to short-change every pilot under you. I think you have a good point about the cerebral part, though. Inept leaders are just as dangerous as those who have no belief or self-confidence. Pilots need to be directed to a target, not led to water. If you give a flight a target and let them attack how they see fit, the watering hole will find itself under seige. Telling a flight how to attack robs them of initiative. Such things make me ill." She makes a face and drinks a few large sips of her beer. "I prefer to see inventive pilots attack problems on their own. This nonsense with shutting up and following orders is a veneral disease on the Navy." She waves her hand around the air over her head, the sneer audible easily in her voice which carries beyond their table. his words about the CAG get a careful gaze, but not an unsympathetic one. "I agree. Calling out junior officers for a poor performance on excellent acheivement is not conducive to leadership. It has always struck me as an inflation of ego. Too many have yet to learn their lessons. Such is my belief about young commanders, though." Her words come across dry as the Gobi desert. She sips her beer and cuts a quick glance to Kessel upon his arrival, though the Captain doesn't offer a comment. She doesn't look the picture of sober, either.

"And, as I continue to agree with every word that you speak, I will have to concede that you are not only fine in appearance, but a genius to boot. Welcome to the club." A joke, that. But, she receives an old goat wink, and the Lieutenant begins to climb to his feet with a bit more complaining in his joints than he would've had a decade ago. He's had a helluva day, and it shows in the tired, slightly drunk way in which he is moving. "I, on the other hand, need to find my bunk, and pretend I remember what it is like not to have my own stateroom, Captain." He does hold out a hand, to shake her's before leaving, as if acknowledgement of having met a new friend, and possibly ally in the plan that he now speaks aloud…"Well, perhaps with a couple of old salts like us, in his wing…we can teach our WinCo some lessons, before they became rather more painful ones for him to learn, and for our less experienced comrades, for that matter." A pause, and he tilts his head…"What do you say, Captain Markovic?"

The Captain see's the man rise and stands reflexively. Its protocol for a junior officer to rise with a superior. Maybe she feels that here - maybe its just respect. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I can say that's a compliment I will not mind." She dips her head to him with a slight turn of color to her cheeks on an otherwise pale white face. Her own hand reaches out and takes his in a quick, firm grasp. "Aye. I'll have to introduce you around to some other people, too. I'm glad to have met you. Find your bunk safely and check six, El-tee. I will be high cover." Her hand drops from his and touches her temple in a quick two-finger touch-and-go salute. "I'll be hitting the silk myself. Have a good night."

A simple smile is spared for the Captain, and he returns her salute with a chuckle…" I do believe that I was supposed to do that first, Captain." But, his is more or less crisp, and just as respectful. Clearly, Frethan is impressed, and glad to get to know her, and anyone she wishes to introduce him to. And then he's shuffling off, stretching sleepily as he goes.

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