First and Liquored
First and Liquored
Summary: Following the big engagement, pilots get vulgar, drunk, angry, and finally obliterated, in the bar. In that order. Not necessarily stopping either one for the other, either.
Date: 2657.318 (Nov 14 2009)
Related Logs: This Is No Drill, Taking Risks

There is something appropriately rocking on the jukebox(there is a jukebox, damnit), though it sounds like it was picked by an old guy, and there are beers being poured, and laid out on the bar, for the pilots as they arrive. For his part, Pip has been there(guess who picked the oldies?) and is sitting at a central table, with a steaming kettle situated before him, and a pipe plugged into the corner of his mouth. Really. A pipe. He just had to make it worse. Not too mention two pints waiting for the tea to be finished.

Aquilina had the decency to get a shower before showing up in the bar, leaving the stench of sweat and adrenaline swirling down a head drain. In a clean uniform, hair still damp and a cigarette lit before he's finished walking, he heads into the First and last with hands jammed comfortably into blue pockets. "Could hold an entire olympic marathon on this fucking ship."

Xiang took the time to shower as well, so she's fresh and sanitized from combat, her hair still wet. Though, bunned as it is, that's not immediately obvious. She's not far behind Aquilina and falls into step with him as she enters the bar. She's still riding on adrenaline enough not to even wrinkle her nose at the pipe smoke. "Don't think I'm up for a marathon just now."

A glance up from his seat as Aquilina enters, and Frethan nods in agreement, and then shakes his head. "I do wish they would institute some sort of tram system. It would be rather nice for the older folks." Like him, and Doctor Kessel…and maybe some guy somewhere else. For his part, Pip does not appear to have showered, instead, he sits in his dirty flightsuit, stained with sweat and more sweat, and drinks his tea, like a real man. Showers. How very nancy.

Korsakov enters the bar a few minutes later, still wearing his flightsuit and clutching a cigarette between two fingers. Unlike some of the others, he didn't take the time to shower, it seems. He passes up the lined glasses of beer to speak directly to the man behind the bar; a muttered exchange of words later and the barkeep is sliding a glass of cold, clear liquid in Korsakov's direction.

Damn right Alex showered. He might've even combed his hair. He smirks at Jenthson, tapping ash off the end of the cigarette once he gets to the waiting table. "It'll be a reward, old man, after you proven you've learned to use deoderant." He glances over his shoulder at Xiang and Korsakov, then raises an eyebrow. "Now I know Markovic has got some pep talking to do, but Valentine can't be arsed to come have a round with his own wings?"

Xiang takes one of the available glasses of beer, giving it a rather speculative sip. She nods a little. It meets with her approval enough to drink more. "You don't look terribly infirm, Lieutenant," she replies to Jenthson. Her lips thin a touch at mention of Valentine, but she dutifully defends her Wing Commander. Albeit without much spirit. "I'm sure Lieutenant Commander Valentine had duties to attend to. There must be a good deal to review after an engagement like that."

Paz makes her way into FAL quietly and making every effort to avoid being noticed. "Ice water." she says to the barkeep when the time comes to place her order, and wincing at the effect all of the noise is having on her hangover, finds a quiet spot to watch the activity from. "I am going to kick somebody's ass. First really big action this ship's seen since I got here and where am, flying the most boring patrol route in the frickin's sector."

"I suspect some marine is explaining the ins and outs of command, Torch. So to speak." This is said in Frethan's dryest possible voice, which is pretty fucking dry….but followed up with a sandpaper-y…"Chains and apparatai that strap on, are likely in use, I venture to guess." Pip is a filthy old man, isn't he? Not just in physical stench, either. "Infirm? Hardly. Just a lazy git, Vedict." As his squadronmate arrives, Jenthson gives a wave, and a smile…a polite one. "It happens, lass. You didn't miss much, really. It was hardly a minor scrape." He is trying to be a gentleman about this, now.

"Oh, I'm sure he's in for a very hard night, Jia," Alex replies to Xiang. Dry stress on penultimate word. Looking back at Jenthson, he laughs and reaches over to grab a glass - presumably there are some. "So to speak, Pip. What's the rest of your name, anyway? I've heard it only a few times and just enough to recall it contains its fair share of 'n's." He gives Paz a nod as she shows.

Korsakov looks at Paz as the woman orders her drink in betweeen rants; the captain raises an eyebrow. "Don't sound too eager, Lieutenant. You'll more than get your chance." He takes his glass of what's probably vodka(knowing Korsakov, anyway) in one hand and raises his cigarette to his lips with the other as he steps over to the table where pilots are gathering. The Illuminati XO raises his glass in a quick salute before taking a slug. "Ladies. Gentlemen. Aquilina." Alex gets a bushy browriase. "Good work today."

A faint hint of pink creeps into Xiang's cheeks. And her lips twitch. Must…not…smirk…Must…not…chuckle. He refrains and clears her throat primly. "He's our Wing Commander and the position deserves respect." Any opinions on Valentine himself are unstated as she joins Jenthson. Any offense is clearly obligatory, as she relaxes quickly after all of that. She turns her head as Paz enters, offering the other woman a faint smile. "There will be others, Lieutenant. After tonight, we can't doubt that."

"Hey, you're not the one who spent fifteen minutes pure breathing 02 before having to go out and fly." Paz smirks, sipping at her water. "It burns off the alcohol well enough, but Sweet Mary….the headache…" she says, wincing tightly.

"It was some fine flying, with the exception the broadswords getting our asses chewed up….fucking dumbfires…that is supposed to be -my- trademark. Not some asshole kitten's." A shrug, and Pip glances around at the other pilots, and lifts his glass to join Korsakov's in salute. "Here's to the Kilrathi continuing to send their second-string on the offensive." After-all…those fuzzy bomber pilots -really- sucked it up. Xiang is given a lifted eyebrow, and a smile. "With a name like Verdict, how did I not expect you to be so judicious? Valentine is some pretty-boy kid they threw into a job he has no idea how to do, so he'd rather focus on doing that jarhead Major of his. Fine, if that is how he wants to lead…but don't defend him, lass. He isn't worth it." And Frethan says his piece, falling silent for long enough to frown in Paz's direction. "Hopefully you learned a valuable lesson about not drinking to excess, and making the know-it-all Doctor correct in his assessments, lass?"

Aquilina gives Korsakov's selection of drink a dry look. "Fuck you, getting near me with that shit." There's no actual malice in his tone, smoke then exhaled with a brief rush. "Good work yourself. Nice to see you in one piece." His question to Jenthson goes unanswered and he doesn't ask again. Callsign will do. Liquid salute met, he downs a few swallows of whatever beer this is that the Englishman picked out. "Those dumbfires certainly did their job and then some. Surprised Razor hasn't got a scratch on him, but he's a tough one."

"He must have done something impressive to have made Lieutenant Commander by twenty-eight. He's not even three years older than me, and I just got my first L-T pins," Xiang replies. But that's the extent of any further Valentine defense. Jenthson's observation on her callsign earns a rueful sort of smirk. "My first CO's way of ribbing me. Both my parents are lawyers, and I had a near-brush with law school before deciding I'd rather do this." It's not so much as a refute of his observation as further information. The regs-loving thing probably had a good bit to do with it, too. She sips at her beer, nodding seriously at mention of Kell. "Come to it, that was a fine bit of SAR work, Pip. Getting him back in one piece."

"Za vashe zdorovye." Korsakov follows Pip's toast with a Russian one of his own before he knocks back the rest of his vodka. He gives the older lieutenant a scrutinizing look, but conspicuously stays silent as Jenthson states his opinion of the wing commander. Instead, the captain turns back to Alex with a sneer. "Better than that horse piss you have there."

"Gee…Thanks, Pip." Paz replies, shooting her erstwhile commander the kind of smile only a JO contemplating bashing her CO with a pool cue can give. "Twist the knife, I don't mind. Seriously."

Officially off duty, the better looking (Sorry, Max) Captain walks into First and Last with the arms of her suit tied around her hips. She lifts her arms straight up as she see's the other pilots. "Boooooooze!!" she calls out, angling for the bar. Spotting Aquilina, she levels her finger at him again. "You and I are doing shots. Come drink some whiskey you worthless pile of crap before I have to beat you senseless."

"Frethan Jenthson, Torch. Plenty of 'n's in there, aye." They're currently sitting/standing around a central table, with various beverages, be it tea, or beer, or gross gross vodka. Or water, in the case of the reservist LT, ice water. Verdict's compliment is accepted with a smile, but brushed away with…"It was easy enough, considering we weren't under fire, any longer. The -real- SAR pilots are far better." Any other words…even Marko's entry is totally lost as someone calls his choice in beer horse piss. Horse Piss. HORSE PISS. A deadly serious look is shot over at the Russian pilot. "That is London Pride. And it is an insult to my fair city that you would infer that it was ejected from an equine bladder."

Entering the First and Last behind the better looking Captain, Kell slows to a stop as this is the second time he's visited this place, eyes taking a look around before looking at where the other pilots who had scrambled earlier are gathered. He seems to be assessing how much damage has already been done but not seeing stool and bottles flying, the young pilot joins the group. He doesn't look upset or frustrated anymore, eerily calm now perhaps, after the talk that Markovic had with him.

"You couldn't beat me with a fucking whisk, Dejana," Alex calls out, without turning around. "Why don't you just crawl under the table to start and save yourself some dignity?" He looks over his shoulder and flashes her both a smirk and a flicked raise-lower of his brows, taking a few long gulps of the beer. Finishing it, as matter of fact. With a clean 'ahhh', Jenthson gets a quick nod. "Weren't kidding. Alejandro Aquilina Solis. Pleasure and all that shit, and thanks for the round." He looks over at Kors and jabs a finger at the vodka with a smirk. "Smells like shit, tastes like shit. But considering all the practice you've had at being full of shit yourself, no wonder you can stomach it."

Korsakov stands with a pensive expression on his face, until he can't stay silent any longer. "Twenty-eight? Feh. I turn thirty in January, and I am doing well enough to be where I am. But a lieutenant colonel and wing commander at that age? I wish I had the friends he does." He looks from Xiang to Jenthson with a slyly cocked eyebrow. "And that's all I'll say on that." Korsakov pauses for a drag as Pip begins his angry retort. "Take all the umbrage you want, Lieutenant, I don't especially care," he retorts mildly to the older lieutenant. "If I was trying to insult you, your city, or your beer specifically, you'd know." Aquilina is pointedly ignored.

"Good of you to join us, Draygo," Xiang offers to Kell as he joins the bar. She chukles at Markovic's bit about shots, at poor Torch's expense. She just sticks with her beer. To Jenthon she adds, "Xiang Jia, if I haven't said so before. You can call me Jia, if you like. Believe it or not, I don't *always* stand on formality." She can't help but nod at Korsakov's bit about the lieutenant colonel's friends. No more is said on that subject by her.

"Ya know what, sir?" Paz comments to Korsakov. "Your arrogance is fucking up a perfectly good hangover." she growls. "I'm gonna go find some aspirins or something, then I'm gonna find something more productive and less likely to put me in hack to do than sitting around listening to you demonstrate your contempt of all things not Illuminati. Okay…first, I'm gonna throw up, but then…yeah…the rest of that." Paz says simply, hauling herself to her feet while giving Korsakov the evil eye.

Dejana looks like she might reort - but doesn't? She just shrugs as the pair of shots are poured in front of her. "Well fine! More whiskey for me! Johnny Walker Black, all night long! Less for you, dickhead!" She turns back to the bar, swiveling her upper body like a battleship's guns locating their targets. Both hands take a glass each and she pounds both - one right after the other. They are set lightly down on the bar with a surprisingly lady-like "More, please!" She lifts on her toes with the last word, coming back down with an even bigger grin.

Aquilina cracks a grin at Korsakov as he's ignored, then greenish eyes turn to Paz. "He's not that bad, Lieutenant. I promise on my life." His hand lightly claps the back of Korsakov's shoulder, then he moves off the couple steps to Markovic's party. "Well, damn. Appealing to my gentlemanly side, can't hardly turn that down. Razor," he calls to the young pilot skulking. "Come on, El-Tee. Have a shot." The things about Valentine are let rest for now, but he doesn't exactly look like he's in the mood to defend the man.

"Paz. Don't leave on his account. Do you remember what I said about XOs, last night? They're always assholes. It's just who they are." Now, that doesn't mean Pip has to act like her particularly likes the person, but he does enjoy being proven right, from time to time. His tea is finished, and he stands up, moving away from the table, and toward the bar. For once, he has chosen to forgo a pint, just for a moment, and glance toward Markovic. "I'll do shots with you. You were one of the pair that saved my ass." Two fingers to the bartender, and he points to the bottle of black label. While Frethan waits for them to be poured, Xiang and Aquilina are both given a nod of greeting…"It's a pleasure, Jia…and Alejandro, of course. I still owe you one, from tonight."

Nodding at Xiang, Kell gives her a grin while saying, "I don't think I would miss any opportunity to dump gallons of booze down my throat and wake up with a head splitting hangover." His next order of business is to get the bartender's attention before pointing at Jenthson, "Give that man two rounds of his favorite beer on me." He then grins at the older Lieutenant, "That's for saving my bacon out there, picking up a hitchhiker drifting in space. Thanks, Pip." Kell then turns his attention to Aquilina who seems to be offering him a shot of something, moving to accept the drink, "What is it?" He asks at first, more curious at what he is about to fill his stomach with.

"By all means, don't let good sense interfere with the sound of hearing yourself talk, Lieutenant," Korsakov retorts, a hard edge in his voice as he returns Paz's evil eye tenfold. Prickly bastard, this one. With a rueful shake of the head, he turns and signals the barkeep for a refill as he takes a seat at the bar; a knowing look and roll of the eyes is directed at the delighted Markovic sitting a few seats down.

Xiang finishes her beer, avoiding looking too hard at the shot-doing area. She does get another glass of beer, though. A little toast of it is offered toward Kell before she gets to sipping again.

"Whooooo….." Paz retorts making scardey-cat eyes and holding up her hands. "Thanks but no, Pip. I wasn't kidding about the whole aspirins and throwing up thing." she sighs. "Anyone needs me for anything, I'll be in my rack….or the morgue….right now, it's a fifty-fifty shot. Live it up, you guys, you earned it." she adds with a little smile as she starts to make her way ot.

The bartender eyes the approaching pilots and gets out another few sets of shotglasses. "Two for me. One for each of you." She looks prim and proper in her posture…except for the mangled and matted hair, sweaty flightsuit, and dirt-streaked oxygen mask marks on her face. Her finger points to each glass in turn as they are filled. "Here's to surviving. And covering asses. Annnnnd a nugget's first ejection. Welcome to the world of the zero-G letdown, Draygo. Baptism by overwhelming firepower." She lifts her glass in the air for a -tink- from each one, nodding especially to Kell, before tossing back on of the shot glasses. The other appears to be sitting Alert 5 in her left hand for the moment. Her gaze drifts to Korsakov and she shakes her head. "Maxim Korsakov," she begins. The rest is just rapid fire good-natured scolding in Russian.

"This?" Aquilina hands Kell the shot of whiskey, expertly not spilling a drop. "This tipple is meant to be drunk first and questioned later, my friend." You can trust that face, right? He picks one up himself - Jenthson's shot will have to wait a round - and lifts it up. "TCSF and a beautiful engagement," he adds on to Markovic. "And Max? Shut the fuck up and drink."

Drink first and questioned later is good enough for Kell as he picks up the shot of whiskey, lifting it to match Aquilina's, "To TCSF and keeping our home in one piece." With that, he brings the shot to his lips and downs it before shaking his head once. "Whooo… good stuff." His attention is quickly shifted though as the bartender begins to pour more shots with one reserved for him. With a laugh, he picks his up and raises it to her, "It was getting too loud in the 'Sword I was in so I ejected to have some quiet time. Good times." After the gentle -tink-, he brings the next shot and downs it as well before releasing another long breath.

"One of his own shots is lifted to meet the varying cheers, and knocked back with nary a wince, before nodding toward Paz, as she makes to leave. "Aye, Lieutenant. Watch your six, en route, and get some rest. You'll have to watch the fleet, while we sleep it off." A gesture to include the fast-on-their-way to being shit-faced pilots in the room, and Pip falls silent, knocking back his second, and replacing both on the bar, waiting for a refill.

Markovic finishes scolding Korsakov just as he gets a fresh glass. He gives a snorting chuckle as he joins his fellow captain at the bar. A thin smile twitches on his lips as he inclines his head and raises his glass, this time to the lieutenant beside Markovic. "Pyekhali. You did well, Draygo." Another shot glass is empties, and another one finds its way into his hand. "And here's to number fifteen, eh?" His features are split by a rare grin as shot number three joins its predecessors.

Paz chuckles and nods, giving Pip the briefest of salutes before shambling out of the room and in the direction of the lift.

Paz leaves, heading towards the Crew Services [O].
Paz has left.

"Here, here," Xiang concurs with the toasts, touching her glass and drinking to the lot of them. Her brows are arched at Markovic and Kors. Trying to follow the Russian. And failing. "Fifteen?" That one she gets.

Aquilina knocks back the shot, turning the glass over on the bar. The second comes from the poured black label that Jenthson ordered up, plucked up and raised specifically to Pip before it's knocked back. A slight grit of teeth, nothing overtly obvious, and he smirks at Kell. "That's the spirit, Razor." Second shot glass turned over, he squints Korsakov's way.

Two pints are poured for Jenthson by the bartender since Kell bought him two rounds of a beer of his choice for picking him and his gunners up. As for the young pilot, he is young and bold, the back to back shots not having fully hit him yet. He does grin and nod at Korsakov, watching the XO down another shot only to fill another. "So what number are you stopping at, Captain?"

"Hey! That is what I like to see!" Markovic allows as Korsakov approaches. She puts an arm out to hang around his shoulder. The bartender gets busy refilling the glasses, Dejana's 4th still in a holding pattern in her free hand. With Max's admission about fifteen, his brow shoots up. "Nyeeeeet!! Fifteen?!" She lifts her glass to touch his. "Triple Ace! The Ex-Oh made it! I am so proud of my little Maxie." The arm around him lifts to pinch his cheek like some obnoxious aunt. "Congratulations, my friend!" She wastes no time in knocking back her fourth. The fifth is waiting on the bar.

Korsakov can only roll his eyes darkly as Markovic starts to squee all over the place. That thin smile is still firmly in place, though, and he downs another shot as soon as Dejana has the decency to release his cheek. "Sixteen, perhaps, if I get that second Grikath." As he motions for more shots and retrieves his cigarette for a quick pull, the Russian pilot looks back to Jenthson. "Kills or shots? To either, as many as it takes to put me on the ground for good," he replies dryly.

Little Maxie? One can just /read/ the look on Alex's face, which says that THAT will be the one thing he remembers about this whole shebang in the morning. On his way to catching up to Markovic, third shot of…something or other, as he's lost track of what's actually being poured…is in hand as he braces a foot behind him, smirking at this.

"Fifteen? Not bad. Not bad." Frethan seems pleased for the other pilot, despite the grating on his nerves, thing. One of his pints is lifted in thanks to Kell, and he calls…"Just don't make me do it again, Kell! My mother told me never to stop for hitchhickers…and, I don't fancy you sitting on my lap, anyway!" Scims are a bit of a tight squeeze! Korsakov's words are regarded with a tilted head, but no words. The Englishman isn't quite sure why the statement was directed toward him.

Xiang snickers at the 'Little Maxie' tag. Softly. And she quickly stifles any further sniggering. "Congratulations, Captain," she says to her squad XO. "That is quite an accomplishment."

Markovic grins up at the taller pilot, arm finally falling away. "Well, here's to the one that got away." Dejana, apparently, will find any reason to toast and take a shot. She lifts the glass and shoots it. At this rate, the little Serb will be worthless in probably about five minutes. Her hand reaches for another quickly. "So Pip, did you get credited with a capital ship? I mean, what is that? Do that count that as one kill or just forgoe that nonsense and stick you with even more medals?"
That third shot disappears somewhere in the middle of all the talking, and Alex finds himself a forth. Mostly by feel alone. And another cigarette, fetched from a pack that's then tossed haphazardly on the table with full knowledge it might be ransacked and empty by the end of the night. The shot's downed before he lights up, the flame setting on his lighter so low that it barely sparks to life.

"I suspect that Archangel, myself, and Razor will each be credited with a portion of the kill, Needles. Nothing spectacular. It wasn't as if we bagged a carrier!" A modest smile, and Pip manages a stately puff on his pipe, before he ruins the picture-perfect country squire at a pub with his gentlemanly neighbors pose, by opening the corner of his mouth, and dumping the rest of his pint down it. He doesn't spill a bloody drop, either. Impressive.

Markovic gets a withering glare at the 'little Maxie' comment, but skrag it - Korsakov's in a good mood for once, why ruin it? Instead, he just puts down another shot of vodka. For the moment, though, the man seems done with conversation, drinking and smoking as the party unfolds. He'll probably let Markovic feed him shots as the night goes on, but other than that he seems content to be quiet and fade into the background.

Xiang leaves, heading towards the Crew Services [O].
Xiang has left.

"Well that is complete shit. You each get a partial kill?" Dejana shakes her head. "You each should get, like, four. At least." Apparently the alcohol has hit her. She nods to Xiang as she scurries out, picking up another shot. Her gaze settles on Aquilina. "So. Torch. You have impressed a flight instructer. I was not so sure you would be able to keep up but that worked nicely. Pity we couldn't keep them off Pip and Draygo, here, sooner. We should try and remedy that next time." She nods a few times and looks to Kell with an apologetic smile before downing her next shot.

"You weren't so sure, were you," One of Alex's long brows arches up and he snorts quietly. "Should try, indeed. Tell that to those nancy pieces of horse dung they call mass drivers. And let Valentine know - because fuck knows I may die of old age before I even meet him - that next time he decides to try and save the kittens from blasting my weapons panel to shit, he should do so /before/ they hit me."

Dejana shakes her head. "Usually I meet cocky assholes like yourself in El-tee slots who can talk all day long." She makes the 'endless babbling' open and close of her hand, eyes rolling. She reaches for another shot. "But they cannot keep up in combat or they do not have the reflexes to handle serious incursions into enemy lines. I heard no complaints." She puncuates it with a nod, downing her shot. No comment on the mass drivers. The Captain didn't exactly use a lot of those. But there is a snort and laugh to Alex's assertion about Valentine. "Da. That was my bad. I should have been there sooner. I did not expect the Colonel to get out of the tubes. This was his.. second?" She looks to Pip for confirmation. "The second time in a few days that a technical malfunction kept him from engaging on time. If it happens a third time…?" She lefts it hang, shrugging deeply with her arms making a 'W' shape.

Aquilina squints his greenish eyes at the W sign, then snickers. "Double-yoo, indeed. But fuck this talk." He sits up a little bit, grabbing another shot from the ones left on the table. Fifth? Sixth? "Are you always so sedate when you've this high a blood alcohol level? Fucking disappointed, that's what I am."

Markovic doesn't even miss a beat with her reply. "No. Usually I get into fights. I made triple ace tonight, myself. The first two times I ended up in the brig with hazy memories of flying beer bottles and fists." She reaches for another shot and downs it. The woman wipes her lips on the back of her hand, looking back at him. "Too bad, though. I am not here to fucking please you. I am here to please me. What would you prefer me to do? Punch the bartender in the face?" She glances to him. He steps away. With the bottle.

"Oh, I see," Alex draws out the vowels in his reply. "Don't worry, I understand. Past your prime, so you've got to rest on your laurels." There's a wink. Baiting? Oh hell yes.

"Children. Children. Don't fight. We have a mutual enemy, and thus we should not resort to fisticuffs." A sigh, as if the world has gone mad, as Pip is well-above squabbles such as this. Barroom brawls? Well. He never. As for Dejana's question, there is a nod, and a smirk. "You are partially correct. This time, he arrived late for the engagement's hottest moment, and last time, he fled back to the ship, whilst we were engaged by multiple bandits. A brave man, our Colonel." And then Frethan goes back to drinking…first a shot, then a beer. He is waiting to see what happens.

The Captain looks to Pip, then to Alex, then to Pip again. Its obvious she's drunk. "You listening to this child? It is like hearing a 2nd Lieutenant all cocksure at the bar before he gets his wings." She seems about to respond to Janthsen when Torch begins again. Dejana stares at him as he draws out his vowels. She reaches for another shot without looking, just staring. His last brings a bitter laugh, but the wink finally does it. The laugh fades with the words 'Faaaahk youuuu' as she downs the shot quickly and leans back a touch, dropping the shotglass away. When her hand reappears, its balled and sailing at Alex's face.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Markovic:Melee vs Aquilina:Melee
< Markovic: Good Success Aquilina: Failure
< Net Result: Markovic wins.

"Aren't you right." Aquilina's telling Pip, emphatically. "Why, if the Colonel were here right now? I'd say to him…" Right then the fist socks him in the fucking face. "….concha tu madre!" And he? Poor Markovic, he just starts laughing, even with a split lip. "Puta la wea, got to cold-cock a sitting man in order to win a fight? Come on, Captain, you can hit harder than /that/!"

"I am quite sorry, m'lad. You both saved my posterior, earlier. So I cannot intervene." A glance back at the bartender, and Frethan holds the bowl of his pipe in thoughtful consideration. "I will give you two to one, that the lass cleans his clock properly…" A frown as the barkeep won't even take those odds…"Uh…five-to-one?" Scoffing at even that, the old LT just frowns behind his pipe…"She can pack a whallop for such a pretty one, can't she, Torch?" A pause, and his somewhat one-sided conversation continues…"No. Don't let me interrupt. Do carry on."

Dejana stares at Aquilina, her fists balling. She's just itching for him to hit back. So when he starts laughing, something kicks over in the Captain's head. She backs up a few steps, bumping into a table and turning it over rather suddenly. She, uh.. looks like she's clearing a runway. There's a cut glances to Pip and a haughty breath. "I will get to you after this." Markovic focuses back on Alex for a brief instant before she's all of a sudden dashing at him, leaping in a fly tackle at his waist.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Markovic:Rugby vs Aquilina:Melee
< Markovic: Good Success Aquilina: Failure
< Net Result: Markovic wins.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Aquilina:Melee vs Markovic:Melee
< Aquilina: Success Markovic: Good Success
< Net Result: Markovic wins.

Aquilina gets a headbutt - or shoulderbutt - straight to the gut. Propriety be damned, he's still gasping with laughter as he hits the floor pretty damn hard, and that includes the back of his (undoubtedly hard) head. And he's drunk, so his arms aren't quite working the way he tells them to. Brought up for defense while on his back, he's not going to be able to avoid a punch or two completely, but he's quickly working a foot up under him in preparation to twist her weight off him.

"Stop." Punch to stomach. "Fucking." Blocked punch to stomach. Her pissed-off angst is fading. Probably satisfied with that tackle. "Laughing!" She tries to sock him one in the ear but ends up punching part of his hair into the hard floor. "Motherfucker!" she cries and rolls off him, bumping into a chair and holding her knuckles. "You're a shithead, Alex," she sighs. "Someone could fertilize the Orient with what you have rolling around in there."

"So. Needles? What the fuck was that about, lass?" Pip is, as usual, straight to the point. He has seen many drunk women, but most don't start to beating up the nearest squadronmate. Normally. A glance toward Alex, as he seems to be non-dead, is ignored, more or less. He was laughing at her, so he got what he deserved. But still. "More to drink, then?"

Aquilina tries. He does /try/ to stop laughing. "You just punched me in the hair." Which starts him off again. Oh, Markovic. Coughing out the end of this laughing streak, or at least coughing it into loud snickering, he sits back up on the floor. Blood's wiped off his lip in an unusually dignified manner, and there's no counterpunch thrown…he didn't try once to hit her through that whole thing. "Phew. I think I need a cigarette after that." Drawing his feet under him he stands up, lips pursed with smirking as he holds down a hand to Dejana. Aw. Or something.

"I am bloody well aware of it, too!" Dejana wails dramatically, some british working its way into her vocabulary. She rolls her head and looks to Pip from the floor. "This Lieutenant assaulted me. I was forced to defend myself. The bartender saw everything if he knows what is good for him." Spoken -just- loud enough. The Captain then looks up to Aquilina with the offered hand. Such offers are measured and weighed carefully. But she eventually takes it. "Yes. More booze. Pip, where was my back-up? I expected more out of you. Totally unacceptable." She flails an arm around, looking herself over, and not really meaning anything. Hard to really -mean- something when you are drunk like that.

Dimples show as Alex grins at her. And they're gone as quick as they appeared, and he tugs her back up to standing. Not bothering to smoothe wrinkles out of his uniform, he slides back into his abandoned seat and signals the bartender for another round. The aforementioned cigarette's indeed lit, lighter clicked to life and then tossed back on the table with a thunk. "Back-up." He smirks. "What did you actually /intend/ to do with my hair, other than iron it?" A bit of tobacco's plucked off his lip, then his mind, as it so often does, suddenly hits rewind and then play again at a random point. "Fled back to the ship? Is that what happened that time."

"What -did- you expect from me, Needles? You had him pinned…I wasn't just going to start kicking him, while he was down." He points to a pint of beer left on the bar, and at the spot they'd been…well, where Dejana had been beating on Alex. "I was prepared to waste a pint of wonderful beer, and dump in on you both, if I had to. Does that count?" Sliding a shot over to Markovic, the Brit takes a moment to reply to the youngest of them…"Aye. We were in the middle of an engagement, and he claimed his flight-stick was stuck in the port position, or some such. And turned tail, and rode his afterburners all the way home….while we fragged Sartha."

Markovic nurses her knuckles. She took some skin off and they're bleeding a bit. Lips purse on each in order, cleaning her own wounds. The middle finger lifts, sufficing as communication until she can use her words again: "I was trying to punch you in the ear. If you do it to a drunk person you can make them throw up pretty easily." She points to her own ear. "Water in the ear. It, uh.." The finger makes an odd motion. She's forgetting her English. "-helps with balance. Equal-something." The Captain flops onto a barstool, the tender keeping his distance from her. She shakes her head and looks to Pip. "I do not know!" she flusters. "Maybe a kick or two would have been okay. But wasting beer? For shame." She takes the shot quickly and reaches for the beer. "Such wasteful tendencies. I shall protect it."

Aquilina is listening to Pip, eyes slightly narrowed. As Mark starts talking, the greens slide slowly sideways to the Captain and somehow that self-satisfied smirk reappears on his damn face. Right along with an eyebrow-wiggle. "Instead of value of life, Captain, the real lesson ought to be on the value of a pint." He picks up another shot, or whatever's come available on that table, folding his arm on the table. "You were a flight instructor too, weren't you, Pip? Somebody hauled that up, can't remember who…not St Johns, I gather."

"Combat Flight School at Santiago. For some bloody reason, when it came time to refit my squadron, they yanked me from the front line, and made me Senior Flight Instructor." A frown, and Frethan clearly doesn't seem to remember the assignment, fondly. "I never have been a particularly good teacher, despite having done enough of it. I prefer to teach by doing, not by teaching…if you follow my meaning, Alex." Yes. He's slipped into first name basis with these people, now. Good work. He is also a bit drunk, and it shows in his story-telling. "I flew a desk, more often than not, and it was terrible. I met my future wife, there. June. She was so lovely then." A wistful look, and he reaches for pint, driven to the drink. "It is amazing what a wedding ring will do to a woman. I came back from my deployment on the Monty, sent packing from the service…only to find I'd married a Bengal-class under construction."

Dejana looks moderately indignant, blinking furiously away and coddling he beer close to her chest. She whispers to it: "Do not listen to him. He knows not what he says." She then looks up, taking a snooty tone and trying to be serious. "You monster. You cannot place a value on a free, poured pint of golden brew." With the mention of such insane things as teaching pilots how to fight, Markovic looks up to Pip. She blinks a few times and looks to Alex. "How about that, Torch?" her knuckles get another line of kisses as she looks back to him. Dejana sips at the beer, her brow furrowing at the end. "They named a Bengal Class ship 'June?'" Analogies + Alcohol + ESL = Disaster.

Aquilina listens to the story roll out. The smile doesn't come back, nor does the smirking. As Pip finishes, he rubs the end of his nose and he breaks eye contact, searching out an ashtray to tug closer. "Yeah, I follow."

As to Dejana's misunderstanding his analogy? Frethan is left to devolve into a puddle of laughter, actually leaning over the bar, and thumping it with his fist…you'd think he was sitting for the House of Commons, with all of the noise that he's managing to make. Finally, he looks up toward Needles, and just shakes his head. "No. You see. I married, deployed for a little over a year, and found my wife had tripled in size. She got fat, I say. -FAT-." Extra emphasis, and he is silent, eyes drifting back to Aquilina, and tilting his head. That was an odd reaction to a fairly normal story, and he shows his curiosity.

The recognition of her screw-up dawns on her face like a rising sun, creating a night and day difference. "Ohhhhhhh!" She starts laughing before she has even finished the sound. "I am sooo sorry!" She tilts back some in the chair, laughing at her own stupidity and drinks a good portion of the brew. "So your wife is now…? Bengal sized. Huh. I never pegged you for.. I do not know." She gestures to him. "-being tied down."

Aquilina taps his cigarette against the ashtray again. It takes him a few seconds to catch up to the fact that people are laughing, and he rubs his face as he looks back up, a corner of his mouth curling a little bit as if he were consciously doing it. "-Fat-, really. You don't say." By the time he finishes talking the expression on his face looks more normal. "And I wouldn't have guessed it either, have to tell you, Pip."

"Tied down? Negative. I got the divorce, a few months ago, after years of hell. Jesus fucking christ. She was a red-headed she-devil." A pause, and a drunken waggle of his eyebrows at Dejana, and a smirk. "Why, Needles? Fancy a bit o' the may-december?" Teasing the Captain, Jenthson can't help it when his bartender's sense kicks in, and attention has to shift over to Aquilina. "Lad? What's the matter? When we started talking about my time in Santiago, your face kind of fell, and you're having trouble pulling it back up?"

"Red-headed she-devil?" Dejana repeats with a laugh. "We have got a potential replacement new to flying. She loves her whiskey, so I am just totally in love with her. Everytime I try and remember her name, all I can think of is -RED-!" She leans forward, laughing at the bitchy admission before sitting back up. With his last question to her, she waves the beer a bit. "I have no idea what this may-december thing is but it sounds like fun. Before I can commit to anything involving that long a period of time, I need to know what -I- get out of such things."

"Okay, mate." Alex leans over his arm, gesturing at Pip with his cigarette. "If you can say something like that last bit, and Dejana /misses/ an opportunity to turn that into an insult about my sex life, you know she's fucking tanked." His finger swivels to Markovic, adding on with emphasis but no actual malice. "And the window's closed, so shut the fuck up." That established, cigarette ashed again. "Which one, the carrot top. Gypsy? That's her name."

"Don't worry about it, Dejana. If you need it explained, it won't be as funny. Why don't you ask someone else about it, later?" A smile, and Pip falls into silence, watching the banter between the two pilots, and draining his pint, setting the empty glass on the bar. He looks over toward the barkeep, as if giving a bit of consideration to another, but does appear to be passing on it, for the moment. "A redhead in your squadron? Kick her out. They're -bad- fucking juju."

"Hey, fuck you twiddles. I cannot multitask when drinking. I am either drinking, hitting, or.. whatever. I will try and catch it next time so you do not feel left out." She waves the beer at Aquilina, nearly spilling it over the edge. "But yes. Gypsy. Red…Gypsy." When she looks back to Pip, she almost looks like she is disappointed. "Awwwwwwwwwww." Scratch that 'almost.' "I hate asking. I cannot ask people in the squadron. They will probably tell me it is a vacation or something. Fucking English." She almost sips the beer before correcting herself. "The.. language. Not the people." Then the beer is taken care of.

Aquilina's eyes are slightly heavy-lidded by now as he smirks a little bit at Markovic's final sentiment, lifting his glass. Still drinking, himself, and he seems more determined than he was a little while ago to get down a healthy dose more. There's no comment on may-decembers, though if he remembers this at all tomorrow you can bet there will be good times in the Temple. "Gypsy's alright, Pip. Just…tie her down and keep her head shaved. Or does juju come all the way from the roots."

"I'm all for the tying down, part. But shaved head? Jesus, Alex." A frown and he contemplates that, glancing back up to Markovic with a grin. "You really don't want an answer from me, Dejana. It will be much more amusing for everyone, if you find out from the wrong person. Much. Much more amusing." And then he starts looking as if he might be leaving, since he hasn't gotten another drink, and he is tapping his pipe out into an ashtray.

Markovic tilts her beer towards Alex, sloshing a little over the side and onto his boot. "Fucking..Oops. Look, you need to slow -down-, tiger. Throttle back before I have to drag your ass back up fi-six flights of stairs. Shit. Is it five or six? Oh hell." The Captain rolls her head back and the beer meets her there. Between the post-combat dirtiness, the drunken state, and the dried blood that has run down her hand, she is going to wake up and look in a mirror and probably go straight back to bed. After a whimper. She sits up and looks to Pip. "See? This. This is just mean. I thought British men were supposed to be nice. And shit." She reaches out with her non-bloody, non-boozed hand and pokes him with a finger in the chest, teasing. "But fine. If I remember. And if it sucks and I do remember, I am coming after you. With..something. But it will not be fun." She waggles that finger, trying to be menacing. But she can't be serious or menacing because that just doesn't happen from 5'6" women that are in her shape.

"Radical methods, but don't you worry for her," Alex answers Jenthson. "There are rules. 'Tactics are those conscious deliberate acts by which human beings live with each other and deal with the world around them…and in tactics the threat is usually more terrifying than the thing itself'." Talking to himself about god knows what by this point, as he's done with that shot and his fingers are going for another, waving Markovic off and mumbling. "I'm fine, Dejana." His cigarette's put out.

Rising to his feet with a weaving stumble, Frethan lifts his hand…"Ta for now." And makes his way toward the door without another word for the pair, save for a quiet…"Thanks for saving my ass, you two." A smile for both of them, and a saucy wink for the pretty one (female, not the male pretty), and continues to stumble/walk out into the corridor, beginning to sing a rousing round of "God Save the Queen" in what is actually a fairly impressive singing voice. Somewhere, a bulldog is crying patriotic tears.

"Anytime, Pip!" Markovic returns, near-empty beer raised. She then faces back to Alex. "You fucking touch that shotglass and I will break your hand…"

"Pa' na', huevon." Alex upward-nods at Frethan. "Take care of yourself." Then. Markovic. Hand. Glass.

Jenthson can only hear the sound of breaking glass as he leaves. Followed by more breaking glass.

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