Angle of Attack

[Roderik von Brinkerhoff]

100th Fighter Group Briefing Room
First Order Starfighter Garrison, Dosuun


Roderik von Brinkerhoff had known many outstanding pilots in his time with the First Order. Many brave, and demonstrating the fighting spirit of an aggressive space mongoose.

But rarely did Commander Roderik meet individuals so talented in their flying skills that their... Extracurricular activities, and other such adjacent outlandishness could be forgiven.

Rarer so, were those pilots who had such great potential, and Roderik still maintained a glimmer of a hope that he could mold and shape into a perfect and professional fighter pilot, and more specifically, flying officer. A leader of men.

"I'm sure he'll see things my way." Roderik said, wondered, aloud, oblivious as to whether or not [member="Pierce Fortan III"] had slipped into the semi-darkened briefing room yet. The Commander knew the man well, had flown beside him for a considerable duration of time -- longer than perhaps any of his previous wingmen... He rarely lost them in battle, but many rotated on to bigger and better assignments of their own. Achievements and success he thought perhaps was in no small part due to his mentoring ways, and for a select few, such as Pierce, an actual friendship. A friendship Roderik was not above abusing, in order to get his way for the good of the First Order.

The Commander leaned forward and braced his arms against the ready room's podium as he waited. Instinctively anchoring his weight onto his right leg, alleviating the slight tremble he began to feel. Not anxiety, not nerves - not really. He just needed to have had an extra cup of caf this morning. That would've kept it at bay for the time being.

"What pilot doesn't want a squadron of their own, anyways?" He pondered, again aloud.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

"Me, for a start," said Pierce as he strode down the aisle of the briefing room. He was dressed in uniform and snapped a quick salute to [member="Roderik von Brinkerhoff"], but that was where the professionalism ended. They were quite alone, so Pierce didn't feel the need to stand on ceremony -- or his feet -- so he dropped onto the desk, half-sitting, and drew a flask from his boot. He glanced at his watch and lifted a gloved hand after a moment. "Just eleven," he announced jubilantly. "Means it's socially acceptable for cocktails," he explained to Roderik, as if explaining something patently obvious to someone who should know better. He hefted the flask and shook it a little at him. "You don't mind, do you? It's only a gin and tonic. Only I haven't got any tonic and they were out of gin so it's vodka. But still."

He pressed his lips together into a flat line and then sighed. "Fine." He stashed his flask in his boot and swapped so his other leg was slightly elevated, withdrawing a pack of cigarettes instead. "Go ahead and try to stop me, I'll light that ridiculous little mustache on fire." He brandished his lighter dramatically before igniting a cigarette and taking a drag.

"What's this about pressing someone into service?" he asked, looking around as smoke billowed from his lips and nostrils. Just as he had thought, they were quite alone. "I thought we were going to have lunch."

 

[Roderik von Brinkerhoff]

"Ah!" Roderik wasn't able to contain his surprise, straightening out and moving away from the podium in some no doubt awkwardly theatrical half-startled hop.

He regained his military bearing and discipline, and therefore composure, almost immediately, and formed a nearly flawlessly saved salute in response.

"This is the mustache of one of the greatest aces you'll ever meet," The Commander reached up and stroked his mustache fondly while the junior pilot sat and taunted.

"And seriously, Pierce, don't let anyone catch you with that. Especially with," He cut off, his expression turning more anxious as he motioned haphazardly with one hand, to the flask hidden in the boot.

"Lunch under one condition, and yes, you can choose the spot." Roderik secretly regretted upping the ante with the last comment. As the senior officer here, he knew he would be paying. And [member="Pierce Fortan III"] undoubtedly knew it too.

"How do you like your current assignment? You can be honest with me here."

 

[Natasi Fortan]

"I will still light it on fire if you try to stop me," Pierce said, his voice matter-of-fact, as if he was reciting the engine capacity of a standard TIE/sf, which yes, he knows, why do you ask? Well if you don't know I'm certainly not going to tell you. Pierce made a face and nudged his flask down deeper into his boot, then waved a dismissive hand, trailing cigarette smoke. "Whatever happened to smoking? Remember when everyone used to smoke? Everything was more ... I don't know. Festive. Like a party. Everyone was happier." He took another drag and then tapped the ashes into an empty coffee mug nearby, no concern for whose it was. "Honest to God, smoking is the only thing that separates us from the lower orders." He shook his head and looked back up to Rodrik.

"Sorry, old chap, what were we talking about?" He looked puzzled for a few moments, then brightened. "Ah -- of course. I'd say the O-club but they're so fastidious about smoking there and they haven't even got a bar until dinner service. What's the point?" He took another drag, exhaled purposefully. "What's the condition?" He stood and pulled his coat on over his uniform. "Let's do... hmm. Oh, all right, Parker's, over at the edge of the Garden District.

He took one last drag and then stubbed his cigarette out in the empty coffee mug. So used to the accoutrements of wealth and privilege that he didn't conceive of Roderik not having some sort of footman or maid or something to come by and pick up the now-dirty mug, until he looked down into it and sighed. "Bloody hell, I rather forget sometimes you don't have people." He sniffed disdainfully. "Oh -- it's all right. Not brilliant but it's fine. Honestly I feel like I spend more time flying over ceremonial bullocks than anything else, but I get paid either way so -- " His voice dropped off as he picked up the mug; he'd give it to one of the junior men outside the office. Give them a bit of something to do to impress a capital-O Officer. "Why, what difference does it make?"

[member="Roderik von Brinkerhoff"]

 

[Roderik von Brinkerhoff]

It was time to put on his command cap, and lean on [member="Pierce Fortan III"] a little bit, causing Roderik to shoot out rather reflexively,

"Because, Senior Lieutenant, you are still 'the people' here." The commander pointed to the mug in Pierce's hand, and swung his divisively pointed finger towards the nearest garbage receptacle, which was on the opposite side of the briefing room than they were to be exiting from, as if to accentuate the connotation that Pierce was, for all his prestige, still still just the help to others in the service.

"The difference it makes is whether or not you want to stay that away forever, or if you want to move your career forward." He watched his friend intently, watched to see if he would dispose of the mug defiantly or not at all. Or do something else entirely. Roderik never truly could tell what Pierce was thinking, most of the time. Whenever they weren't flying on each other's wing, actually.

Roderik's expression grew lighter from this point on. "That's the catch. Part of it, anyways. You know why I'm here on Dosuun now, right? This new Group? Well, they need a good core. Blast me for saying this, but they need you."

At this part of the pitch, Roderik was working on autopilot. His rehearsed speech gone out the window, though the sensation of doing things on the fly was not unusual to him.

"Lets discuss it more on the way over to that lunch I owe you." Roderik said, still standing beside the podium. He fiddled with something in his uniform pocket, before straightening out and reaching for his own uniform's overcoat, draped over the podium itself.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

"I say," said Pierce in response to Roderik's implication that he was staff like anyone else. "That's a low shot, old chap. But -- oh all right, I suppose I did insult that mustache of yours and we both know it's the source of all your power."

Pierce strolled over to the trash receptacle and deposited the garbage before returning to Roderik's side. "Easier said than done, old chap," he replied. "I rather get the idea my name is more hindrance than help. My dearest cousin hates the perception of impropriety as much as impropriety itself. It's well known among the senior officers so when it's promotion season I feel I get a bit of a black mark, no one wants to look like they're sucking up to the Queen."

He glanced over at Roderik as they walked. "What, me? Hell."

 

[Roderik von Brinkerhoff]

Roderik opened the door and strode out into the hallway of the staff office complex. Speaking as [member="Pierce Fortan III"] kept pace at his side.

"The real catch is that it's not a glamorous assignment. And, well, you won't need to concern yourself about top brass being worried who your cousin is, because I'll be the top brass." He chuckled as they continued out.

"You know I can handle the high society types -- your type, come to think of it. The Home Minister will not contest your promotion. At least, I hope not,"

Roderik broke off his words as he dug a hand into his pocket again, fidgeting for a moment before producing a standard looking enhanced officer's rank cylinder, as well as rank insignia plate of Captain. He raised them both in his palm, to show the Senior Lieutenant, moving his hand closer to the junior officer.

"You're going to have to fly a standard TIE again."

He went for the direct approach, gut-shot of truth.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Why did Roderik think this was some sort of struggle for him to accept -- to be judged on his merit rather than his family connections. Or, at least, to be judged on his skill and how excellent he was as a friend. But then the other shoe dropped. "A standard TIE?" he echoed incredulously, loudly enough to turn the heads of some of the nearer people. "Am I, heck as like!" he exclaimed, jamming his hands into his pockets indignantly. How could von Brinkerhoff expect someone like Pierce to slum it in a basic, standard-issue TIE fighter?

"What are they, plastic now?" He rankled and looked away from his friend. "Not even an Interceptor? Good God."

 

[Roderik von Brinkerhoff]

[OOC Preface - The above posts will have to be edited somewhat, changing the indignation towards standard TIE Fighters to concern over what the assignment is. Also, references to gaining command of a squadron will be changed as applicable)

"I know what you're going to say about it, and I don't want to hear it. At least you won't be forced out of your vaunted TIE/sf, Pierce." Captain Brinkerhoff said jokingly, but still firmly.

The truth of the matter was that Roderik fully understood the reservations [member="Pierce Fortan III"] had in regards to flying for the squadron protecting his cousin, the First Order's newly ordained Grand Moff. Roderik respected that Pierce wanted to be known for his skill in the cockpit (among his other skills, most of which were skills of leisure and high society). The appearance of impropriety was... Well, the old saying, 'perception is reality' had it right.

"Look, this is going to be your squadron as much as its mine. They know I hand-picked you because you're good at what we all do here in the Starfighter Corps. Nobody will know you're a Fortan when they're flying your wing. Just like nobody knows I'm a Brinkerhoff."

The captain could not help but offer out a bit of a chuckle, along with a half-grin as he added,

"Not that I mind."

 

[Natasi Fortan]

"As if," Pierce said, pulling another cigarette from the case and lighting it as they strolled. He took a drag and then left the cigarette between his lips, exhaling through his nose. "Bloody bollucks and you know it. You -- with that God-awful mustache flapping out of the bottom of your helmet. Me -- well, my shocking good looks, charm, and breeding will be apparent from the way I fly, just as in the way I walk, talk, drink gin, smoke, and f-- all right, dance." He mimed a few steps of the foxtrot, forward and back, before plucking the cigarette from his lips.

"Shall we take a cab? If God had meant us to walk he wouldn't have invented other means of travel." He ashed his cigarette nowhere in particular and walked with [member="Roderik von Brinkerhoff"]. "Speaking of -- all right, dancing -- where do you go to meet women around here? I swear, I spend so much time with my cousin that we might as well be engaged. Oh -- we do that sort of thing on Galidraan but usually it's fifth cousins and so forth. I'm joking -- God, she's an ice cub, can you even imagine? Anyway I spend so much time with Natasi and Decima -- God, she is a pistol and I mean the kind that will go off in your hand and blow your arm off." He circled his ear with his cigarette fingers, crossing his eyes. "Really."

"What was I saying?" he said after a moment. "Oh -- I spend so much time with them I hardly remember what it's like to talk to a real woman. Everything is so sterile on Dosuun. Well, you can imagine why. Revolting. Not a Morale Station anywhere. Taxi!" He hailed a speeder flying by; it whizzed past and Pierce looked personally aggrieved. "This sort of thing doesn't happen on Galidraan, honestly."

 

[Roderik von Brinkerhoff]

The captain reached his hand into [member="Pierce Fortan III"]'s cigarette case with the lightning-fast reflexes of a fighter pilot honed by near-death experiences. He, with disturbing accuracy, pinched one of the cigarettes between two fingers and extracted it after the Lieutenant pulled one out for himself, and before he could close the case.

"That's true," he had to give credit to his friend, and soon-to-be Executive Officer of the 100th Fighter Squadron.

"Your flying is somehow as boastful as anything else about you. I'll give you that."

Roderik held his hand out as long as it took for Pierce to give in and hand over the lighter, so he could ignite the smokey end of the cigarette. Taking one brief drag before tauntingly slowly handing the lighter back over.

"We're definitely not walking." He interjected before listening to the rest of Pierce's short ramble.

"You think I know? If you think you've been worked too hard, live a day in my life. I barely get out of the office enough to fly with you lot, let alone hunt down the nearest morale station!" He allowed himself to laugh at that. It was true, and a lie. Roderik had been working himself far too hard since receiving command of this little rag-tag bunch. But neither were morale stations his style. Although he had nothing against them per se - he would never forbid his pilots, such as Pierce, from consorting with that kind of establishment, he himself would never partake.

Pierce was probably the only one who knew why, out of possibly anyone in the First Order. The captain was a romantic at heart, and had not the desire nor the interest to chase around skirts. He cloaked himself in his work instead, and in his deep friendships with a select few around him, most notably Pierce.

"Whose this Decima? Pierce Fortan the third's newest crazy fling? Literally crazy, this time? Firearms crazy?"

Roderik opted to extend his non-smoking hand out to flag down a taxi as well, hoping his superior rank might persuade the next one.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Pierce looked over at [member="Roderik von Brinkerhoff"], eyes narrowing a little. "Decima? Oh good God, no," he said quickly. "She's my cousin. Of course, Natasi would prefer that be kept under your hat, so -- you know -- but apparently by dear Uncle Frejrik drowned his sorrows when Auntie Reima died with some neighboring noble lady who was married at the time. It was apparently quite the scandal, but it was twenty years ago now. Apparently she was the absolute spitting image of Frejrik as a baby and she looks rather like a cross between Natasi and Mathes now, so it's obvious. But the Galidraani legal system is -- well, absurd, like the rest of it." He bundled into the cab after it stopped, scooting over so that Roderik could sit.

"But she's absolutely crackers, seems to hold -- well, you-know-who responsible for growing up on the outside of it." He glanced meaningfully towards the cab driver then said, "Parker's please."

He settled back into his seat, stubbing his cigarette out after an angry denunciation from the can driver. People could be so touchy. "So -- what's the story about this dreadful squadron of yours? Give it to me straight -- don't dress it up."

 

[Roderik von Brinkerhoff]

Roderik's eyes widened while Pierce's narrowed.

"That is," He fumbled for the right word to express his thoughts on the matter, as a taxi finally pulled up.

"Surprisingly scandalous." He piled into the taxi after [member="Pierce Fortan III"], but not before carelessly flicking away his only partially-smoked cigarette, planting all of the cab driver's ire on the Lieutenant in the process.

"Decima seems quite the gal." Roderik teased, before dropping into the meat and potatoes of the most important conversation.

"This squadron, think our squadron, Pierce, will be... Well, its a special duty assignment kind of squadron. You're not going to like this, but you said to give it to you straight. We're the Grand Moff's personal TIE squadron, guard detail, parade formations, and, well, we will be getting our hands dirty too."

He paused for a split second to take a breath and compose himself before giving the next bit of news. The would-be awkward pause interrupted by the taxi speeding off, causing the passenger compartment to become filled with the droning hum of the taxi's engine.

"You spend so much time with her already, I'm really surprised she hasn't mentioned it at all. You don't get a choice in the matter, is what I'm trying to say."

Another pause, interrupted by turbulent taxi-driving this time.

"I may have over-sold Natasi on how great of an asset you'd be to the our squadron-- her squadron." Roderik corrected himself meekly with a chuckle, waiting for Pierce's response.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Pierce left the sentence hanging in the air for a few moments. "You've got a bloody cheek," he said stonily after nearly two minutes of silence. "And so has she. You know, I could just -- " His voice broke off as he jammed a cigarette into his mouth. When the cab driver started to jibber-jabber at him in the rearview mirror, he bellowed, cigarette still between his lips, "I'm not bloody smoking it, so why don't you just sod off!" He glared at the driver until the driver turned back to the road.

She didn't respond to [member="Roderik von Brinkerhoff"] for a few minutes longer, until they were nearly at the restaurant. "Do you know I was going to offer to pay but since you've been underhand I won't. And suddenly I feel... thirsty." When the cab eased to a stop outside the restaurant, he bounded out and immediately lit up his cigarette. "You are a sneaky little man -- well, mother always said not to trust a man with facial hair so now my lesson is learned." He went into the restaurant and snapped at the hostess, "Two. In the smoking section." He didn't bother putting the cigarette out on the way to their table. The other patrons could sod off too.

 

[Roderik von Brinkerhoff]

It was far more of an awkward, quieter cab ride to the restaurant than Roderik had anticipated, although he thought [member="Pierce Fortan III"] was taking it rather well, all things considered. The jab at his mustache told the captain that they were still on good terms.

"Fine, but don't drink too much, we're still in uniform."

Roderik knew there was probably little chance of the warning being heeded as they strolled into the restaurant. But he had to try to save his bank account, none the less.

"Thank you." The Captain added to the hostess after the Lieutenant snapped his orders, the hostess responding by hurriedly ushering them to their table, which was dangerously adjacent to the bar area itself.

"I meant well! I really did!" He started off as they sat down and the hostess departed, before the server arrived.

"To be honest, most of what I told her was true about you. You can't blame your cousin for this, no, I'm the one who wanted this for you, Pierce. I see this as a stepping stone for you. You do a little stint here, and the next thing you know, you're being pulled to lead your own squadron. Captain Fortan, eh? This squadron is where that future is going to be made." Roderik turned the motivational speaking up to 11.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Pierce rolled his eyes. "Bollocks," he said. The waitress came by and took drink orders. "Scotch," he snapped and picked up the menu, examining the selection. "Looks rather good," he told [member="Roderik von Brinkerhoff"]. He settled on his selection and set the menu down, turning in his seat to face Roderik. "You've fixed it between you, hm? All right, I'll play your little game. Not much choice, have I, with three more years left on my commission." He sniffed disdainfully and pulled his cigarette case out. The waitress came back with their drinks and Pierce glanced up at her. "Sorry about before," he said brusquely, giving the waitress his best, most sparkling blue-eyed look. "Buy yourself a drink on my tab. Well -- his tab," he amended, gesturing at Roderik.

Pierce ordered a calamari starter for the table, followed by a green salad, then roast duck -- "with extra crispy skin, if you can, darling, please?" -- more blue eyes. He turned to Roderik, raising his eyebrows.

 

[Roderik von Brinkerhoff]

Roderik could not help but grin as [member="Pierce Fortan III"] warmed back up to the waitress.

Pierce and Roderik's history went further than the Starfighter Corps, and Roderik knew the younger man couldn't stay mad at him for long.

"Three years is a long time to change your mind about leaving the fighter corps."

The captain was cut off from initiating an impromptu 'stay in the service!' speech, as the waitress came back around. Roderik's grin shifted into a grimace as Pierce ordered the duck. There was a 50/50 chance that Pierce knew Roderik would order that, and preempted him out of spite for the situation he'd placed him in. It was a smart play, Roderik thought.

He opted instead for ordering the house specialty fowl on the menu. Roderik spoke again to Pierce as the waitress left.

"But honestly, it wasn't really my fault. You're going to be the best executive officer a Captain could ask for."

His grin returned.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Thank bloody God for that, Pierce thought as the waitress interrupted [member="Roderik von Brinkerhoff"] before he could launch full-scale into his attack. "I'm going to executive my foot in your -- well, nevermind," Pierce said waspishly, his lips twitching downards in irritation. "I gather it's not your fault, but I think we've been friends long enough that I can jolly well shoot the messenger if I want to. Who does she think she is, just sending me this way and that? You know everyone thinks I'm a spy for her," he said bitterly. "Do you know how demoralizing that is? You're the only friend I've got in the services. Everyone else either thinks I'm checking up on them, or thinks I can get them that shiny new rank badge they've had their eye on."

He glanced sidelong at Roderik, his nose twitching a little.

"I sometime think -- you know, she ran roughshod over Immy -- oh, you never met Immy, did you? Cousin Imogen -- used to be The Boss™'s principal private secretary until she -- I don't know, Natasi insists it came out of nowhere, but I think she must have snapped. Natasi was never one to indulge anyone's insecurities, and Immy had a lot of them. Anyway. Tried to blow up The Boss and General Vaas and the lot of them on Skye. We didn't know it at the start, of course. Thought she died in the blast, but we found out later she didn't die in the blast, but was behind it all along. I think she must have hated Natasi and -- honestly -- I can start to see why. Not that I'd ever try to blow her up, mind." He took a drink of his scotch and then sighed. "She's... well it's lonely at the top, isn't it, so she torments her family to keep them available to her. Sick."

 

[Roderik von Brinkerhoff]

Roderik raised a hand up a 'pump the brakes' motion, palm facing out in a display of truce.

"She's not trying to torment you, Pierce. Nobody is trying - or going to - be blowing anybody up, metaphorically or literally or anything," A momentary pause came while he tried to process all he was hearing, as [member="Pierce Fortan III"] angrily rambled out the history. He had heard rumors and the official reports about that bombing, but nothing in the remote direction of... That.

"that's some heavy stuff, Pierce. You really, really shouldn't be saying that!" He knew nothing would come of it, they were - most likely - not under surveillance by the FOSB or the Grand Moff's office, or anybody in-between. But still, that was state secret level business.

"All I know is that Natasi made this happen because I asked for you personally, and I only asked for you because I trust you on my wing. Everything else comes second, even the fact that you'll be a great squadron commander someday, that too."

The captain shrugged his shoulders and slouched as he reached down to his glass of water on the table, taking a prolonged drink as he collected his thoughts.

"Nobody in this squadron will judge you for who you are, or who you're connected to. Nobody here will be afraid of spies for the brass. They're all people I personally recommended too - hell, I'm sure you've flown with most of them! There are a few newer types, but they show real promise. They need a good officer to show them the right way of doing things. What about that, Pierce? Molding the minds of the future and all of that?"

 

[Natasi Fortan]

"You don't know her," Pierce said firmly. He produced his cigarettes, offered one to [member="Roderik von Brinkerhoff"], and lit one up for himself now. As the soothing sensation of t'bacc smoke filled his lungs, her made a noise of satisfaction. "She's absolutely bonkers. I think it was better before, when she was made of ice. Butter wouldn't melt, I'm telling you." He sighed and rolled his eyes at Roderik's admonishment. "Oh please, there's tiddlywinks here." He waved a hand, cigarette smoke weaving into the air.

"If you mean it, then I suppose I have no objections," said Pierce waspishly. He was skeptical that the Captain actually meant it. After all, he couldn't control the others in their group, and though he might be getting the best of the best, being good at one's job and ruthless ambition were two traits that were co-related not unfrequently. He took a drag of the cigarette and blew it out on a sigh. "Whatever. I don't feel like being angry this whole lunch. I'll take our recruits and teach them how to smoke, and fly, and -- well, probably not dance, given the regulations, but everything else."

He raised his glass to von Brinkerhoff and then downed it.