Angle of Attack

[Roderik von Brinkerhoff]

Roderik reached across the table to claim one of the cigarettes as his own. Smoking t'bacc was a lingering vice that the starfighter pilot was unsure he would ever fully quit. The nervous system could only take so many jolts and spikes before it broke down, and t'bacc had at least staved away some of those jolts and spikes, or at least lessened their harmful effects, on too many occasions to count. Paradoxically, smoking had probably recovered a year or two of Roderik's life expectancy.

"I mean it." He said simply, before raising his own glass and downing the liquid - just water - in spirit with [member="Pierce Fortan III"]'s gesture.

"As long as we also teach them how to survive." He added to the list of teaching requirements, the advice coming off as perhaps a tad too morose. But it was true, the life expectancy of a TIE Fighter pilot was... Too low. And half of it had to do with problems at the top of the Starfighter Corps.

Pierce had surely lost as many friends as Roderik had, many of which were entirely preventable.

"Where is our blasted food?" The captain clumsily changed the subject as he glanced around with the impatience of a growing sense of hunger.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

"Well, aren't you cheerful," Pierce said, his voice going as grey as his eyes. The waitress came by and Pierce asked for a second scotch and a glass of water, and Pierce asked after the food. The waitress was apologetic and promised to look in on the kitchens. Pierce's thanks were velvety smooth, and within two minutes the waitress was depositing their starter, calamari, on the table. The rest, she said, would be up shortly. Pierce pushed the plate towards [member="Roderik von Brinkerhoff"]. "Well for heaven's sake, take some, before you wither into nothing and blow away."

He filled his appetizer plate with calamari and dabbed some cocktail sauce on the plate, then began to eat the calamari one by one. "I'm so hungry I could eat a Mon Calamari," he murmured around a mouthful of seafood before dabbing his mouth with his napkin. "God, that's good."

He took another drink of scotch and then leaned back in his seat, lighting up another cigarette. "I'm not so humble as to suggest I don't have anything to teach them," said Pierce. "Don't worry about that. I'll do my best."

 

[Roderik von Brinkerhoff]

Roderik took a smaller portion of the appetizer onto his plate, as it was offered. He dug in nearly immediately, as did [member="Pierce Fortan III"].

After the first piece of the calamari he paused to add in, "Dosuun does have the best seafood in the Order."

He continued again until his portion had been consumed, speaking again as he set aside his appetizer plate.

"Your best is what I'm counting on, Pierce. That's what'll keep me on my toes enough to be at my best. We do make quite the team, you can't deny that."

He referenced their time together in a previous squadron, when Roderik had been his Element leader, and later Flight leader. They came up together, until Roderik's path diverged due to his overtly professional manner. There had been no question that Roderik had intended to make a lifelong career out of the Starfighter Corps, if his idealism didn't get the better of him in the process. Chivalry in space against a cutthroat pirate was never good for the life expectancy - add it to the list.

"You can start by teaching your people how to drink smarter not harder." Roderik shot Pierce a grin again, his mood lightening once more - it always did rebound.

He recalled a number of occasions when Pierce's regularly assigned gunner back in those days, would - trying to match Pierce in drinks the night prior - give himself a performance-killing hangover in the cockpit, come mission time.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

"Quite agree, old chap. Oh bother, you've got a spot of cocktail sauce on your -- oh, nevermind, leave it as a surprise for later. That sort of thing doesn't happen to people who shave regularly. Like civilized people," Pierce said over the rim of his drink. He took a sip and then set the drink down, then switching to the ice water. He had to stay hydrated, after all. "Yes, yes, jolly good. We're a fine team and we'll give them hell together. I won't argue anymore and you needn't convince me.

"I'll teach them not to drink before we have to go on duty," he said with a chuckle. "And they can do as I say and not as I do."

The young Lieutenant shoveled some more calamari into his mouth as he spied the waitress approaching with a tray. "Look sharp, Cap," he warned around a mouthful of calamari, then beamed charmingly at the waitress as she approached. "My, you are stronger than you look -- and lookit you, your legs go all the way down to the floor. Is there no end to what you can do?"

[member="Roderik von Brinkerhoff"]

 

[Roderik von Brinkerhoff]

[member="Pierce Fortan III"] was nothing if not consistent, which Roderik could appreciate. His attention span was only good until a beautiful woman walked into view. When Pierce immediately set in to the young waitress with his flirtations, Roderik could not help but chuckle audibly, before pointing to the half-full glass of scotch Pierce had been nursing just prior.

"He'll take another, as well." Roderik indicated to the waitress, which she acknowledged with a smile to both men, though Roderik could correctly assume the smile was directed more at the Lieutenant, than himself.

"I think you deserve the rest of the day off too, come to think of it. Why not thoroughly enjoy it."

When the waitress had finally left to retrieve another drink for Pierce, Roderik reached expectantly over the table, palm facing up.

"And give me another smoke, Smoke. You know this addiction is going to be entirely your fault."

 

[Natasi Fortan]

"No, no," said Pierce, waving a hand over his scotch glass. "Can't go back to work drunk... again. Water, love, would you? Maybe some coffee after we eat." He winked a grey eye at her and tucked his napkin into his collar to protect his uniform shirt. "Lots of ice. Maybe actually a pitcher. You know it's important to remain hydrated. Otherwise you might cramp. Just saying." The Lieutenant leaned back so the waitress could lean over and deposit the plates, and he made a point not to look down her neckline. He was a gentleman, after all, and he couldn't blatantly objectify her in this way, not in broad daylight while she could see.

While she was walking away, on the other hand...

"Ten credits," he said, whapping [member="Roderik von Brinkerhoff"] on the upper arm with the back of his fingers as he watched the waitress retreat. "Ten credits says she puts her number on the check." Pierce picked up his fork and knife and cut into his duck. "Oh, lovely," he said as the tender meat sliced away easily. "I love duck. If it weren't so greasy I'd eat it all the time. Want some?"

 

[Roderik von Brinkerhoff]

Roderik could not help but grin in response to [member="Pierce Fortan III"]'s demeanor and whap of his hand. It prompted even the captain to turn his head around as discretely as possible, checking out the waitress as she walked away. It was a split second before Roderik's attention diverted back to Pierce, grin broader.

"10 creds? Fair enough."

In response to Pierce's invitation-apparent, Roderik reached forward with a fresh fork, digging it in unceremoniously and carving out a chunk-sized slice of the duck's meat with none of the grace nor dignity of Pierce. He retreated back to his side of the table, dropping the meat on his own plate.

"You know full well I do." It was probably the only thing Roderik regularly ordered, from anywhere, ever.

"You're crazy. The greasier the better!" Roderik may not drink like Pierce did in order to keep his body prestine for space combat, but he made up for it - perhaps worse so, by how he occasionally (read: quite often) ate.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

"My God," Pierce said, observing [member="Roderik von Brinkerhoff"] in his unnatural habitat, tearing duck off the bone like some kind of -- he stopped his internal monologue, trying to remember what ate ducks. "Anyone would think you were some kind of middle class," he remarked with a smirk, lifting his glass to his lips, all the better to peer judgmentally over its rim at von Brinkerhoff with. "A doctor or a lawyer or something. That is how a chartered accountant eats his water fowl!"

He set about eating his meal in the Continental style. "See -- this is how it will go. She'll come and leave the check. I -- and don't argue -- will pick it up, put my credit card right in that little slot that is invariably broken. She'll bring it back. I'll write in an extremely generous tip. I'll -- massive sarcasm quotes here, mate -- forget the card in the thing as we leave. She'll come back, see the tip, her heart and loins will be inflamed, and she'll write her number on the receipt and rush out to stop us before we go." He paused to eat some duck.

"I call it the -- We Dine, She Dashes -- and it has an astonishingly high success rate." He paused. "Of course I've had to replace two credit cards this way, but never mind."

 

[Roderik von Brinkerhoff]

Ever-grinning like the fool, Roderik met [member="Pierce Fortan III"]'s judgmental gaze with a look of undying joy as he leaned in at the same time he dug his fork into the slab of duck meat now on his plate. Bringing the fork to mouth he took a chunk of it away to chew, setting the fork back down while he chewed.

Confident that he could safely swallow, lest he lose all his authority by choking and requiring his friend to perform the space heimlich maneuver to save his life, Roderik finally responded to Pierce's chiding about doctors and lawyers and accountants.

"At least not a poor," he chuckled, even one such as Roderik with a moral chip on his shoulder by the First Order's standards, could not help but make light of the severely underprivileged among their lands.

He listened on intently with the same grin, as Pierce went on with his plan. He called it the 'We Dine, She Dashes', Roderik called it clinically brilliant. If Pierce put that level of intellect into his flying, he would wipe the floor with Roderik any day of the week.

At least Roderik knew that Pierce would never change. Never really change.

"Only two?" He remarked jokingly as he went to work on his own meal this time.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

"Yes, two, but it was absolutely 'hashtag worth it', as the kids say, because if you knew how many times it's gotten me -- ahh, dancing -- you wouldn't be turning your nose up at it."

They finished their meal in companionable chat, and when the bill came, Pierce pulled the We Dine, She Dashes to perfection. On their way out, he glanced over his shoulder anxiously; he didn't feel like replacing his credit chit yet again, the company was beginning to think him a dolt, no doubt. By the time they got out to the exit, he was beginning to get nervous, and when they had settled into the back of a taxi, he was tugging his collar, sweating a little.

"Just give it another two minutes," Pierce muttered irritably, more to [member="Roderik von Brinkerhoff"], whose smirk he could almost feel although he wasn't looking, than to the driver. "Two minutes and then we'll -- ahhh, I knew it." In an instant his anxiety and nerves had disappeared, and it looked as if the beads of sweat on his forehead had retreated into his pores, as the lovely vision of the waitress rushing out the exit greeted their eyes. "Do wait, good sir!" he announced loudly to the driver, leaning out the window. "It's all right, love, I missed you already, too."

The waitress grinned, having the professionalism to at least look embarrassed by his flagrant flirting. "You forgot your credit card," she said. "And your receipt." She handed it over and Pierce smiled.

"Oh, thanks ever so," he said genially. "You know what they say about we passionate types. We'd lose our heads if they weren't screwed on. You've made my day!" He doffed his cap once again and then nudged the driver's chair with his foot. It wasn't until they had driven away that he unfurled the receipt, showing the wiatress' name and number, and handed it over to Roderik. "Will that be cash or check?" he asked dryly.

 

[Roderik von Brinkerhoff]

Roderik shifted and leaned a bit in his effort to get a better vantage point from next to [member="Pierce Fortan III"] while waiting an extra moment or two for the waitress to arrive - as if on cue when the right level of anticipation had been established. But eventually she did come running, letting out an adorable 'do wait, good sir!' as she attempted to get the attention of the driver before he sped off.

Setting himself back into his seat comfortably, he let the junior officer have his moment in the sun while he put on a patient smile. After they were speeding off and Pierce offered the winning receipt, proof positive of his nearly limitless charm, Roderik allowed for the admission of his defeat indirectly,

"I bet you pull all sorts of tricks on unsuspecting commanding officers, all the time. You probably knew her." He said with mock-defiance, as he dug his right hand into corresponding right leg pocket, producing his wallet where he kept his First Order credits bills. Or credit chips. First Order currency.

"I'm on to you, Lieutenant." He grinned, reaching over to offer the tenner to Pierce. Fair was fair.