A Night At The Frog And Frigate

"A Night at the Frog and Frigate"

Who: Everson, Byrd & Alec/Squire
IC Date: July 1940
OOC Date: March 2, 2008

The Frog and Frigate (3 0)
The Grid-----> > > > > THE GREATEST GENERATION < < <

The Frog and Frigate is not actually on the base, it is just beyond the fence around Hawkinge. Being a small airfield with security being fairly low, this place is frequented by just about everybody, civilians from the nearby villages and so on, but mostly base personnel. Here everybody can mingle, and take in the atmosphere provided by the heavy wooden bar, stone floors, warm beer, and who knows, maybe cricket out the back in the beer garden.

It is currently dusk.

Sub-Rooms :
1. Billiards table
2. Bar
3. Dartboard


Out <O>

Everson resides at the bar after having already knocked back several drinks tonight in celebration of his victories in the sky today. The young pilot believes he has proven himself today as a capable pilot and that is worth celebrating. A few empty shot glasses and a glass of whiskey on ice sit infront of the man. He has choosen to stand rather then sit giving him the freedom to move about the bar with ease.

Byrd strolls into the bar and bellies directly up to it. He also chooses to stand, leaning casually against it while he orders himself up a whisky. He doesn't look entirely celebratory, though he tries to summon up a grin when he sees Everson. "You look might pleased," he observes.

Yes, Everson is in a good mood as he usually is in such a place like this…and it was not hard to be in a good moon when you were a fighter pilot, the elite of the armed forces. The pilot grins, "Hard not to be when you shoot down to stukas in a single mission." The man seems a bit excited even though the mission ended several horus ago.

"Two?" Byrd does sound impressed by this. He gets his whisky, raising it and doffing a little toast before knocking it back. He manages to drink the whole thing in one go. It doesn't improve the unusually downcast mood about him, but it's only his first drink. "Bloody good show. Everybody make it back in one piece?"

"Thats right. Two" Everson replies with a slight slur to his speech. He raises his drink to the air and dings it against Byrds saying, "May we live respected and die regretted." With that, he then taps the bottom of his glass to the bar before raising it to drink from it. Setting the half-full glass back onto the counter he says, "Everyone made it back just fine."

Byrd orders another whisky, nodding to Everson. "Aye. Good. I saw Galloway go down the other day." He just sort of blurts it out, with no preamble. "Saw his plane burning, but I couldn't do nothing about it…" He still sounds like he feels guilty about that.

Everson gives a very sobering nod as he takes his drink as if cheering for Galloway. A small drink is taken before setting the glass back down. The pilot leans in against the bar, "A good man." Everson then reaches into a pocket on his bomber jacket to fetch out a pack of smokes. The top is flipped open and the open pack is offered to Byrd, "You just get numb to it. It sounds horrible and inhuman, but when your around it all the time…its almost just another day at work. I wish it was the opposit, but its just the way things are." He gives the other pilot a pat on the back and then reaches for his drink.

Byrd takes a smoke with a grunt of thanks to Everson. He waits until he's got his fresh drink, and he sipped on it, before lighting up. "Aye. Numb don't sound so bad. I guess it didn't seem quite real, back in New Zealand. I was actually happy when war broke out. Well, not for the war, of course, but it meant I got a shot at pilot training. I was happy enough for that." He gets to smoke and asks Everson, "How long you been doing this?"

Everson takes a cigarette for himself and lights it. The pack is returned to his pocket and he exhales a small cloud into the air. "I've been flying since '38." The pilot then grabs his glass and shakes the it around slightly letting the ice cubes swirle within the whiskey. "I always prefired flying back home with the scenery. Here…its just flat fields or ocean." He then raises his glass and blurts out "Dull." He then takes a swig from the whiskey.

"I got a spot in training in '39, when the Brits were building up for their scuffle with the Jerries," Byrd says, after he's drained some more whisky from his glass. "Was just a mechanic before that but I always wanted to fly and I had a hand for it. I do miss the hills. England does all look the bloody same. Not that I've seen much of it beyond this place."

Everson laughs, "I think if you've seen this tiny little airbase, you might as well have seen the rest of the country." His whiskey is finished off and the glass slide accross the counter towards the bartender. He motions for a refill. His smoke at this point is nearly finished and disgarded into the ashtray, "Horrible habbit. I really do need to quit, but when I drink I really cant help myself. The two just go hand in hand."

Byrd chuckles. "I started smoking when I joined up. All my mechanic mates smoked. Not near the fuel, of course. That could be messy." He goes deeper into his drink, his mood improving now that he's nearly downed two of them. "I wouldn't mind seeing London when I get some leave. I hear the women there will do things most girls never even heard of." He grins at the idea, picturing what things those might be.

"I dont know about the British woman…I think you might be thinking of France" The man then winks, "Now that is worth fighting for. Just imagine when our airbases will be stationed there. Now that will be the good life." The pilot gets his drink topped off and takes another swig. Everson's then points, glass in hand, at Byrd, "Now you maintance types, your some pretty fowl mouthed individuals and I'm sure plenty of your mates could drink anyone under the table. Seems like you guys are all pretty close, any of your mates stationed here?"

"They're city girls!" Byrd insists, not letting Everson destroy his dreams. "I'm telling you, I had a mate who spent a year in London. He came back walking crooked. It sounded grand." Though his eyes widen at the idea of Paris. He takes a long drag of his cigarette, chuckling to himself. It takes him a minute to come back to reality. "Eh? Oh, nah. Not here, at any rate. A few blokes got scattered 'round England but I haven't run into any I know here. They were a good lot. Rather miss 'em. Still feels bloody odd, wearing pilots' wings and all."

Everson gives a firm nod, "City girls…" He then grins at the idea, "I suppose your right…but we aren't in the city." The man then takes another swig from his drink as he continues, "Sounds like your mate had a good time."

"Aye…" Byrd spends a bit more time daydreaming about the various things city girls might or might not do to him while he finishes his drink. "Good to have another Kiwi bloke here, any case. Where you from back home?"

Everson replies, "Christchurch. Born, raised, went to school there too. Got stationed up near Auckland." He then raises his glass but doesn't sip from it, "Now the north island is great and all, but it has nothing compared to the south."

Byrd laughs. "No bloody joke!" He grins at this. "Me, too! Grew up right by the harbor in Christchurch. Don't that beat all. And aye. No finer place in the world than the south island. Not that I've seen much of it, but I'm willing to put money on it, and I ain't got money to lose."

"Get off out of here?! Christchurch?" Everson then shakes his head from side to side with a large grin, "Small world… but then again New Zealand is a small place, but full of character." With that Everson motions towards the bartender, "Two shots of vodka." While waiting for the shots Everson turns towards Byrd, "I dont think this lot knows what their infor with the two of us running around here."

"We got vodka?" Byrd's excited about this. "Those Pole blokes never shut it about the stuff. I ain't never tried it." He grin as their shots are delivered, ready to rectify that. "Bloody well right they aren't. To Christchurch boys!" He raises his shot glibly, having safely drank away his sad spirits from earlier. Burning pilots? What burning pilots!

Burning pilots… done and forgotten already. Everson slides one of the shots in front of Byrd and the other infront of himself. The shot is taken to Byrd's toast and downed quickly. He winces at the taste never having loved vodka, but it was a shooter and something that he would down. Sounding a little harsh after the shot, Everson says, "Those poles are a little quiet and to themselves. Not very social." He then rolls into his impercentation…a poor one at that, "Blah…..Blah blah….Vodka…Blah blah….Vodka."

Byrd downs the shot, smacking his lips and letting out a long, "Ahhhhh!" after swallowing. "Don't see what all the fuss is about. Not bad, but I think I prefer whiskey." Everson's impression may be poor but it gets a laugh nonetheless. The vodka makes things funnier. "That's them, alright! Poor bastards."

Booze works both ways, you think your funnier and the people hearing jokes think their funnier. Under sober conditions Everson would probably kick himself in the head after what he said…but he was drunk so screw it. Laughing, "I'm sure they're great guys…but, they just dont really socialise at all." Everson shrugs as the shot glass is discarded off to the side. He then glances around to check who is within earshot, "Then again, a lot them lot around here are a bit to uptight."

Byrd nods at that, smirking. "Typical officers. No offense," he adds quickly. As if he'd forgotten Everson was brass himself. "The English are worse about it, though. Manor born and all that. Must've been a bloody dull way to grow up, if you ask me."

An understanding nod is made by Everson, "Probably. I can just imagine how dull of a life that must have been with growing up with those types." He then rolls his eyes and takes another swig from his drink. Everson then glances down at his watch and about the room, "I would imagine this place a little more packed, but its 8pm…I guess its not to /proper/ to be out this late on a week day."

Byrd gets a laugh at that. "Blue blood does get tired fast. If you want to be tough, you got to be a proper mutt. How'd you get to be a pilot, anyhow? You don't look like you came from nothing. No offense." He smirks.

Shaking his head from side to side, Everson replies, "None taken." He even waves his hand slightly in the classic 'dont worry about it'. Everson grins a bit as he states, "My father was a proffessor, so I was a shoe in at the university."

"A professor?" Byrd lets out a low whistle. If he hadn't had a few he might be intimidated by that, but for now it just amuses him to be drinking with a university brat. "Don't think anyone in my family ever even saw the inside of one of those things. My dad was a fisherman. Or so I'm told. I never met the bugger. What'd your dad teach, anyhow?"

"Dont get to impressed, he only tought alegabra…he wasn't teaching physics or anything." Everson replies with a grin, "Before being accepted at the University, he was an accountent for a hospital." Everson motions towards the bartender for another round of drinks on him.

Byrd laughs again. "That ain't too shabby. As most tell it, my dad couldn't even do algebra." He's more than willing to let the professor's boy buy the drinks, ordering another whiskey. "That what you were studying? Mathematics? I always did pretty good at that in school. Might've been fun to learn it more proper."

Everson takes his drink and sips on it as he listens to Byrd, "Engeneering." A short pause, "I figured I could make a living building bridges. I never finished the degree. I ended up getting one in General studies, I had a good grade point, but I just didn't feel like pushing for the extra schooling. Then when the Air Force showed up offering a job, I figure I could use a bite of excitement in my life. So we'll see where this takes me."

Alec has arrived.

Byrd are at the bar, drinking and talking about home in their matching Kiwi accents. They've been here for a good awhile, they've both had a fair few. Byrd sips at his next whiskey slower, leaning comfortably against the bar. It keeps him upright. "Engineering? Shite, you must have a bloody brain in your skull, then. I was always just good with my hands. Good with bicycles when I was a boy, then cars later on, then planes once I got in the air force. Never thought I'd have a chance to fly in combat. Guess I should've been careful what I wished for."

Everson laughs, "Well if I had any brain, I would have stuck with earning the degree. I was only a year away." He shrugs at the idea and takes another sip from his whiskey. "I'm as as you would say mechanicaly inclined. I know how to build structures, but if it has moving parts… thats really is something different."

Byrd nods at that, looking down at his calloused hands. "Aye. Truth be told I sort of miss it, getting to work over the planes and the like. Not enough to give up flying, though. Bloody hell!" He beams, his boyish grin making him look even younger than he actually is. "Fire or Jerries or not, I never felt anything like that before."

Alec pushes his way into the bar. He's twitching. Still. Everything about him says new-or-hardass except the twitching, and that simply says 'new'. The uniform is too crisp. The shoes are too shiny. And there was a sortie today. Most could probably put two and two together without much fuss. He wordlessly steps towards the bar, sits down, and simply -points- to the scotch.

Everson grins, "Its a rush like no other." With that the intoxicated man takes another sip from his Whiskey. In the corner of his eye he spots Alec arrive at the bar. He turns and gives the man a hearty slap on the back, "Alec here popped his cherry today."

"Aye. Never felt freer, just you and the engine up there, the sky all around you…" Byrd beams, taking a long drink. He laughs when Everson says 'Alec.' "You got it wrong there, mate! Popped my first when I was sixteen…" And then he sees the new arrival, and it occurs to him Everson isn't talking about him. "Oh! Good show!" He reaches over to clap Alec on the shoulder, semi-drunk and companionable. "What was her name?"

Alec manages a smile, "Gretta, I think." He shakes his head rapidly, like he's trying to shake something off like a bad case of fleas, "You know…" He sips the scotch, then downs it in one swallow, "You think you're prepared for it… but you're not, no matter how much you coach yourself for it."

Everson motions towards the bartender and orders three beers. When the bartender goes for the mugs, Everson shakes his head and motions towards the larger ones. As the beers are being filled Everson turns towards Alec, "Rule one new guy. This is a frewbie. We dont talk about fear here." Everson grins, "For we are the finest that the world has to offer." As the three mugs of beer are placed infront of the three pilots, Everson turns towards Alec, "Dont drink that yet, you'll know when to do so." The pilot then climbs onto the bar counter ignoring any complaints from the bartender. With his mug held high in his hand, "Hey listen up!" He then whistles to get the attention of some of the other pilots here at the bar.

"Gretta? Nice." Byrd grins. "Lucy was mine. She had the firmest set of…" Oh. They're talking about planes again. He finishes off his whiskey, in preparation for his beer, and gets his brain back on aerial things. He takes his beer, staring up at Everson and laughing. "Watch your balance, mate!"

Alec offers a hand to Byrd, then smirks up at Everson, taking his mug in hand. He's still twitching, but he likely can't help that. "Fear, what's fear? We know no fear. We're the Royal Air Force. Fiat Justitia, and all that snot." He raises his mug, gives Byrd a nod, and watches Everson.

Now with everyones attention on him, Everson clears his throat and gives a thumbs up to Byrd indicating he isn't going to fall…or so he hopes. When the converstations begin to die down Everson speeks up. "Today!" he shouts out like thunder, "We have Brother Alec with us tonight. He is the newest member of the 79th Fighter Squadron. He is a local boy, likes watching stars and taking long walks on the beech." With that he raises his mug into the air and begins to sway it from side to side as he sings….

Heeeeeeeeeeerrrrrre is to brother Alec, Brother Alec, Brother Alec
Here is to brother Alec, Brother Alec, who is with us tonight,
He eats it and beats and always mistreats it!
Here is to brother Alec who is with us tonight!

All pilots familure with the song do the same singing the song and rocking there beers from side to side as they sing….and then comes the last verse….<more>

At this moment, everyone starts poudning there fists against the tables and bar counters in beat with the song and chanting, "Now drink mother fucker! Drink mother fucker! Drink mother fucker!" and they continue to chant this till Alec downs his beer. Time to prove your drinking skills to the boys.

Byrd joins in the song after Everson has gotten it going, singing loudly and enthusiastically. He's got a good voice, though it'd probably be better if he'd been drinking less. But what fun would that be? He picks up his beer, rocking it in time, struggling not to chuckle as he sings. He half-raises his mug to drink when he's done, but waits for Alec. He's polite that way.

Alec laughs, shaking his head at the fanfare. At first he turns a little red, but then he just bows from his barstool, brushes some of the hair out of his eyes, and goes along with it, nodding his head from one side, to the other. Once the song terminates, however, it's business time… except he's not aware of this. He starts chanting along with everyone and only seconds later does he realize they're chanting at -him-. He points to himself as if questioning, then licks his lips and makes as if he's going to eat the mug. He brings it to his lips and drinks… drinks… and spills some down his throat. But he's tilting it back. If he'll manage the whole thing or not is totally debatable.

Everson continues to beat his hand against the roof of the bar while chanting the last verse over and over again. It was a typical tradtion for the new guy and Everson wasn't going to let this oppertunity slide. Everyone else in the bar seems to be in high spirts as they chant as well trying to give the new pilot some inspirational motivation. Isn't Everson a jerk for picking the larger mug? Probably, but Alec was a new guy and often they deserved such treatment to see what kind of person they were. The drunkard standing on the bar even starts stomping his foot on the bar counter to add to the excitement.

Byrd sets his beer down to pound on the bar, getting a rhythm going to help Alec along. Sporting chap that he is. "Come on, English! We haven't got all bloody night!" After that he reverts back to chanting.

Alec is trying, damn it! Strictly speaking, he's not getting more on his shirt than on him, but the spill is obvious. He continues drinking, drinking, drinking, no pressure now… 3/4 of the way there, he finally has to set the mug down and gasp for air, laughing. Oh, he might have some trouble living this one down.

"Ahhh booo!" Everson says joking as he carefully climbs down from the bar counter. Once back on solid ground, he gives Alec another hearty slap on the back, "Welcome to the 79th." Everson the motions to the bartender for three shots vodka. He also takes the time to reach behind the counter and grab a rag to clean any boot marks off the counter, "They really should do a better job at keeping this place cleen. Boot prints on the counter? Come on now." He then laughs a bit as the shots are poured and placed in front of the trio. Taking his shot glass he says, "To Hell! May my stay there be as much fun as my way there!" With that the shot is tipped back.

Byrd slaps Alec on the back as well, laughing. "You need more practice drinking. This is the sort of thing that requires extensive study." With that, he takes a gulp from his own beer, finishing it to toast along with Everson. Has to get his pallet cleared for his shot. "Here bloody here!" He gulps. "Your name's Alec, eh?"

Alec laughs, taking the slap to the back with a grin, "Cheers. Hell of a welcome." The man is still twitching, but boy is it subdued, now. "Alec Squire of Manchester and now to this… lovely, scenic little town. It's just so lovely here I could shit." He doesn't sound like he's being particualrly honest. Oh… not about the shitting part. Maybe some of the other things he said are less than accurate, though.

Everson washes his shot down with a swig from his beer. "Alec Squire eh?" He then turns towards Byrd giving the man asking a question, "Twitch? I think that suites him." This is said in refrence to the rookies new callsign.

"No joke! I'm Alec Byrd! Of Christchurch." Byrd laughs. Because having the same relatively common name is a lot funnier when one is drunk. He lifts his shot glass. "Here's to you, Alec. And me, Alec. And you, Everson, as you're from Christchurch!" He drinks it down. "My mates branded me Chicky in training. Play on the name. Fuckers had no imagination." He grins as he says it, though. "Twitch I like. Maybe you can twitch your arse away from the Jerries."

Alec snorts, "Twitch. Bollocks. Okay, so I'm Twitch, now." He laughs a little, then wrings out his beer-soaked shirt a little bit, "And what do they call you, hrm?" The man hefts the mug towards Everson to indicate he's speaking to the man, "Alec Byrd, Chicky. You know, that's got a nice ring to it. Make Jerry not sure if she wants to ask you out or what. And so long as they're on my tail, there'll be one of you fuckers right behind him, and vice versa. Like the man said, we're the finest the world has to offer." He downs the rest.

"Ahab." Replies Everson. The pilots then grins, "If you want to hear the story behind that one its going to cost you a full night of drinking…. and tonight, I'm already drunk and there aint many drinking hours left for me to tell ya the entire story." Everson grins, "Another day, another time Twitch." He says the new callsign again making sure the new guys knows its going to stick…. well untill something better comes along.

Byrd laughs some more, waggling his eyebrows at Alec. "Never had a German girl before. Makes me want to have a go at Berlin. We'll be there soon enough, bloody finest as we are." He goes arch his eyebrows at Everson. Or try to. They just sort of waver up and down. "Ahab? Like that whaler bloke? Another night, aye. That sounds worth buying a round myself."

Alec snickers, "Eh? Oh, that old girl? Yeah. I met her this morning. Didn't end so well. So I dumped her. Teach me to go out on a group date like that. I'm sure we'll meet a few more German lasses. They're more bark than bite and-Ahab??" It dawns on him suddenly, "Ahab. Yeah. You, me…. right here." He pounds the bar counter with his palm, "This, I've got to hear. There's a really good story in this and if there isn't one, you'd better make one up."

Everson chuckles, "I am no way near drunk enough to tell ya that one Twitch. Not tonight at least." Everson takes another swig from his beer finishing it off and stepping away from the bar a little, "Well gents, this pilot is going to call it a night. Need my shut eye if I'm going to show Jerry who owns the skies tomorrow." It is probably a good thing that he is taking off since he is looking a little ruff at this point.

"Bah! Wanker!" Byrd barks with a laugh as Everson departs. "We'll get it out of you one day, mate. And it won't be pretty. Maybe I should be headed back too." He pushes himself up from the bar, wavering, so he puts a hand back on it to steady himself. He straightens up,as if preparing for a particularly difficult take-off.

"Oh, I see how it is. Don't struggle. Just make the noose that much tighter." Squire gets up and scatches the back of his neck, "Well hell if I'm sitting here alone, stinking of bitter. Gonna go get cleaned up." He laughs a little and gives both men a more serious nod, "Thanks. I needed that… you know. The beer on my chest. I don't shower much. Probably the cleanest I've been in weeks."

Everson gets a good chuckle from that and continues to press towards the door, "One day you'll get it from me, but not tonight." The pilot then pushes his way out the doors to go find a nice ally to fall asleep in.

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