Sunday, March 9, 2014

Six Fights and an Undead Rose

        "Glad I was my own boss, even if my boss was an idiot sometimes." -- Rachel Morgan

I waited until the heavy door to my quarters fell shut behind me, then I boxed the wall right next to me.

“Crap!”

One of the wall panels seemed to mock me, so I did a half-turn and gave it a side way kick, for good measure.

“My my, somebody’s in a good mood tonight!”, came a half-mocking greeting from the main room.

I froze momentarily, then I recognized Eta’s voice. This woman always showed up in the most surprising moments!

Entering my main living room, I headed straight to my bar and poured myself an Arcturian Mega-Vodka, to chase away the taste of pod goo and disappointment. The strong liquid settled in my stomach and warm tendrils started to spread throughout my body, so I poured myself a second one and turned towards Eta.

“Sorry, Sis, but it had been that kind of week.” Managing a smile, I continued, “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you too.”, she replied, having made herself comfortable on my couch, a soft drink on the floor next to her. “Care to tell me what spiked your anger this time?”

I took a sip, and sighed. “Might as well.” I paused, collecting my thoughts. “It seems that I simply am unable to properly fit a ship; much less fly it properly.” I subvocalized a few commands, and the view screen behind started replaying my latest gun camera footage. “Behold, Exhibit A, and Exhibit B.”

She studied the footage for a while before speaking up. “I’m not quite sure what I’m looking at - except the Cap Recharger?”

I rubbed my eyes wearily. “That was a genuine mistake. But don’t you see?” I held up a finger. “One, the Incursus is bonused for armor repair, but I haven’t taken full advantage of it. And second,” I held up two fingers, “I fought the same guy twice in a row with virtually the same fit. Of course I lost.” I took another sip, savoring the flavor before swallowing. “I lost badly enough that Jamie sent me his fit for educational purposes.”

“And, did you use it?”


“Not yet - was out of Incursus hulls at that point. So I thought: might take a page from the play book of my previous opponents and head out in a kiting drone Tristan.” The picture on the view screen changed once more. “Exhibit C. I got trounced by a brawling Comet, who happily informed me that once more I had been doing everything wrong.”

With a last subvocalized command, the view screen clicked off, and I slumped onto the couch next to Eta. “I don’t know Sis - I seem to have a blind spot when it comes to fitting and flying ships. Which is quite embarrassing seeing that I’ve been flying for over six years.” I took a deep breath. “That, or I no longer care enough anymore.”

“Uhm…”. Eta was clearly uncomfortable - she knew that I wouldn’t respond to platitudes, yet she needed to say something. “Have I told you what I’ve been up to recently?”

I took a sip, the sharp flavor cutting through my funk. “No, you haven’t.” I looked at her. “What have you been doing?”

“Remember the Hauler Challenge I did some weeks ago?” She waited for me to nod, then continued. “Well, the organizers have extended the deadline, apparently because not enough pilots were manly enough to take it - their words, not mine.” She giggled. “So I thought, what the heck, and fitted up a Battle Badger.”

She took a swallow from her soft drink. “It is amazing how long you can fly around low-sec in a hauler unchallenged if you look suspicious enough! It took over an hour, but finally at one gate, a Tornado engaged me.” She grinned. “He found my shield boosters an unwelcome surprise, and when the gate guns started laying into him, he beat a hasty retreat.”

I chuckled. “I’d love to have seen that - a Tornado running from an Industrial!”

“You bet! And a few minutes later, a Vengeance engaged me, again at a gate. He didn’t run.” Eta’s smile reminded me of a cat who had just eaten her owner’s favorite canary. “He was damaged from a previous fight, but probably figured that he could off me before the gate guns got him. He didn’t expect me to not just have shield boosters, but also a point and a rapid light missile launcher.” I held up my glass in a toast, and she reciprocated with hers. “I don’t know if this would count as solo-kill, because of gate guns, but - yeah.”

“And, did you complete the Hauler Challenge itself?”, I asked, carried along by her good mood.

“Yup. I was scooping drones left over from a gate fight, when suddenly a Legion and Typhoon took an unhealthy interest into me. Op Success!” Her eyes narrowed. “Though I’m afraid it still doesn’t count as particularly manly piloting.

”Which reminds me…“ she gestured towards the table in front of us. ”What’s with that flower?“

My eyes fell on the rose, now shriveled and dried, a broken-off leaf lying before the decorative bottle I had put the flower into, and my mood dampened.

”Nothing.“ I replied quietly. ”It didn’t work out.“

Saturday, February 8, 2014

Comfort Zones

        "I'm scared about a lot of things that I do. [But] I want this more than I am scared." -- Rachel Morgan

*paw-thunk*

The sound of the ball bouncing off the wall echoed through the empty corp offices, my steps mute on the plush carpet of this Gallente facility.

*paw-thunk*

The corp had started (restarted?) out enthusiastic enough, two old members recruiting new employees for fantastic adventures in Gallente factional warfare, with a number of hi-sec war decs thrown in for good measure. They even managed to convince crotchety old me to sign up, after nearly two years as solo operator, both voluntary and involuntary.

*paw-thunk*

But it wasn’t to be - our cycles didn’t overlap enough to gel, to work together, mine included. Especially mine.

*paw-thunk*

The founders tried to keep it going, but after a month sensibly pulled the plug, themselves moving into a null-sec corporation.

*paw-thunk* *crash*

I almost didn’t catch the ball, it having smashed a forgotten mug off a table on its rebound.

Ironically, the weekend after The Announcement, we got into a marvelous fight with some of our hi-sec war targets, like a last hurrah

*paw-thunk*

I lost a number of smaller hulls in this fight, while trying to learn how much little help I could be in a hi-sec situation. At least that would be the official explanation; in reality, I was just excited to have at least one brawl at the side of my soon-no-longer corp mates. And hey, I helped killing a Thorax! In hi-sec!

*paw-thunk*

But that had been almost a week ago. Now I was an Amarrian pilot staged in a Gallente station, in an empty corp which had ceased active involvement, disliked by Gallente and the fuzz alike. Just when I had realized what I was looking for in a new home.

*paw-thunk*

I knew that the founders would put in a good word with their new corp if any of us desired to follow them, but I hesitated. Null-sec… that meant large fleets, strat-ops, strict doctrines, bubbles, no talking in local, the temptation of hiding your personal incompetence in the mass effort. All the things which I couldn’t get away with in lo-sec. I loved lo-sec.

In null-sec, I’d be totally out of my comfort zone.

*paw-thunk*

I caught the ball and stopped my steps, pondering.

Comfort zones - isn’t that what it all came down to? What I had tried to get away from ever since the Last Stand faded away, and I had left the Frequent Flyers?

I threw the ball again.

*paw-thunk*

Realization dawned that I had actually made my decision days ago, that I had needed just one more push to convince my conscious self. After all, what could the worst case be? Being turned down?

But I wouldn’t apply right away - a bit more research was in order, if only to be able to state clearly what I could bring to the corp. And in the meantime…

With an evil grin, I threw the ball with all the force I could muster.

*THOMP* *donk* *crash*

I was an Amarrian, staged in a Gallente hi-sec station right next to the factional warfare zone, and by now I was used to getting shot at by all kinds of officials anyway. And I was tired of moving my inventory.

Time to shoot back again.