Drunk

This is a tale from Ye Olde Null Sec Days, back when men were men, spaceships were spaceships and not everyone in null was Russian or the property thereof.

“Hey … Blastie, … ya there mate?”

The voice was croaky and soft, it actually sounded a bit like my Grandad. However,  as Grandad was … well … dead,  and wouldn’t have called me Blastie anyways, I was a bit stumped as to who was talking to me. To be honest, I’d been completely zoned out as it was fairly early in the morning and the second coffee hadn’t happened yet. The old cogs in the head grated round for a bit until the voice registered as vaguely familiar.

“Whereis, that you mate?”

“OW! OW! OW! Don’t yell!!”

“Sorry mate,” I whispered, “I didn’t think I was yelling.” Fact of the matter was, I KNEW I wasn’t yelling, but it didn’t sound like he was in the mood for any kind of debate on the subject.

The croaking resumed; “You on after DT last night?”

“Only briefly, just had to run a cloaky back to base then I hit the sack.” I recalled that he had been on and was forming up for a roam. As I reflected on the general nature of FAIL roams, I started to understand the sore head issues he was having.

“Did I go on a roam last night?” That settled the matter for me, hehehe.

“Yes mate, yes you did.” I could almost picture the fog in his brain swirling around, giving brief glimpses of a night / morning roam, odd flashes but nothing more. As a good mate, it was my job to help clear the mists as best as possible.

“I’ll check the killmails I reckon.” Good place to start. Whereis loves his PVP, still does, I was chatting to him just the other day and he was up over 300 kills for the month.

“Well, first one shows me in a Vaga, that sounds right. Yep, second and third ones too, hmmm … good roam, looks like.” I chuckled at the thought that CCP had the forethought to provide the killmail system so drunken roamers could see what they got up to.

“Mystery solved then mate?” I really wanted to get coffee mark II.

“Well, not a hundred percent no.” Didn’t think so.

“Well, what’s the problem then?”

“Oh, just the fact that I’m 48 jumps into red territory…”

“WHAT?!”

“OW! OW! OW! I said don’t bloody yell!!” Yeah, he did too. Forgot.

“Sorry, sorry … go on.”

“And although I was in a Vaga, somehow I’m now in a Scimi …”

“A SCIMI!!”

“OW! OW! OW! Fer cryin’ out loud!!” Forgot again, bugger.

“Sorry bro, sorry. But how the hell did you get another ship in the middle of red space?”

“Dunno. That’s not the funniest bit, really. The ship’s called ‘I Need Directions’, hehe.”

It’s always amazed me how when you’re drunk you seem to be able to pull of seemingly impossible (though usually completely absurd) deeds. I distinctly remember, back in my twenties, waking up on a park bench. Not in itself an overwhelming feat of achievement, except that this park bench was situated on a large rock on a river bank where we liked to fish from. A rather unusual place for the local council to decide a park bench needed to be.  It definitely was NOT there the day before, either, and the nearest park was over two kilometres away. Upon further investigation it was found that said park was indeed missing a bench, so I could only assume that in our wobbly wanderings of the night before (our fishing trips were traditionally well lubricated affairs) my fishing partner and I had decided this particular park bench was much too lovely to leave all alone in a park and had somehow carried it two kilometres to its final resting place. I do remember something about discussing how to hide such a bulky item when the odd car drove by, I also remember occasionally putting it down quickly and nonchalantly sitting on it as if waiting for a bus. As unlikely as it was that a bus might appear at 2 in the morning on a dirt road to a lonely estuary fishing spot, none of the few passing fishermen seemed to notice.

To this day, the mystery of how Whereis obtained a Scimitar in the middle of hostile space remains unsolved. Anyone who may have ejected from a Scimitar after being attacked by a bunch of inebriated smack talking lunatics, one of whom was trying to kill them whilst in a pod, please feel free to enlighten me.

 It’s all in the mind, you know.

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