Escapades in the Brass Bunkroom. One of these things is not like the other.
Location: The Brass Bunkroom
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 459
Micah Knoor had worked out. He'd been spending more and more time in the gym recently, in point of fact, making little availability for much else. So when his long legs take him into what is affectionally known as 'The Brass Bunkroom', it's with one ear pod still in, his shower kit in one hand, and his towel over his shoulder. He smelled recently showered and by the indication of wet hair, that fact could easily be confirmed. The music was barely loud enough to be heard out of the earbuds, but the former musician seemed to be quirking a quizzical eyebrow as he listened. He wore typical evening attire. Running shorts that were simple black, emblazoned with the 'Timber Wolves' logo, sneakers of a dull red and grey, and a 'Wolves' black tank top showing off the extensive tattoo work that rose from his right arm, went across his shoulders, and disappeared somewhere down his left side. Music notes, roses, and musical instruments, all in grey scale, were as artistic and brilliant as they day they were inked upon the young rockstar.
Emrys Montjoy, on the other hand, has not worked out. He's laying on his bunk in his off-duty sweats and a t-shirt, idly playing with the edges of a hand-made quilt that recently started adoring his otherwise sterile, regulation bunk. One eye opens to register Micah, and there's a soft chuckle from the other pilot. "If you get so buff you can't fit in a bird, I'm never gonna stop making fun of you. It's like there's a girl you're trying to impress or something." He teases lightly.
Through the hatch to bunkroom B steps an Amazonian blonde, in Colonial Forces-branded duty greens, having clearly just gotten off some duty shift or other. Elena Imbros is a new sight around the ship in the last couple days, and she's been stuck in meetings and training sessions for most of it, breaking her in to the Timber Wolves routines and procedures in a crash course of sorts. Her overshirt has been shrugged off and knotted around her waist, leaving the dual tanks visible. She nearly walks into Micah's back and gives a grunted apology before blinking at the tattoos. "Knoor?" she asks curiously. Paige had told her he was aboard.
"Twenty percent more on the routine, and he might be getting up into impressive stats, Montjoy." The blonde seated at the central table glances over towards Emrys, at his comment. Being, well, not a pilot, Abigail hasn't really gotten into the whole, use a callsign thing. She's a Marine, and he's got a last name. A frou-frou Virgon one, but it'll do in a pinch. She does glance back to where she's working. She's got a scale model of a viper's engine, and she's making notes on a white board that seem to correspond to the coloured dots she's placed on the model. She's also off-duty, to go along with the theme. A pair of the regulation shorts, and a matching single tank. Over the tank top a shirt clearly more than a few sizes too large for her. Bright red with lettering that reads 'Caprican Chimeras'. It's tied with a not at her hip so as not to flap around and get in the way. When Micah enters, her attention shifts away, and she offers a smile, and a curious glance behind him at the woman she doesn't recognize.
"Making fun of me? You're going to be the one with the butter and the crowbar, wingman. And twenty percent likely isn't going to happen any time soon, Abbs. I think I almost pulled my shoulder out of it's socket on the third iteration of that blasted torture device." Micah fires back with a laugh, tugging his towel down off his shoulder. Until, of course, he senses something very close to him, through fault of her own or not. He doesn't turn right away, but if a quizzical look had existed before? It grew. Eyes to Abigail, he peers around, electing to step to the side rather than turn around. It was easier to keep everyone in his field of vision if he peeled off to the port side. "Imbros?" It takes him a moment, as he looks down her uniform and tugs that one lone earbud from his head. "CF? Seriously? When did you get here?"
"Butter and a crowbar? In your dreams. You're getting bearing grease and that hoist they use to take the engines out and put them back in." Emrys shoots back, before following Abigail's gaze as the newcomer speaks. He falls silent, listening to the interplay, before asking Micah "You know her, Busker?" It's not unfriendly, but it is a little guarded. The way people get when they live in close quarters and a new person enters the enviroment.
"If it isn't my very own knight in slightly tarnished armor!" Elena declares to Micah with a grin. "Paige said you were with the Wolves, too. I've been here all of two days and already had to do inventory. I feel like I'm back in flight school. How the hell have you been?" She smiles to the others and introduces. "Elena Imbros, new Viper Pilot addition to the Wolves."
Abigail sniffs, looking back to Emrys, "See? Not quite to the level of impressive. I worked hard on that plan too. Pared it down and everything." She glances to Micah, getting up from where she's been working, to climb into one of the bunks, opening the storage unit at the foot to pull out a glass jar with a white lid. "A ladder is not a torture device, it is a training tool." Abigail looks back to the storage she's rooting through, and finds the thing she seemed to be looking for, pulling out a rectangular box. Once she's got them both, she rises from the bunk and heads back to the table, pulling out the chair to sit parallel to the table. The woman's greeting is returned with one of her own, "Abigail Walker, Combat Engineer."
"Ha! It's good to see you!" Micah laughs with a shake of his head. "What in the hell are the odds?! Me? I'm great. But what about you?" And indeed, he looked different than he had ten years ago. There was much less in the way of waves upon the storm of his soul. "Yeah, Hawk. I was halfway mates with her ex-husband for a while. And then I ran into her after their divorce in flight school." And since everyone is introducing one another, Micah feels no need to continue. He does nod toward the man on his bunk. "Hawk. My wingman. Probably the best pilot I've ever seen." And a glance back toward the short blond woman. "And Abbie, my girl." The tall rockstar motions to the table Abigail's at with an absent gesture, already moving toward it. His towel is deposited on the bunk Abigail had just left on his way by. "And I swear to the gods, if either of you come at me with hoists, grease, or ladders in the next week?" He pauses. "I'm probably going to go with it. Because it's a small ship. And there's literally nowhere to run."
"Pleasure, I'm sure. Hawk, as Busker said. More formally Captain Emrys Montjoy, on secondment from the Virgon Royal Navy." Hawk waves briefly, from his lofty perch on his bunk. "You'll forgive me if I don't get down to shake hands." The comment about his piloting goes uncommented on, but there's a proud, and fairly confident, little smile from the man.
Elena moves to the bunk beneath Emrys and sits on the edge to take her boots off, curling her toes to try and uncramp them. "Pretty sure you stopped being halfway mates with Lance after that book came out and he accused you of having an affair with me." She eyerolls and chuckles. "The same book," she tells the others, "that my classmates got my callsign from. Harpy. I probably should have lawyered that book out of publication, but I just wanted to be free of the bastard." She smirks. "As for how I'm doing, I was all right until the toasters went for the museum. My parents evacuated in time but, frak. What a mess. Now they're holed up in my Alma Mater and I just can't let that stand."
Abigail reaches out, as she seess Micah making his way towards her, pulling out one of the other chairs, and spinning it to that the back is facing perpendicular to her. She sets down the box, her attention on the jar, as she scoops some of the ointment out and begins to work it between her palms, warming it. As it heats, it gives off a herbal, but not unpleasant odor. "I suppose it would depend on whether or not you were bothered by what was in the book. It if looked as though it was destined to be a best seller, I just would have lawyered my way into a good portion of the sales proceeds and laughed my way all the way to the bank."
"I think he stopped being my mate when I broke my hand open on his mouth, actually. The book just confirmed that I made the right decision." Micah settles into the chair Abigail designated with a quiet little sigh, already working his right shoulder around in a slow circle. "To be honest with you, though? I never read it. I don't know many of the folks who knew Lance that did." He turns, offering Abigail a soft smile and a eyebrow arching look at the ointment. Years and years of tattoos gave him an intimate relationship with all sorts of ointments. This one, though, appeared to be up to snuff. "Hawk? You should let Abbie give you the speech about having a 'pilot body'. She almost had me on the ground in tears."
"I mean, I'll let her if it will amuse me but I doubt it's going to make me cry." Emrys muses. "Or do you mean tears of laughter? Because I'm always up for those, though if I roll off my bunk..." There's a grin then. "There's like, all of two people who could upset me with a 'pilot body' speech. And one of them is the doctor who does my annual flight physical."
At Abigail's words, Elena looks to Micah with a brief flicker of something in her eyes, an unspoken communication, before she says vaguely, "Yeah, I just wanted it over." She gives a chuckle about the pilot body, and she looks like she is anything but lax in her own gym routine. She looks like she could probably take either of the other pilots handily.
Abigail is happy enough to allow the conversation to flow on, mostly, around her, as she sets to work on Micah's shoulder. Her hands are small, but she works with obvious care and an easy familiarity. "I would never make you cry, Montjoy. But pilot body is a dangerous condition, and should be guarded against at all times." There's a warm humour in her expression as she works the aches out of Micah's shoulder, "I'm always down for making up a second routine. You could have a workout buddy, Mic."
"I would pay money to see Emrys Montjoy on a Salmon Ladder. Whatever amount to whatever charity you want." Micah laughs, offering a slight wince when small fingers start to work out knotted flesh. Elena earns his eyes next, receiving a tight nod. "Lance is a certain flavor of asshole. One that if you get anywhere too close, you start to feel like you have to get the taste out of your mouth." Knoor's body flexes involuntarily as another knot is beaten into submission by the marine. He looks back at her with a light smile. "I'm giving it a go. Maybe that's the issue we've been having with his pants wanting to travel. It's a pilot body problem."
"That sounds awful. Salmon belong on plates, not ladders." Emrys shoots back. "Workout buddies...we already do everything else together." He stretches, up on his perch, before looking more intently between Abigail and Micah. "Ok, so explain this 'pilot body' thing. I mean, so far I've gathered it's apparently bad."
Elena stows her boots and unties her overshirt, getting up to hang it in her locker. "Well if anyone needs a gym buddy, I can probably help out. I've tried to keep up my pre-military form." She looks back at the others. "I was a stuntwoman for a few years and a gymnast in school before," she gestures at her height, "the growth spurt."
Abigail nods, heartily, as she glances back to Emrys, "Oh, it absolutely is awful. It's also a fantastic tool for building core strength and flexibility. Next time you're heading down to the gym, I'll demo and get you on it." She considers, looking between the three pilots, "Pilot body is...the result of spending time seated, with nothing more to do than use your hands and feet. You just sort of...spread across the seat like a tired old blanket, or a round of bread dough that you let get too warm and now it's started to fall." She indicates Elena's comment, "You see? She called it a 'pre-military body'. Clearly, being fit is not really a thing...for pilots."
Micah turns his head over to Abigail, fighting a laugh. "What she says is true, Hawk." Sage nod. "You have to try to escape it. But every time she says 'old blanket' I think of Torres and I can't stop laughing. Is that not how he looks when the deck crew finally gather en mass enough to wedge him into his Viper?" Knoor chuckles. Elena gains the benefit of the tail end of that motion, though, with a shake of the pilot's head. "I think you may be too extreme for me, Imbros. I was never even brave enough to stage dive."
"I would argue that being fit is definitely a thing for some pilots. I know someone who is so fastidious about their figure they have special dietry items shipped over from Galactica at regular intervals to help maintain their form." Emrys points out, in counter-point to Abigail. But then Micah is talking about Torres, and he can't help but snicker. "I mean...you're not wrong. I guess some of us do lean more toward blankets. I guess we can be gym bros, if you want. Getting 'swole' in pursuit of 'gains' or whatever it is they're always talking about." It sounds even more wrong in his accent.
Elena gathers up some products out of her locker in a little shower basket, clearly planning to head that way soon. She strips down to her shorts and one tank for the moment, and heads back to her bunk, sitting and stuffing the dirty things into her mesh laundry bag. Micah gets a laugh. "I think you did one at that one party for that actress who got that award where that band was playing, but you were too blasted out of your mind to remember." You know, the place, with the thing. Clearly it wasn't THAT memorable. "I'm pretty sure no one caught you either." Ok, a little memorable. As for keeping in shape, she shrugs. "Pilots have to eject sometimes, or emergency land. It's not always going to be someplace safe, so I stay in the best shape I can."
"Yes, Montjoy, don't be a Torres." Abigail lifts her hands off of Micah's shoulder, allowing the man room and time to rotate his shoulder and to see how much work still needs to be done. At the Virgon pilots comment, Abigail just busts out laughing, "Did he just say...'swole'?" With her Picanese accent, she does not even try to immitate Emrys, "I think he legitimately just said 'swole'." Elena's comment about Micah seems to wipe the humour right off of Abigail's face, though, and the marine turns to study the woman, "I see now why your last squadron thought 'Harpy' was the best callsign they could come up with for you."
Micah thinks for a moment, his lips forming a tight line and his brow furrowing in the middle a bit. "If that was me..." He shrugs gently. "I was a bit of a lost boy back then. I don't know that many on this ship know that better than Paige and yourself." Abigail's comment earns a cock of his head, just a soft turn, one hand falling to touch her leg somewhere near the knee. "I'm a different man than I was back then. Somewhat respectable in the light of the day." He offers her a gentle smile at that, keeping his head tilted to the side and shifting his shoulder about in a tight circle as much as possible without lifting his hand. "But that I know of? I don't really do stunts. Not without him..." He nods up to Hawk. "Watching my ass, anyway." It was always an interesting sound when Micah cursed. The musical tone of his Caprican accent was barely made to handle such a sound.
"I did in fact say...." Emrys begins, and then trails off as the conversation goes somewhere unexpected. "We need to spend time practicing more on CAP. Work out the kinks of some of the new maneuvers." He tells Micah thoughtfully, having felt all the warmth go out of the room in a hurry. He falls silent, then, waiting to see where this is going to go.
Elena's brow sliiides upwards at Abigail's words. She could pull rank, or snap back at the marine, but she declines to. She turns her gaze towards Micah, clearly amused. "Part of being a different person is not hiding from the past, so you don't repeat it. Busker knows I know he's changed. By the time we were in flight school he was a different man altogether." She gathers her things, to head for the shower. "History is about remembering," she quips as she departs.
Abigail doesn't move from where she's sitting, nor look in the least bit put out of sorts by Elena's reaction, "This isn't about hiding from the past. This is about thinking that its acceptable to pull out bad behavior from a bad time like it was a party trick to be laughed at." A hand reaches for the box she left on the table, flicking it open without looking at it and pulling out one of those stick-on medicated patches, "If you really know he's changed, then it seems to me, that you might be better served in focusing on the man he is now, and not pulling tawdry stories out of a hat to share with a crowd. If that was the sort of history you wanted remembered about you, then that book wouldn't have been an issue for you."
Micah opens his mouth to speak, but Elena leaves before the breath can make it to words. "Well." He says quietly, glancing back to the blond woman sitting next to him. He studies her quietly for a few moments, his eyes searching the lines of her face and, most importantly, her eyes. His own gaze is a bit mournful, head tilting as he smiles up at Emrys. "Seriously? Swoll? SWOLL?" His own Caprican cadence of words mimics that of Virgon with a hilarious facsimile. "I'll be whatever sort of bro you want, Hawk. Just keep pulling rabbit's like that out of the damned hat." Knoor rises from his seat, motioning Abigail to the space he just left. "So. Either of you have any questions for me after all of that?"
"Well indeed." Emrys echoes Micah, seemingly glad to move on. "Yes, 'swole'...is that not the right word?" He grins over at the other man. Surely he has to be doing it on purpose, this time. "No questions here. I did some stupid stuff when I was younger, too."
Abigail, catching Micah's glance, only offers a shrug, as if there were nothing else she could say that she hasn't already said. Certainly she does not look at all apologetic for her words. She does switch seats, though, pulling off the protective back of the patch once she does so, "No, there's nothing I want or need to know about that." She glances over to Emrys, "If I give you a cubit every time you do it, will you say that on command?"
Micah kneels, lowering his shoulder to her. "I have an incredibly hard time picturing a younger you in my circle of friends, Hawk." He rises, taking the chair that formerly belonged to Abigail in hand. "And good gods, if you keep saying that, Cherry's going to walk in and have a laughter induced heart attack in the entryway." The man grins, switching that chair so it's back sits directly behind the back of Abigail. He settles down onto it facing her, and allowing his hands to find her shoulders. "I'd give you some context into her and my relationship..." He offers to no one in particular. "But it isn't my story to tell. I can only assure you both whole heartedly that there's more to Elena Imbros than you think."
"I think you might have given younger me a split lip." Hawk admits with a half-shrug. "Now, the younger me that Cherry knew. We would gave gotten on, I think." At the talk of her walking in, his eyes flit automatically to the door before returning to the other two. "Well, I don't know that you need to bribe me. But I don't mind repeating it to entertain people. I'm trying to be less stuffy." Elena Imbros, and whatever more there might be, goes uncommented on for now.
Abigail, watching Micah move around the table, getting a handle on what he's doing, turns back around in her chair as he settles in. There's a tartness in her voice, when she hears Micah's reply, and she's wiggling a bit as she digs a hand into the pocket of her short, pulling out a slightly tarnished cubit coin, holding it up in the air where Emrys can pluck it...if he manages to get out of his bunk. "There might well be depths and depths as yet unexplored, Mic. But you know what they say? 'Begin as you mean to go on.' And she did." her hands rise, covering the ones Micah has on her shoulders.
"I don't think I would've known which one of you to hit. My world was... blurry... back then." Micah replies, allowing his hands to begin to work on Abigail's shoulder muscles. It's an idle motion, but he does smile when her hands come to rest on his. "And why, in the name of all heavens, are you trying to be less stuffy? That's one of the things I like most about you. Quiet inaccessibility. It makes me feel as though I achieved something." A squeeze to both of Abbie's shoulders in unison. "She did. But... are you okay, Abbs? Shall we go to the gym? I can hold the bag while you hit something."
Emrys drops down from his bunk, padding over to grab at the cubit. "Swole." He's doing his best to lighten the mood slightly, before looking over at Micah. "You did achieve something. And I'm not gonna just become mister social. But someone that means a lot to me misses aspects of the old me. So I want to loosen up just a little.
"Hit them both, save yourself the struggle of trying to make the right decision." Trust a Marine to think about thing efficiently. A grin, as Emrys takes his cubit coin. As Micah massages she leans back a bit, though her hands never leave his, and she seems content, and at ease. So when the question comes, Abigail shakes her head, "No, I'm straight. You said it was done, ands it is."
"I'd rather hope you're straight..." Micah looks down at her with arched eyebrows. Inter-planetary jargon was occasionally hard to decipher. And in this moment? Micah had absolutely no issue giving Abigail a hard time. "Besides, Hawk. I know. She told me." He offers the man a tight lipped smile. "And I got the opportunity to see exactly how much my advice would have failed."
"She's onto something there. And since technically you would have had four fists, two at each me..you couldn't fail." Emrys joins Abigail's line of thinking. "Oh, I didn't realize she told you. What do you mean your advice would have failed?" Perhaps curiously, although he glances around for a moment he seems entirely unconcerned about Abigail's presence. Apparently the pilot-bond is such that the marine is automatically trustworthy by virtue of being his wingman's girl.
Abigail's laughter, for that brief moment, fills the bunk, "I mean that I'm fine. And not that 'fine'." Here she indicates herself, and my inference, her looks, "But actually alright. Also, not straight as in that I'm into men. Although, in point of fact, I am. Lord, where did all the good slang go to? I know it's not Virgon." A curious glance. between both men, but clearly, whatever the topic of this conversation is, she wasn't let in on it.
"She did. Her and I had a long discussion about a great many things, actually." Micah relates, looking down to meet Abigail's eyes. "Not my story either." He nods up. "I think Hawk may need to be the man to let you in on this one." His hands drop from Abigail's back, crossing over the chair in front of him as he tracks the other pilot's movement around the bunk room absently. "And my advice? Sleeping with her? You should've told me I could've gotten caught in the crossfire on that one."
"I told you it wasn't an option. That alone should have told you...well, that it wasn't going to be a good idea." Emrys notes. He looks madly curious about the great many things, but doesn't pry. Instead, he looks to Abigail. "The short and sweet version is there's a girl, that I like. Like may be an understatement. But she likes someone else. I confided in Busker, but didn't say who. Apparently he found out, and they talked about it. And now you're caught up. Basically."
Abigail seems to understand the trick of these things. Sometimes conversation simply don't include you, and that's just fine. "I feel as though you two have a few things you might need to discuss without me present. because this clearly is something personal that I'm not involved in." She does offer a smile, to Micah as well as to Emrys, reaching into her pocket, pulling out a second cubit coin, though she doesn't offer it, "I think I'll go grab a few things from my bunk. I'll see you both after a while?"
Micah nods his head, smiling a bit at Abigail. "I hope so, Abbs. Would you try to find a movie for us while you're out, too? I passed along the last one to a group of your people." The word is said with a chuckling arch of the brow, though the pilot does reach forward for her spare hand. "And this girl is one that is sort of off limits for Captain Montjoy. Hawk? Close your sensitive eyes. I'll be with you in just a moment."
Emrys nods at Abigail. "Alright, I'll see you around." There's even a friendly smile, while Micah just gets an amused-exasparated shake of his head. He does, however, clamp his hands over his ears. See, he can play along.
"I'd be happy to try to pick something out. I think we still have that...ye, I have just the thing, I'll see if I can dig it out. " The hand Micah reaches for, Abigail offers, fingers lightly curling around his, "I'm fairly certain there's nothing that you could do to me that Emrys has not seen, in person, or in pay-per-view, Micah." A glance to Emrys, to see him with hands over his ears. A grin soon follows.
"Oh dear gods, don't challenge me like that, Abbie." Micah, too, glances to Emrys with an arched eyebrow. "It wouldn't be good for anyone involved." He leans forward and presses his lips against hers. It's no public display of billboarded affection. But for the former rockstar? It's enough. "Maybe you should check his bunk for traveling pants before you leave? Because, you know, I'm sure he's not listening to anything we say right now." He turns. "Hawk? You can probably open your eyes now. It may be safe."
Emrys looks at Micah, a blank look on his face. "I can't read lips." He points out to the other man, hands still firmly clamped over his ears. Surely he can actually hear, since his fingers aren't literally in his ears. But whether he can or he can't, he's certainly acting like he can't.
"Well, if I did, he might be the one giving us cubits. And I will never say no to supplementing a staff sergeant's salary." Abigail stands, completely unrepentant, and she returns the kiss, making no show of it, nor talking more than would be polite in mixed company. "What if I don't find them there? Should we take that as irrefutable proof of pilot body?" She offers Emrys a wink, before she gives Micah's hand a final squeeze, "Have fun at the water cooler boys." And with that, Abigail turns, heading out of the bunkroom and towards her own.
Micah watches Abigail go, his head shaking, before turning to Emrys and offering a polite smile. "I'm going to go untuck your hospital corners." And as if he means, it, the tall pilot takes two steps toward Hawk's bunk. Well. Hawk and Elena's bunk. "And don't think I don't know your trick with the boot blousers!"
"See if I care." Hawk half-shrugs, even though he's now watching his bunk like...well, a hawk. He puts a good face on it, though. "I'll just remake them. I do it every morning as it is."
"Huh. The deaf man has learned how to read lips." Micah reaches down and pinches the corner of one of Emrys' sheets. He watches the man's face and smiles darkly as he pulls the sheet out of that corner, shaking it to rid it of all creases. "Admit it. A little part of you is dying inside. All you have to do is lower your hands to make the madness stop."
"Darn, you caught me." Emrys realizes he has indeed been caught out, taking his hands down and shaking his head with a laugh. "There, you win. This time." A pause. "You were right, by the way. For someone who started out by threatening to punch me in the face, she really has grown on me."
"She may well be the best thing I could've found." Micah straightens, pulling his hand away from Emrys' bunk cautiously. There's an amused expression riding his face as he walks back forward, flipping both chairs around to sit at the table normally. He motions to one of them and takes the other. "Because I have had some absolutely rotten luck with women. Abbie may be different. But up until now?" He leans back and lets out a sigh. "Dumpster fire. So. What has become of you and Eva, my newly quilted friend?"
Emrys slides into the other chair, shaking his head at the question. "Well, apparently you had a long talk with her so you probably know better than I." A glance to the quilt. "Isn't it lovely? She gave it to me the day I told her." Back to Micah, and his question. "Nothing, of course. We are close friends, but now with less...hanging in the air. As far as I know she is very contented in her situation, and I'm happy that she's happy."
Micah nods his head. "The talk wasn't entirely about you, though. A lot of it was about her." His hand comes to find the jaw of muscle rub that Abigail had been messing around with earlier. He spins it, sliding it across the table from one hand to the other. "Things like this... Have a habit of working themselves out." He offers at last. "Though, unfortunately, they take the one thing that's killing you; time. You guys will find your comfort zone. I mean... Hell, she adores your friendship. You're..." He shrugs. "A good memory."
"I think we have, honestly." Emrys says after a moment, at the talk of comfort zones. "That's exactly it...we adore each other's friendship. We have a history we both remember fondly. We're in a good place. I have to assume her relationship is going to last, or time would kill me. But as it is? No, I think things are in a good place."
"As long as you're sure." Micah ceases the movement of the muscle rub, though his eyes don't flinch from Emrys. "Besides the danger of having a distracted and upset wingman? I don't know that I want to watch a friend beat the hell out of himself because of a situation like this one."