Three Ways of Coping
Three Ways of Coping
Summary: Pilots drink, shady business happens, and Karan makes Snatch cry.
Date: 80-81 ACH
Related Logs: None

Carina, Pyr Hotel, Spotlights, 80 ACH

In the sea of sports, there is a small island of non sports related propaganda. That is Spotlights. Hearkening back to bygone days of flatscreen projected images as entertainment, Spotlights is a dim place, the intimate tables never holding more than four people. The low lighting is broken from time to time by its namesake, occasionally a cone of light sweeping slowly through the area, though the effect on the air, laden with a harmless mist generator is more of the beam of the light visible than shining harshly on anyone. The air is quiet, with the occasional lone piano music heard drifting through the air. The bar is polished glass and chrome, catching and reflecting the light when the two meet, otherwise the subdued offset lights give the place a sensual glow. One wall holds a low curtained stage, which at times draws back, and the spotlights fade, and a classic film plays at scheduled times. The bar serves drinks and food, though the emphasis is on the drinks, and the food is limited. All the glassware is sparkling clean and of crystal. Martini glasses, whiskey tumblers, daiquiri glasses and Brandy Snifters, Spotlights has it all.

Nicholas is parked in a wall booth, looking comfortable. Legs crossed at the knee, one elbow is braced on the low back of the booth with cigarette in hand. The other rests on a large folder resting atop his leg, flipping through its contents.

Paris comes in and goes to the bar almost immediately, friendly with the bar tender when he catches him. He orders something that apparently comes as a shot - a small glass filled with golden-brown liquid. Almost immediately after, he lifts it, tilts his head back, and downs the thing, grinning in the aftermath. After that, he spins around, back to the bar, and spreads his arms across it - facing out toward the room in general, scanning around. His gaze alights on Nick, momentarily, and he grins a bit.

Nicholas slides a piece of paper out of the folder, turning it over to the back to glance over the typing. This he sets down on the table, pushed slightly to the side where he'll remember it later. A light drag is taken off his cigarette and he reaches over to stub it out, exhaling the grayish smoke in a graceful plume. He lofts a brow at the next page in the folder, turning his hand and running the tip of his pinky over the inner corner of his eyebrow.

"Arsen seems competant enough," Kalypso comments to her Squad Leader as the pair of Raptor pilots step into Spotlights. The two women are dressed for a night on the town, and at least one of them is looking to completely forget everything by getting good and drunk for the second night in a row. "I don't really remember you coming into Gold last night," she adds, "Much less how the frak I got back to my bunk. So, uh, thanks for coming out with me."

Bayless grins and shakes her head. "Don't sweat it, Kaly… I figured I've got a better chance of keeping the assholes off you than Cornbread did, not that I'm not appreciative." She tugs down the hem of her dress a bit. "And I'm not surprised your memory's honeycombed, you were knockin' it back fairly well."

Hmmm, shall he go and molest Nick? It is very, very tempting. But then again, it looks like he's doing -work-, and he would not wish to infringe on the sanctity of the mighty cubit. So Paris stays put at the bar, returns to people watching. Occasionally, he checks his watch, which might suggest some later rendezvous in the works. Ah! And actually, he's not to be waiting too long. Someone arrives in the same movement of bodies that washes in the Raptorbunny troop, and Paris spots this figure - and the ladies, perhaps, by happenstance. He eyes them a moment, up and down, but then nods to signal his acquaintance over. The other fellow is dressed more properly, just shy of businessman-like. They get to talking almost immediately.

Speaking of nights on the town, a certain young Lieutenant seems to have found his way into the Pyr's lounge this evening. At least he's dressed for smoke and mirrors tonight, in pretty threads and ever-present earring. The bar is dodged, much as it was on his previous visit, and he skirts toward a table with a good view of the dance floor and piano.

The rubbing of brow becomes a pass of Nicholas' palm over his forehead, then his fingers through his hair. He straightens up his back and a slow roll of his shoulders to stretch out, raising one arm over his head. Graaar. Re-crossing his legs the other way, he sets the folder down on the table and turns his shoulder to the back of the booth, relieving some eyestrain by people-watching. Paris is spotted first and, seeing the man doing what he does, Nick smirks a little. He notices Bayless as well, eyes lingering with some passing, vague recognition.

Kalypso smiles, having found the two of them a table, somewhere between the bar and where the piano is. It's actually fairly close to the table she staked out the last time she was in here. "What happened to the rest of the bottle?" Kalypso asks, "Hope someone made good use of it at least." After she put a hurting on it herself, that is. The woman's mis-matched eyes track around Spotlights. The somewhat scuffy Paris and his businessman associate at the bar are noted. Nick is noted in his own little alcove. And then a familiar face. "Is that Brother Karan?" Oh, there's a waitress. "Scotch."

"The same," Bayless says to the waitress. She spots Nicholas across the room, but appears to avert eye contact. Instead, Kalypso gets her notice. "It's in my locker. I didn't figure you wanting it in strange hands and didn't want it drank off. Maybe a couple shots left in it."

Snatch comes in from Hotel Entrance.
Snatch has arrived.

Karan settles, curls really, into the chair he's claimed. It's warm in here, and it's warm out there too, honestly. But he wears a jacket regardless, and it's unbuttoned while he gets to perusing the menu. Kalypso's recognition of him seems to be missed entirely, and he's too busy burying his nose in what sparse offerings of food are available, to really notice her yet.

Nicholas notes all the noticing, eyes flickering around. "Like an Aerelonian standoff in here," he comments to himself, sounding amused. He turns his shoulders enough to pick up his glass, which has something orange in it that might very well just be juice, and takes a small swallow.

Whatever the business they have to do, its pretty short and sweet. A quick bit of chit-chat, some nodding heads. "30? Yeah I can handle 30 easy." Some point of disagreement apparently re-negotiated, with Paris making a face like he's conceding some big important point to the other 'savy' gellow. "Yeah yeah, alright." Eventually, they shake on - well, whatever it is. "Yeah, the Aiolos. It'll be docked here at the Carina." Bits and pieces are audible, throughout, and it ends with a chirped, "Pleasure doing business with you. Stay for a drink? Ah, no? Well, alright." Bloody impolite! But Paris, as the other guy walks away, looks pleased. He puts his finger in his empty shotglass and swirls it around, and then looks up again. He kicks off the bar and starts toward Nick. The two in-cognito military ladies are eyed, -again-, in passing.

"Thanks," Kalypso says, "I think maybe the rest ought to go to Cornbread and whoever he wants to share it with." She nods a thanks to the waitress as she brings their drinks, "Just start us a tab?" Kalypso takes her first sip and finds her eyes drifting to watch Karan again, thoughtful. "How do you handle it?" Kalypso asks, looking back to Bayless whom she's sitting with somewhere between the bar and the piano. Brother Karan is sitting alone, nearer to the piano and dance floor. Where as Paris is making his way across Spotlights towards Nick in his own little corner. Kalypso lifts a brow at the man as she catches him looking at them and re-crosses her legs, purposefully giving him a little show as she sips her scotch. Bad raptorbunny. That's what got you in trouble last time.

Snatch trails in a while after the Brother, having tracked him a short ways across the Carina after a brief spotting sparked her curiosity. Decidedly not incognito, with her coveralls unzipped past her waist and its arms, once tied around her waist, having gotten loose, are trailing down by the backs of her legs. Standard military tee and tank up top— though on top of her head, instead of her old grimy, green, vaguely bullet-riddled kerchief, is a fairly new-looking one of deep red. For once she looks like she hasn't been sweating barrels recently, either.

Nicholas tilts his head just a little bit. Elbow set against the back of the booth wall, his closed hand supports his temple and the fingers uncurl as Paris starts over. He smiles at the man. "You showered. What's the occasion?"

Bayless glances briefly at Paris upon his check-out of her and her subordinate. "Losing someone? Not well. Especially if it could've been prevented. Especially when my three favorite coping mechanisms aren't easily come by these days." She sighs. "Keep thinking if I hadn't been hauling that stupid Toaster drone…" She just shakes her head, preferring not to give the rest of the thought voice.

Having made his decision on food, Karan flips closed the menu and slides it toward the edge of the table, to signify readiness. And then, finally, does he notice Kalypso seated over at the bar. A brow raises ever so slightly. Mopsus? Not spotted yet. Jerome's not much of a multitasker.

"Business, had to meet a guy about a thing," Paris answers Nicholas, flatly and without affect. Always so specific! "Also, in case I want to try and get laid or something without lining your pockets for the privilege." A big smirk. For the roughness of their discussion, the two seem friendly enough. "What's up with you?"

Nicholas snorts at Paris' claim. "Please. That isn't my business and it never will be. Unlike some people, I do enjoy the ability to sleep at night." He makes a vague gesture towards one of the other seats at the booth. "With me? Oh, Corinne's next show. When, where, how to find a sax player that isn't on meth…you know, standard. And what about you?"

Kalypso snorts, bringing her glass up to her lips. She lets the liquid glide past her lips and holds onto the cup in curled fingers. "I keep thinking that I should've done something too," she says quietly, "Instead I flew back to the barn. I didn't even try to do anything." She's not going to verbally admit that she had been scared out of her mind, but it shows in her eyes. "And now Ty and three other pilots are dead, and we almost lost Flask too. At least you had a reason for not being able to… to…" Another sip of her drink to avoid saying it. She clears her throat. "Well, there's still alcohol, for now. What are the other two?"

The door to Spotlights opens and in walks the form of Antonio "Cornbread" Sloane. Staying near the front, he moves along the bar before finally finding a place to sit. Sliding onto a stool, he slides a few cubits to the bartender, who quickly pours him a drink and pockets the tip.

Snatch continues trailing along to the Brother's table, softly speaking up: "Han, Frer Karan. Y'ns all done-up, ain'chins? Y'ns on holiday?" she asks quietly, lifting her hand to the back of her head, resting it over the scabby wound back there.

Subtitles: Hey, Brother Karan. You're all dressed up, aren't you? Are you on vacation?

"In no particular order," Bayless explains, holding up one finger. "Get frakked up." A second finger goes up. "Find someone to frak." Then a third. "Find someone to frak up." She then takes her glass in hand and hefts back a third of the contents.

"Ok, without -indirectly- lining your pockets friendly-ing up to one of the girls at the club. Sheesh, my apologies." Paris throws in a flair of melodrama that is clearly more show than reality, and at the offer of a seat, moves to plop himself down there. "Haha, yeah? I missed the show, was, what's his name… Sarge? Serge? Whatever, that messed up?" His lips spread wide. "Corinne must've been pissed. That why she nicked that flyboy for some after-show funtime?" The parallel conversations going on in the room have the possibility of starting an all-out war. Fun times! "Gonna do another here?" For whatever reason, he glances over his shoulder, keeping tabs on the rest of the room, and looks back. "Not a whole lot. Slow since that last big deal I mentioned but it'll tide me over."

Karan's attention is captured fairly easily by the young woman who stops by his table. He lifts his eyes quickly as if startled, features softening into a small smile once he recognises her. By the way he's staring though, he's probably having some trouble parsing what's coming out of her mouth. 'Holiday' is fairly easily recognised, however. "I've been accumulating a bit of shore leave, yes. I rather like this place, so I thought.." He trails off. "You've got a new kerchief. I like it."

Nicholas nods at the question about the venue. "Not as though there's an unlimited choice of venue anymore," he replies, a little drily. "But the more uptight of the military seem to stay out and keep their complaints somewhere else. Most of them, anyway." He sighs, quietly. "And yes, Serge. Gods above, that man is turning into such a wanker. I thought Corinne was about to rip his face off with her fingernails."

Snatch takes her hand away from the stitches which, half-dissolved, have begun flaking down the back of her neck. "Han— thanks. S'war a gift from a Lambkin," she explains quietly, running her hand over the redness coating the top of her head and holding her hair back. "A hain't maahnd thins place so-much mahn own sailf. Good-als t' stop bah affer chores. Cool mis' inna air 'roun' abouts, naahce t' cool down."

Subtitles: Oh— thanks. It was a gift from the Lambkin. I don't mind this place, either. It's nice enough to stop by after work. There's this cool mist in the air, helps you cool down."

Karan, again, has a half-perplexed look on his face as Snatch elaborates upon.. whatever she's elaborating upon. Bits and pieces of it are understood, but there's only so much his fragile Gemenese sensibilities can make heads or tails of. "Would you like to join me?" he supplies after an awkward pause. Just in case she might find it weird to eat dinner with the priest, maybe.

"Number one I'm good with," Kalypso says, "Number two… don't think I'm ready for that one yet." The woman grins then. "Number three, well, if we do that let's try not to wind up in the frakkin' brig again." Speaking of that incident, her eyes track Cornbread and her smile slips a little. The two of them were on CAP together today. Without Sloane's usual wingman. And there were a lot of pregnant pauses over the tac. "Shouldn't let Cornbread drink alone either probably. Want me to go invite him over? Looks like Brother Karan found someone to keep him busy." And… well, Kalypso didn't go to Chapel today.

"Well that's true I suppose. But she has a club on the Destiny too, yeah? You could get more people over on it, you know, get the foot traffic, maybe get some spillover for your place too. Advertising, you know?" Not that Nicholas needs business lessons, but Paris is always happy to seize on opportunities of potential profit. "This place is nice though, and big. Good booze. Little expensive. Works pretty well." He leans back as far as he can in the booth, which looks like it isn't quite enough for his taste, causing a bit of nervous fidgeting. "I bet, she doesn't take… well, much of anything that inconveniences her well."

Taking up his glass, it's actually a shot glass. Sloane downs the liquid and then pays for a square tumbler full of the liquid alongside ice. It appears to be some sort of bourbon. Leaning against the bar and looking down into it, he drums his nails on the bar in quiet contemplation.

Bayless overhears part of the conversation between Paris and Nicholas but isn't sure she heard what she *thought* she heard and lets it go. She then nods to Kalypso, "Absolutely. More, the merrier."

Snatch looks a little awkward, herself, but draws up the arms of her coveralls and binds them again around her waist before settling down opposite the Brother, "Han— ou-ais," she agrees, "Y'ns gone have supper o'er here?" she supposes, looking to one side, remembering to sit up straight, as if she were in chapel. She's sitting with a priest, after all.

Subtitles: Oh— okay. You going to have dinner here?

"My place?" Nicholas smirks at Paris. "That club's manager would be a little irked if he heard you calling it that. But we can pretend, even if it makes me feel a little icky inside." He gives his fingernails an idle look, ensuring they're still in the same state of clean that they were before this conversation started. "She performs at Serendipity, but that crowd is awfully dull. Types that attend because they have nothing better to do that pretend they appreciate jazz and black ties." He looks back up and raises both hands with a graceful motion, palms to Paris. "Not that they're bad ticket sales. But here they actually seem to enjoy the show rather than put up with it. And much as I need an audience, I need Corinne's ego too."

It's probably good Kalypso didn't overhear some of that parallel conversation. "Be right back then," Kalypso says, standing up. She's only had a few sips of her first drink, so certainly still well in control of herself. The young woman's dress swishes as she walks across to where Sloane is at the bar, heels clicking lightly. She leans next to Sloane and places a hand on his shoulder. "Hey," she nods towards where Bayless is sitting, "Wanna come give us girls some company?"

At least Karan isn't sporting the hollows around his eyes, and slight malaise that often seem to malinger about him. But he is chewing on a nail absently while Snatch seats herself opposite him. "Well," he answers, settling both hands back on his lap with some sort of inward reprimand, "I didn't have the opportunity to try anything on the menu, last time I was here. Though I can recommend the coffee." He smiles wanly. "So… yes. Dinner. Have you eaten, Del Boccyo?" Yes, even on a civilian ship, he's on a last name basis.

Cornbread turns around and looks to Kalypso, nodding to her quietly. Looking in Bayless' direction, he looks back to Kalypso and smiles. "Sure…sure…" He says, sliding off of his barseat. Taking his drink with him, he follows her back to the table and sits down. "Scorch… Wideload, thanks for the invite. How are you two holding up?"

"Oh don't be so modest." Paris rolls his shoulders, looking unconcerned over being corrected. "You're running the show every time I come around, hiring, rejecting bumpkin farm girls… Whoever else is in charge, you got your fingers all over, Nick. Which, considerin', is quite nice." He smirks. "But I get it. Hush hush right?" He looks around. "S'true I suppose, gotta keep her happy, and its a -bigger- venue, regardless, which probably counts pretty high. Gotta be big if you're gonna be famous." Still trying to kick back more than the confines of space allows, he looks restless, and looks out toward the room, gaze shifting in a mix of wariness and curiosity.

Snatch looks down to the tablecloth, then up again, "Ne-pas, Frer," she answers in the negative, keeping her own hands on her lap, as well. "Ah war gone git back t' Gen'sis an' hit the mess fair-hard," she adds. "Ah jus' saw yin an' reckon't on sayin' hallo at'chin," she explains.

Subtitles: No, Brother. I was going to get back to Genesis and go attack the Mess Hall. I just saw you and figured I'd say hello to you.

Bayless smiles welcomingly to Sloane, responding to him, "Okay, considering…" She tosses back the remainder of her drink and looks to the bartender, silently ordering another. "Methinks we all needed to get away and get sloshed."

"You still owe me a duck feeding and chasing session," Kalypso says to Sloane with a small smile as she returns to her seat. Mis-matched eyes catch Paris across the bar again and she flashes him smile a wink. Hey, she may not think she's ready for Bayless's coping-mechanism number two, but Kaly does enjoy living dangerously. Maybe she's gearing up to help her CO with a little brawl. Back in her seat, Kaly takes another sip of her scotch and shrugs to Cornbread. Bayless's answer was good enough for her.

Karan opens his mouth to speak, and closes it again. The waitress comes by to take orders, and he murmurs something about the soup special with the leek and potatoes. Snatch is turned to then, expectantly, notepad in hand, while the chaplain smoothes out a rumple in his jumper.

"The point of owning a place is never to run it," Nicholas comments to Paris with a smirk. "That's just bad business." He lets his back rest in the corner between the booth's bench back and the wall. He crosses his legs the other way, picking an errant thread off the knee of his slacks, and then he too takes stock of the crowd in here again. The threesome getting trashed is briefly studied. "Pilots, you suppose?"

"Yeah I'm sorry I missed the one in the berthings. I got tied up in a few things on the way back trying to review some of the cam footage from the nose." Cornbread says, saluting his drinks to them each. "Frakkin' A on that…" He chuckles. "Well if you two promise to not get my ass kicked in the process I suppose we could go chase down some ducks."

Snatch looks up to the waitress, briefly reddening in her cheeks, not sure what she's doing, "Han— jus'— coffee, thank yin," she murmurs, then, brows drawing together, she turns her head a bit further and glares regular daggers at this Cornbread fellow.

Subtitles: Oh, just coffee. Thank you.

Bayless raises the glass that's handed her by the waitress. "May have to wait till I finish this off, but… wait. Ducks? I'm missing something here." Her brows crease, confused.

"Eh, you might be right, but I don't exactly have that luxury. I'm a one-man operation, you know?" Still looking sidelong, Paris bobs a quick affirmative to Nicholas' question. "That's what I'm thinking," he answers, readily, voice a little lower. There is a certain type of person who drops into conspiratorial whispers in the presence of authority, and it is generally the shadier kind. "They've got that look, anyhow." Dress? Surely not. However, in the midst of all his wary eying of the piloty-people, he catches an interesting thing: A wink, from one of them. Imagine that. "Ooh, they're signaling me. I wonder if it's a trap." Laughing, he pushes himself up. Apparently, the trap is of no concern, and he will bravely approach, ambling on over.

Karan follows Mopsus' gaze toward Sloane briefly, brow furrowing at the look she gives him. He certainly doesn't seem like someone to incur anyone's wrath. "Coffee it is, sweetheart," the waitress quips, winking as she gathers up the menus and sidles off again. "What's the matter?" the priestling asks quietly, looking back to Snatch, then Sloane once more. Somewhere along the way, Nicholas and the bald-shaved man at his booth are spotted. There's a tiny frown of his own.

Kalypso lifts a finger, signalling the bartender that she needs another drink. This being because she kicks back the rest of the one she's got. "You didn't miss much, Tony," Kalypso says with a little more familiarity for him. Just Kaly sitting on her dead friend's bunk, in one of his jackets, drinking herself into a stupor. She laughs a little at Bayless's duck question. "That's what Tony and I were going to do when that asshole decided to crack him in the head with a bottle," she explains to her CO. Oh… hey, the shady guy is coming over. Kalypso smiles and lazily kicks the chair next to her out, lifting her brows as he dares to approach the danger zone of pilot territory.

Nicholas looks briefly amused as Paris starts up the mating ritual. He doesn't get up, seeming quite content to stay out of such a thing. His hand rests on his crossed knee, and he starts to open the folder on his table again. His eyes make a very brief flicker across the faces nearby, though, and catch Karan frowning at him. A brow raises, a clear 'Yes?' expression.

Bayless glances over her bare shoulder as she sees Kalypso's attention is on someone else. The sight of Paris doesn't seem to entirely offend her, but she goes back to kill off her current helping of booze.

"Ah'm traah'n raaht hard t' git them -ducks,-" Mopsus Doe emphasizes the Colonial term for them, "T' lay uns som' eggs an' git t' breedin' so's we'ns can half uns som' meats from the flock," she says, still glaring at Cornbread, "Ah bin o'er here all mahn off-duty taahm buildin' 'em an hatchery an' traah'n coax 'em in thar… an' damnable city-folk keep on runnin' affer 'em an' spookin' em so's they'ns ain't layin' a thang!" the enginesnipe complains bitterly at people who would rather fuss about with the birds than have food. She then looks back to the Brother, "Ah'm sorry Ah swore, Frer," she adds meekly.

Subtitles: I'm trying very hard to get those ducks to breed and lay some eggs, so we can have some meat from the flock. I've been over here all my off-duty time building them a hatchery and trying to coax them into it… and the damn civillians keep on running after them and scaring them so they won't lay a thing. I'm sorry I swore, Brother.

"Yeah, we were drunk and were gonna walk it off a little bit and feed some ducks. I used to do it all the time back home at one of the lakes, just kinda a Cornbread thing." Sloane replies, shrugging a little. Downing half of his glass in one pull, he motions for a refresh. Afterburners ignited. Looking towards Kaly's point of view, he looks at Paris before he looks to Bayless. "I missed the last one. We should bring some bottles back and have another."

Paris manages to look a bit less actively rat-like in his demeanor or expression by the time he arrives, putting on that smile that seems to defy the normal boundaries of his features. When the chair comes swinging out, Kalypso's foot behind the movement, he catches it by the back, twirls it once and then sits himself down, scooting up to the bunch. "Hey there." The woman who invited him seems to be the immediate, proximate recipient of his greeting, although with a sweep of his look it's extended to the general populace. "So, settle a bet. You guys are pilots, right?"

Karan's already looking away, as soon as he's spotted observing Nicholas. Two cups of coffee have arrived at their table, and he's all too happy to contemplate, then sip from his. It's bitter enough to make him fishface a little, but he could probably run marathons after a cup of that. "Beg your pardon?" he murmurs to Snatch, on the subject of swearing. Was she swearing? "It's fine. Drink your coffee." His mouth turns in a small smile.

Nicholas keeps looking at Karan for a few moments longer, and his eyes make a slight roll. "How rude." He fishes one of the headshot-sized glossy photographs from the folder, a picture of Corinne in sepia tones, and gently rubs his ring finger between his brows as he considers it.

When Kalypso is brought another drink, she makes a motion to the waitress, "Just bring the whole bottle. Maybe two of 'em." They have a tab. And Kalypso is good for it. She swirls her glass, looking at Paris. "What do you think?" she asks, drawing her leg back and crossing it over the other one. Her scotch is sipped and she lounges casually in her chair. Maybe she's forgotten that her priest is present. Maybe she just doesn't give a damn tonight. Hey, she's uh… honoring Dionysis tonight. Yeah, that's it. "Yeah, we're pilots," she answers, then lifts a brow at Paris, "Got a smoke?"

Bayless leans back in her own chair, crossing a leg over the other, not intentionally trying to appear as though on the menu but possibly having that effect unintentionally. "Give the man a cigar. A flyboy and two flygirls, present and accounted for."

"Wrong." Cornbread says to Paris, leaning back in his chair a little beside Bayless. "Okay…right." He chuckles, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and offering Bayless one. He doesn't smoke often, but when he does he's usually drinking. Sipping his drink, he looks to Paris. "Settle a bet here?" He asks, grinning a little. "If you butter a piece of toast and tie it to a cat face up and throw it out of a window, does the cat perpetually spin before hitting the ground because it can't decide whether to land on it's feet or butter side down?"

"Oh, I drink anything and everything," Paris offers, amiably. "Though I can suggest something if you want to try something a little stronger than what you're having." Brows waggle, and the option is just sort of… left in the ether, for Kalypso - and the rest - to accept, reject, ignore at their leisure. "And my bet was for pilots, yeah," he answers her next question, watching a bit as the woman adjusts in her seat. There really wasn't a bet, of course, or even much disagreement, but let him pretend. "So you are? That's great. I am too, actually. Well, not like you of course, not at all. Nothing that exciting. Just fly a junk freighter." Without a verbal response, he leans to fish in one of the many pockets his pants boast, pulling out a little silvered case. He flips it open, revealing a row of neatly-lined, and fairly expensive-looking cigs, next taking his thumb to push one forward, presumably for Kalypso to take. A moment later, he flips the case around and clicks something on the side, providing a flame at the top. And then…. wait what? He turns to Sloane and blinks. Once, twice. Normally, he's good at weird. This is weird+ "Depends on if the cat is retarded, I suppose."

Bayless holds a hand up in polite refusal, then blinks a couple times when Sloane posits his question. "What. In the frak. Did they put in that glass of yours?" She laughs and tosses back another bit of her beverage, then smiles in bemusement at Kaly's wooing of Paris.

Nicholas seems to decide on one of the photos and waves over one of the waitstaff. He twists so he can talk to the man over the back of the booth, handing over the photo and engaging in some quiet conversation. A quiet laugh at the last thing said and then he closes up his work, standing from the booth. A few strolled steps bring him to the table where Paris has decided to park himself. "Evening. See you've all met Paris." He smirks at the man. "Mind terribly if I help crash the party here, Paris? Otherwise I've got that man over there making frowny faces at me, and I'm afraid that's going to get a little dull."

Snatch continues to squint over toward the pilots for a further moment before simply doing as she's told and sipping from the coffee. Her brows quirk and she takes another sip. It -is- good, after all. But she still looks grumpy.

Kalypso can't help it. Cornbread's comment earns a good and hearty laugh, something that was muchly needed. Levity. Ah, it's good to have a real laugh. She reaches out to pluck up the cigarette. Expensive. Nice. She leans forward, shamelessly even in that revealing dress of hers, and uses the offered light to spark her cigarette. "I say the cat'd land on its feet," she says, drawing smoke in and then blowing it out in a long stream. Her mis-matched eyes likewise glide over Nicholas as he makes to join their group and shrugs her shoulders. "I'm Kalypso, this is Bayless and Antonio," she introduces the other off duty pilots, "Also known as Wide Load, Scorch, and Cornbread."

Karan, thankfully, isn't making frowny faces any more. He is, however, making an effort at being pleasant company for Mopsus Doe. "I haven't seen you come by the chapel, lately. Is the Major keeping you busy?" So much for pleasant company.

"You've apparently read my book…" Sloane says, writing 'Cornbread' on a napkin and hands it to Paris. "…the retarded cat versus buttered cat theory was at one time well discussed in all of the popular salons." He turns and looks to Bayless. "What, you've never heard the cross-chatter on CAPs?" He nudges her shoulder a little, nodding upwardly to Paris. "Nice to meet you."

Bayless glances upwards at Nicholas, recognizing him somewhat from earlier in the week, but playing it off despite that. "Nice to know you," she says to him and Paris. The nudge from Cornbread elicits a giggle. "Gods forbid I should concentrate on keeping my bird level."

Snatch puts the coffee down. "Ain't no end of chores t' git done, Frer Karan," she replies. "Ain't ne'er no end of 'em. Cap'm's raaht carin' on uns, though, an' sees to't we'ns don't work ournselves o'er our'n shift. But Ah bin o'er here traah'n mahn bes' with them ducks on mahn own taahm." She glares at the pilots again, "Cain't hardly reckon on whah I e'en bother."

Subtitles: There are always chores to be done, Brother Karan. They're endless. The Captain cares about us, though, and makes sure we don't work ourselves over our shift. But I've been over here trying my best with those ducks on my own time. I don't know why I even bother.

Returning his gaze to Kalypso after Sloane catches him with that strange, -strange- question, Paris takes a moment to, ah, enjoy the view, and smiles as the woman finally leans back, cigarette in hand and lit. He pulls one out himself, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger idly, for a moment. "Pleasure to meet you all," he offers, when introductions are made. "I'm Paris. Oh, and this is Nicholas, apparently," the latter added as said individual arrives to crash the party. "By all means. Just try not to tell them any of my dark secrets and I'll keep tight-lipped about yours." Nick is given a fairly friendly grin. Then Sloane presents his napkin thesis and he just cracks a laugh. "A matter of intense scholarly debate, no doubt." Now he lights up his cig. Flick flick, woosh, puff puff.

Nicholas smirks at Paris. "I'll do my best to remain honourable." One, two, three pilots. He seems to committ the names to memory and gives each a pleasant nod, but Kalypso's mention of her own name has him pausing. "Kalypso? I've heard that somewhere…" And it takes him a second to figure it out. "You aren't related to Chione Dike, by any chance?"

Karan is either really enjoying his coffee, or he has a few other things on his mind at the moment. That, and he can barely decipher what the snipe is trying to say to him; it's like a floppy-shoed clown and an invalid trying to swingdance together. "Mmhmm?" is murmured over his coffee. Fixing on the 'no end of work', the chaplain ventures softly, "The gods don't require much of our time. Even if you can't make it to service, I'd be happy to say a prayer with you, if you wanted to just stop by, or leave a devotional…"

Kalypso alternates now between the vice of the cigarette and the scotch in her glass. She nods to the bottle, offering their new table-mates a glass if they so choose. "So, you fly?" she asks Paris, "And by something stronger, what did you mean?" Mis-matched eyes shift over to Nicholas again. "Chi? Yeah, she's my cousin."

Cornbread gives Bayless a coy little smirk as he folds his arms and sips his drink. Lighting his cigarette, he tilts his head towards Paris and Nicholas, lifting an eyebrow quietly. Too scrawny to be their chaperone of sorts, he seems interested in the conversation.
Bayless grins with amusement at Sloane, but also directs much of her attention at the conversation held amongst the remaining people at the table, another sip of her drink taken to pass the time.

"Ah yes. Cousin, that is what she said." Nicholas' voice lightens at the revelation from Kalypso. "I hope you'll pardon the nosiness. I haven't seen her since she left the Destiny, is she doing well?" He looks at the bottle of scotch and makes a polite decline motion with his hand. Then, turning so he can see the bar, he mouths the words 'no charge' towards the tender, with a click of his fingernail against the scotch bottle. The tender seems to understand, giving a thumbs up.

"Yeah, I have a small freighter, well, heavy transport? I dunno how you'd classify it really. A bit bigger than one of those navy shuttles? Raptors right? But not all that much." Paris seems a bit more animated speaking about the ships, obviously interested in that sort of thing. "I was docked with the Destiny when everything went south." He follows Nick for a moment as he sits, as well as this extra conversation about a cousin, soaking in the info. "And, yeah. That'd be Fosha. Its uh… pretty bad actually, haha, but strong. We drank it back home, although honestly I'm not sure where it's made. Good to burn the good sense out of you, though."

Snatch looks a little embarrassed. "O.K., Frer, Ah will," Mopsus Doe agrees, "Ah'm raaht sorry A hain't bin around," she looks down. "Y'ns all hain't got no altar to the Twain, have y'ns?"

Subtitles: Alright, Brother, I will. I'm very sorry that I haven't been around. You haven't got an alter to the Twins have you?

Kalypso is certainly someone in need of a chaperone. The rich-girl turned Navy pilot is falling back into bad habits of getting too drunk to make good choices. Hey, it was a way to avoid dealing with people at stuffy social gatherings. Now, it's her way of not having to actually deal with loss. So much for all the progress she'd made in the last few years. Good thing she's got Scorch and Cornbread. Kaly misses the 'no charge' remark, but she does smile at Nick. "She's doing pretty good. I just saw her last night, not that I really remember what was said, but, I think she's happy to be back in a uniform," she winks over at Cornbread, "Plus, I introduced her to a handsome pilot. Fosha, huh? Never had it. And yes, those would be Raptors and and my El Tee and I both fly." She blows another trail of smoke into the air and gives Bayless a coy smile of her own, lifting her brows. A head tilt at Paris with silent 'girl code' for what do you think?

"The altar," explains the bookish young chaplain, obviously on more familiar ground now that religion's being discussed, "is consecrated to all of the Lords. While I, myself, am not privy to the mysteries of Castor and Pollux—" The waitress arrives with his food then, and sets it down in front of him with a set of cutlery, before drifting off. "-I have been trained in a few of the more minor rites. Please. Do come by more often. We can talk, if nothing else." It's spoken softly as he stirs at his soup, lashes held low.

Bayless glances to Paris as Kaly answers his question. "They're a bit unruly and don't pack the firepower of the Vipers guys like our friend Tony here flies, but they have their advantages also." In response to Kaly's silent request for an assessment of Paris, the look she sends back is one of uncertainty.

Nicholas returns Kalypso's smile and settles back comfortably, resting his elbow on the back of the chair. He gives Paris a slightly amused look as the two women seem to check him out, and says nothing at all. Obviously he's not getting any checks under the table for being a wingman.

Paris is, certainly, the polar opposite of a chaperone. Good thing she has backup. The back and forth with Nick continues to garner some attention, and when Sloane gets pulled into it, the scoundrel looks sidelong over at him. "Oh you're a lucky guy, if there's any family resemblence there." A bit of crude flattery never hurt. And then, back to Kalypso, a quick nod. "Its uh, supposed to be an old word for 'fire'? Or that's what I'd heard. Fitting name if it's true, it burns like the lava seas of my beautiful homeland. Lets get a round of shots, see if the Navy can hold a bit of liquid fire, eh?" Oh, what's he starting? Bad! Bad! He waves down a waiter, to make the order.

"O.K.," Mopsus Doe replies quietly again, poking at her coffee cup and then taking another sip. A long quiet. "Ah reckon Ah miss mahn sweetheart sommat," she states plainly after a while, apropos of— what, exactly? Maybe referring to their unfortunate encounter in the mess.

Subtitles: Okay. I guess I miss my sweetheart, somewhat.

Cornbread gives Kalypso a little smile as she mentions introducing Chione to a fellow pilot. Nodding to Kalypso, he drags off of his cigarette and taps the ashes into the tray. His drink is brought to him and he downs the last of his previous one, handing it to the server. Leaning over, he whispers something to Bayless. Giving her a look, as if asking permission for something, he watches for her reaction before turning back to the table to eyeball the conversation.

Sloane whispers to Bayless.

"Mmhmm," murmurs Karan again. She's caught him as he was just about to drink a spoonful of the soup, so it's kind of mumbled before he swallows. "I.. I would, too. If I had someone I'd left behind. I'm sorry for your loss." Another sip, a quiet -tink- as the spoon's set down against the edge, and his mouth dabbed with a napkin. He seems like he wants to comfort her with a touch, perhaps, but it never quite lands. Instead, he resumes eating quietly.

"Ain't your fault," Mopsus Doe drawls quietly. "Ah jus'… Ah war gone git done with this tour a mahn this pas' month, ou-ais? Ah'd bin home, bah now, an' we'd bin wed, alreaduns, laik as not."

Subtitles: It's not your fault. I just… I was going to be done with this tour of mine this past month, yeah? I'd have been home by now, and we'd have been married alright, most likely.

"Chione's prettier," Kalypso says, knocking back a bit more of the scotch and then pouring a little more into her glass from the bottle. She takes her commander's assessment and smiles. Tapping ash from her cig and taking another drag, Kaly smiles. "Shots of liquid fire, huh? What you think? Can the Navy hold it?" This to her wing-mates.

Nicholas gives Sloane a briefly appraising look when the man isn't turned his way. Chione's boyfriend? Interesting. His attention's back on the passing conversation by the time Sloane finishes muttering to Bayless, and he gives Paris a grin. "Well, you never said you wanted the evening to end quietly."

Bayless looks over to Sloane with a tilted head then rises from her seat. Supporting herself on the tabletop with one hand, she bends over at the waist so that she can respond to whatever Sloane whispered to her. Once done, she pulls down the hem of her dress so her stocking tops don't show… again… and re-seats herself. In response to Kaly's challenge, she kills off what remained in her glass and nods. "Line 'em up."

"I suspect the gods have other things in mind for you, Del Boccyo. Like as not." Jerome tacks that on with a little smile, then proceeds to draw one arm around himself in a nigh-defensive gesture as he continues eating.

Bayless whispers to Sloane.

And yes. Nick is not helpful. Surely, the two apparent scoundrel-cohorts will have their own evaluation of the night's events at some later point. Paris just smirks up at his friend a little, and looks back around the group. He fixes on Bayless, catching up with the Raptor-talk. "Unruly? Oh, I know what you mean. The bigger they are, the crappier they handle." And then, eyeing Sloane. "Oh, so a fighter jock? That's cool. I'd love to fly something like that. Some real speed, nice handling. Lucky guy." He takes a puff, ashes it, leans back and takes another. Eyes Nick again, when Kaly dubs her cousin the beauty Queen. "Quiet's boring, mate, I wouldn't dream of it." Ah! But the booze challenge has been accepted. The order is in place already, as surely the Navy would not reject the challenge, so they only have to wait. Eventually, the waiter will appear, bearing a tray with a multitude of small glasses, all filled in a nice little line. With precision, he transfers them from the tray to the table, maintaining the neat formation. Paris reaches forward, but waits on the others. "Bottoms up."

Snatch drinks coffee, not seeming much cheered by the thought. "Ah reckon yer raaht," she says out loud, despite her body language— that slounch over the cup, the way her eyes stay fixed on the rim of the cup. "Ah reckon," she repeats, just sounding tired.

Subtitles: I guess you're right. I guess.

"I'll do a few…" Cornbread replies, looking to Bayless with a nod and a wink. Downing some of his other glass, he nods in Nick's direction. "Yeah…Viper pilot." He drags off of his cigarette and taps the ashes away again. He looks from the girls to Paris. "Yeah, the birds are definitely a smooth ride. Provided that you don't insult the deck crew and they slouch on the repairs." He says, looking from Paris to Nicholas. "So…how you know Chione?"

Chione was the former super-model, after all. Kalypso only speaks the truth. At least from her point of view. The blonde Caprican cuts her eyes to the other two pilots, her lips curving with curiosity over what they might be whispering about. She doesn't pry however. If they wanted to include her, they would. She knocks back the rest of her current glass of scotch. She reaches to pick up a shot-glass, but waits for everyone else to get theirs. "Cheers."

"Yes, I think I know exactly what you dream of," Nicholas replies to Paris, smirking. "And it is not at all fit for public consumption." He plucks a shot up, apparently more amenable to this than to scotch, and sits back to look at Sloane. "Viper pilot? Oh, I can see it." That has a little emphasis there. "She used to be the cruise director of the Destiny. I was their entertainment manager. We crossed paths very often. She had a very extensive wardrobe and knew exactly how to use it, bless her. So how long have you been…" He makes a vague hand motion. Dating? Screwing? His hand could be indicating either, really.

Bayless reaches over and takes up one of the glasses, eyeing the liquid inside cursorily and somewhat pleased not to be the center of the conversation for the moment. "Kick the tires and light the fires, baby." And the contents are imbibed, with the glass being brought down on the table with a hard knock and a wince from Scorch. Her callsign is very equivalent to the sensation in her throat. "S'good shit there…"

"Attaboy," Paris says to Sloane. He has his shot now, and waiting for everyone to take their own in hand, raises his up, and quickly knocks it back. And he certainly wasn't lying about the strength, or the taste. Its awful, and awful strong, and burns all the way. "Ahhhahh. There we go." The glass is clunked down when he's done. "You know, when we ran out of the real stuff, we used to use it to clean engine parts. Stripped the sludge and dust right off." That's… probably not true, but it makes a good story. What Nick says about him draws a laugh. "Aye, probably true." And then, quickly to Bayless, "It is, ain't it?" He seems encouraged by her enjoyment of his favored beverage.

Cornbread takes the shot of the liquor. He holds it for a few moments outwards and nods to it. The local pilots would know what he's dedicating it to. Tossing back the shot, he taps the glass on the table a few times. He doesn't balk, it slides right down. "That a fact?" Sloane replies, nodding in Nicholas' direction. He taps the ashes into the tray, taking another drag as he leans back and appraises Nicholas. He turns his eyes back to Paris. "Yes, it is some good stuff. Thanks."

Karan murmurs over his soup, "Kastor and Polydeukes, men who surpassed all other men in valour, and Triton came to foretell their immortality— and they were henceforth the Dioskoroi. Sons of Zeus, Tyndarid brothers. One the avenger, the other avenged by the tip of a sword." He lifts his eyes to meet Mopsus', the look almost fierce. Fierce, for a young man who only ever tends to look tired. "You are only a woman. And yet the gods have chosen you to live, to do great deeds. These are heroic times, I think, Del Boccyo, times of scripture brought to life and gods' faces writ in the stars. You should be glad of this opportunity. Honoured by it." And then, because his soup's getting lukewarm over there, he sips at it.

Catching Cornbread's eye, Kalypso holds her glass out in a lingering moment of dedication as well. Kalypso throws back the shot when the others do and proceeds to suck in a sharp breath between her teeth. A cough and a wince shortly follows. "Gods, that's…" she sets the glass down, "Words cannot describe." Instead she pours another glass of scotch as a chaser. Her cheeks are getting that good, rosy hue to them indicating her level of sobriety (or lack there of). "I can see it being used to clean engine parts."

Nicholas smirks as Sloane seems to decline to answer that last question. He downs the shot with only a clearing of his throat and a quiet cough to acknowledge that incredible burn, replacing the little glass on the table. Kalypso's reaction to the drink has him laughing under his breath. Poor girl.

Bayless leans back in her chair, letting out a slow exhalation, her cheeks a bit flushed. "Reminds me of some of the stuff I used to get ripped on back on Aerelon. You didn't have bathtub booze at least once in your life, they strapped your ass to a rocket and exiled you off the planet."

Snatch keeps her eyes on the rim of her glass, "An' Casser was chosed t' life fore'er… An' Palx was sent t' die. But Casser coul'nt fair live without his twain…" she points out, "An' cas' himsailf t' Haydes, ransom'd his twain's life with 'is own."

Subtitles: And Kastor was chosen to live forever… and Pollux was sent to die. But Kastor couldn't very well live without his twin and cast himself into Hades to ransom his twin's life with his own.

Karan licks his lips slowly after Snatch has spoken. He's about half done his soup now, eating at the glacial rate that he does. "Well," he supplies after a moment, "it's a good thing you don't have a twin named Pollux, isn't it?" His mouth softens into a wan smile at that.

Paris looks rather contented in the aftermath, and leans back again, letting his eyes round the table, taking in the others as they, too, get a taste of the fire. Good times. Of course, his gaze eventually stops on Kaly, and he watches her with just a bit of amusement as she goes for the scotch to get the taste of fire out of her. "Yep, it worked like a charm, too, even if it's not for the light of heart as a drink. But good, eh? And as good as 3 of those," he gestures at the scotch, "to forget your troubles." He cocks his head and glances sidelong at Bayless. "Yeah, I like Aerelon stuff, myself. Frak, maybe that's where it comes from, it sure as hell wasn't brewed locally. Can't make alcohol on a planet where nothing living grows." And then, for some inexplicable reason, he looks back at Nick, grinning. "Aerelon, good place."

"It's pretty recent." Sloane says back in Nicholas' direction, more curious than anything. Perhaps he does it just to get his own question answered before he returns to his original drink. Taking a sip, he looks to Kalypso for a moment, monitoring her state despite his growing level of intoxication. "Never been there, got some good friends from there…" He tips his glass to Bayless. "…make mine Aquaria, though."

That's done it. Mopsus Doe's just silent, breath catching in her lungs and coming out only hesitantly through flared nostrils before her eyes go all leaky again. She rubs them on her bare arm and tries to get out a word, then just shakes her head and jumps like a Trojan from her chair.

Bayless nods to everyone in response to the dedication to their (or her) respective colonies, then tops her glass off once again from the bottle of the stuff they'd ordered originally.

"This goes down smoother," Kalypso says, defending the scotch. Oh, that scorching shot of whatever it was is going to be hitting her like a ton of bricks very soon. Considering she's already knocked back a few glasses of scotch since she got here, in a short amount of time. She stubs out the cigarette after taking a long, last drag of it, and slouches back in her chair. Long legs are stretched out and recrossed again. "Not light of heart, sugar," she says her words beginning to take on that distinct slur, "but that's like… yeah, something someone would make in a bathtub or a rusty can in their backyard."

Whatever tiny amount of mirth had gained a tentative hold on Karan's features, vanishes instantly as the snipe jumps to her feet. He's got a pretty soggy sense of humour at the best of times, but he's clearly not accustomed to making people cry with his bad jokes. "I'm sorry," he breathes, setting down his spoon and pushing to his feet. "I've upset you now…" Well done, Sherlock.

Nicholas gets this oh-no-you-di'int smile on his face as he turns his head, arching a brow and looking at Paris. "Your fetish for nude rides on wheat threshers has been validated, congratulations." He looks back at Sloane and smiles. "That was a fact, yes. And, I see. Well, good, it warms my heart that she's found a stick to shift. She's a lovely girl."

"My home's nowhere to toast," Paris notes. "But I've been pretty much everywhere plying my trade. Aerelon was nice. The 3 siblings are quite good too." That would be Aquaria, Caprica, and Virgon. Whatever this in joke between him and Nick is, it just has him laughing. And then his attention turns on Kalypso, in her unfortunate condition. "You lived. That's a mark in your favor in my book. So, which of the lovely former bastions of humanity did you call your own?" Enough of the others have mentioned it, to make him curious.

Snatch is a dart— just lifting her hands to her head and taking the short path to the door, trying to maintain her composure until she at least gets out the door, but the last few steps are taken at a run, just in case.

Bayless drains off a third of her latest sampling of the house hooch and sets it down on the table. She appears to be losing her mirth a bit, not due to the alcohol but perhaps something else that causes her jovial mood to plummet a bit. She stretches her bare arms back behind her idly.

Sloane slowly tilts his head in Nicholas' direction. Taking another sip of his drink, emptying it, he sets his glass down. Tapping his cigarette in the ashtray, he drags off of it and simply smiles at Nicholas. "Yeah, she is." He says with a little bit of warning to it. His facial expression matches it, giving him a matter of factly look. "Well…I can see why she has no desire to go back to the Destiny…" He pauses, grinning. "Don't talk about her like that."

"Caprica," Kalypso says, blinking at her glass for a moment. She doesn't really get the joke, but her lips curve a little and she looks at Paris with a lifted brow. Possibly picturing this image in her minds eye. But quickly enough, she's looking at Nicholas and her lips are compressing a little. Yeah, she's wavering juuuuust a little in her seat. "Hey now, there's no stick-shifting going on with my cousin," she drawls out, "And if there is, it's none of your frakkin' business. Damn straight she's a lovely girl and Cornbread here is a respectable sort." She knocks back a bit more of her drink. It is probably getting close to time for her to call it a night, or else she might wind up not getting back to the Genesis tonight.

Bayless rises to her platform-heeled feet, apparently no longer concerned about being left largely out of the conversation. "All right, you two, I think we need to be heading back to Genesis and sleep this off." While her cheeks still show a bit of flush to them, she's apparently holding her liquor fairly well.

Paris, facepalm. Good job, Nick! He siddles just a little bit one way, as if trying to physically distance himself from the problem. Although he does nod back at Kalypso's answer, looking none too surprised. "Must be wonderful to have lived there, grown up there." Silence on the 'sticks' conversation, though. He ashes out his cigarette, which is pretty much well and done with by then, looking around a bit as he gets the sense of things wrapping up.

"I'm quite sorry, I wasn't aware that calling someone lovely had become an insult to her or to someone who's obviously looking out for her," Nicholas says, folding his hands. "My mistake."

Karan glances over to the bar briefly when he hears the Destiny mentioned. One of those words that tends to stick out in conversation, when it's a word intimately familiar to you. He studies Sloane quietly over his coffee, already pulling out a few cubits from his jacket, to pay for the food.

Sloane shrugs, standing and looking towards Bayless and Kalypso. Even though he's off duty, he does seem to defer to rank. Despite the fight he was involved in recently just outside of Spotlights, he finishes his drink and stubs his cigarette out. He simply grins. "Guess you can comtemplate stick shifting in your own time tonight. It's allright, I'm sure you're a lovely girl too." He nods upwards to Paris. "Thanks for the drinks and the conversation, it's appreciated." He turns to Bayless, muttering. "Trash." He speaks up. "Allright, we doin this? I'm ready to head back."

Flushed cheeks, eyelids starting to get that little bit of alcohol-induced droop, Kalypso reaches for the bottle on the table. "Time to go back?" she asks, looking at her CO, "But we're just getting started…" She's already moved on from the instinctive protection of her cousin's honor, not even worried about Nicholas's remark. She has not, however, attempted to get out of her seat. For the second night in a row, she's failed to stop at the point of 'good buzz' and skipped straight to 'done'.

Bayless places a hand on Kaly's shoulder, after pulling down the hem of her way too damn short dress… again. "C'mon, let's head back to the ship and finish off that bottle of yours. End the night on a good note."

Paris has been called worse than trash, if he's being called trash. The comment rolls by, just as he seems to entirely ignore the Nick-Sloane-Chione-whatever fiasco. "Just being hospitable," he answers, after a moment, "Nice talking with some fellow flyers." Though he addresses the risen pair, he glances sidelong at Kalypso after a moment. "I imagine she'll need a little help getting back."

Nicholas regards Sloane as if his opinion has shifted to mark the pilot as the strangest person he's ever met. "Uh…huh." Seems to be about all he can pull from that.

"Oh definitely…" Sloane looks to Paris, giving him a nod. "Next time I'm back in here I'll be sure to look you up. You're good folk." He says, apparently his issue's with someone else. Pushing in his chair, he mutters to a server and puts down some cubits. Ordering two bottles to return back to the Genesis with as a gift, he gives Paris and Nicholas a wave. "You two have a nice night…" He says, moving to pick up his order.

Karan turns back to his coffee, and his thoughts, as the pilots start making noises about leaving. Damned Del Boccyo and her theatrics. It's going to be another looooong night.

Kalypso frowns and then attempts to stand up, rather wobbly on those pencil heels she's wearing. Not the same ones that she used as a weapon the night she and Sloane had their incident on the way to the ducks, but just as dangerous for drunk walking. "Okay," she says with the tone of a sulky child being told it's time to come in from playing. She smiles at Nicholas and gives Paris another wink as she leans on her Squad Leader. Clutching the bottle of scotch that the pilots had been drinking together she adds in a slur, "We gotta get our tab."

"Oh I usually am, or around one of the docks. Run between here and the Destiny and one or two other ships, carrying some basic supplies. Dull work, but its work." Paris shifts in his seat, turning more bodily toward where Kalypso is slumped. Concerned over her proper transport? Last glimpses of drunken lush eye-candy? Who knows. He lifts a hand to wave after Sloane. And then he glances up at Bayless. "He not going with you two? You need any help?" With a certain junior raptor pilot-turned baggage, he likely means. And then, "I think between me and Nick we got it covered." Yep, take advantage of Nick's special privileges, and take credit. Win!

Nicholas returns Kalypso' smile. He backs up Paris' claim with a simple nod. "Don't worry about the tab." Either he'll exert his privilege or make Paris pay for it, who knows right now.

Bayless reaches into the front of her dress (SCORCH IS TEH CLASSY) to pull out a couple of banknotes with the hand that isn't supporting a wobbly Kalypso, but then pauses once Paris and Nick offer to pay their tab. "Oh… well, if you're sure. I don't wanna freeload."

Kalypso certainly needs the assistance from someone. Standing up straight on her own is not feasible. "I promise not to hit anyone with my shoes tonight," she says quietly to Bayless. What? "Aww… they're gentlemen," she says when the tab is picked up, "Shush. We're not freeloading. We're… frak, dunno what word I wanna use."

"Socially established double standards, enjoy them when you can, ladies," this is Paris' response on the matter of the drinks, grinning a bit. He's up now, and when Kalypso stands wobbling, he is a little cautious of it, making sure she has a grip of Bayless at least. Getting her drunk is one thing, getting her a broken nose is another - and not the way he'd like to be remembered. If she'll remember. Oh well! "Come back and visit some time, eh?"

Nicholas chuckles under his breath, but lets Paris take the full credit for being a drink-paying gentleman. "It's fine."

Bayless nods once to the pair of them with a smile of thanks. "Much appreciated. C'mon, Kaly, she who drinks and walks away lives to get frakked up another day. Or something like that. I dunno." She heads for the door, carefully leading Kalypso along with her.

"Bye boy-o's," Kalypso lets the words trail behind her as she is led out by Bayless. She's holding onto that bottle as if it's a treasure, mind you. Hey, the last one got smashed over Sloane's head! This one is making it back to the Genny safely. As she is led out the door, leaning on Bayless she slurs out, "…One of them coulda brought me home…"

Paris lifts a hand to wave after the raptor squad, smiling, admiring the walking-away view, etc. Once they're at some distance, he looks sidelong at Nick, smirking a bit. "Strength in numbers. Oh well. And I'm good for the firewater, at least."

Nicholas smiles at the departing pilots, also waving. He looks very amused, though oblivious to the walk-away view. He just surveys the damage on the table with their shotglasses and all, waiting until they're gone to speak again. "Please, you know you don't pay in here. And it is true, women in pairs are dangerous. Especially when accompanied by a man that would probably feel threatened by a midget with muscular dystrophy."

The freighter pilot's eyes stay with the pair until they are gone, although he falls back into that sort of easy, familiar exchange with Nick, especially now that they're alone once again. "Heh. The whole Viper jock thing is just a big mess of overcompensation, if you asked me. Bunch of over-privileged, overachieving wankers, for the most part." A shrug. "She was cute though, eh? The one that was eying me? You know I could bag her if she didn't have the whole squad backing her up."

"She was very pretty. Your taste is improving, I'm impressed," Nicholas concedes that point, if not in the same language as Paris. "And gods yes, they are… they haven't changed a hair from when I served. Though now I can't insult them too hard if Chione's dating one. Shame. I really should get back in touch with her one of these days." He ponders this point for about a fraction of a second, then moves on. "Anyway, another drink?"

"Yeah, I know you like the classy ones. Caprican. Figures." Paris shrugs and turns briefly toward the table, seeing what of the mess they made is left around. Kalypso grabbed that bottle didn't she? Gasp, they'll have to get more. "I've never had the pleasure of -that- particular perspective on the whole military complex, but I've been hassled by enough of them to know what kind of pricks they are." As for this mysterious cousin? "She make that big of an impression on you, eh? Those girls are wasted on the small-dicked lot of them." Yeesh. Bit of venom there, for sure. But it passes, his moods and manner shifting as they always do. "Lets have another, sure. You had stuff yuo needed to ask me about anyway?" He'll blaze a pathway back toward that booth of theirs, for the sake of some privacy.

Nicholas stands to head back over to said booth. A motion of his hand towards a bartender signals for some more booze. Not that he's drunk much, only the one shot all night. At the question about the impression he gives a casual shrug and chuckles. "Chione has a brain inside the blonde. In my line of work you notice very quickly how rare that is. If she wants to date someone with the perceptive power of a boulder then I'm sure she has good reason." He slides into the booth and pulls a small flashdisk from his inner pocket, extending it across the table. "I have a few, more intimate, clients looking for things," he says, in a lower voice. "They're willing to pay very well. No names back and forth. Just have a look at that when you go, and let me know what you can squeak."

That explanation seems to fly, and Paris nods along as they amble over. "Can't say I've heard of a lot of models-turned-military officers, so I can believe she was a little different." He resumes the seat he had before, sliding in, putting his hands up behind his head for the moment. "He didn't seem -all- that bad beyond the obvious lack of any sense of humor or personality. Maybe its something they do training them, I dunno. The obnoxious behavior is far too consistent for it to be purely genetic." And then it's business time, although it seems that is handled rather easily. He reaches for the disk, pulls it back and immediately squirrels it off into some small pocket. He likes pockets. "Sure, I'll see what's floating about. Its been tighter these days, I think maybe people are sinking into a more frugal kind of mindset. But for clients with big wallets, I'm sure I can make something happen." Good old supply and demand.

"If anyone can, it's you." Nicholas seems confident of that fact. He falls silent as the waiter comes over with two glasses of some dubious amber booze, letting the man set everything down and piss off before he goes on. "I only thank goodness the military decided to shove it up their arses with these MPs everywhere."

Paris allows just a smidgen of pride to show through in his grin, "You know it." A matching silence as beverages arrive. "Yeah. Even still, its not a good situation. I mean, before… my kind of work meant you were careful not to be where the people who wanted to catch you were. If you timed everything right, you could escape notice, and that was how we did business. But I never had to do business with a fricken full battlestar hovering right near by, flying its little patrols around round the clock."

"I have to grant them this, I'd rather see slow business than be gangbanged by cylons," Nicholas says, drily. He takes the tiny red stirrer between his fingertips, sweeping it around the liquid. "But frankly I'm surprised they haven't pulled a Pegasus and run off by now. I can't imagine half the patronising sons of bitches that come in here in uniform actually want us hanging about on their teat."

A short laugh. "Well, sure. I'm not stupid, and I'm appreciative for not being dead." Paris reaches forward to take his drink, while one hand remains back on his neck, rubbing at the back of it. "I'm just saying, it's… an entirely new set of rules, of assumptions to operate under, having that kind of proximity and coverage all the time. Now granted, because they're worried about the cylons they don't pay me much mind. I get questioned on the comm but that's about it. Just makes me nervous." The latter point is worth some more serious consideration. "Maybe, yeah. Though we've got these entertainment ships… I mean maybe they realize they frakking need it. Bunch of wound-up military types, no chance for leave, for downtime, they'd all be shooting each other eventually." He smirks. "After the water, the food, the tyllium… dunno, the club might rate up there for top strategic resources." He clicks his tongue and winks.

Nicholas smirks. "Wonderful, so when they do decide to force-draft and rip our ships apart, they'll be sure and take the clubs and install stripper poles in their rec rooms. That's a heartening image."

Paris chuckles a bit. "Yeah, something like that. I dunno. I figure some of the infrastructure might be valuable too. Living spaces if nothing else. I mean, we're supposed to repopulate the human race, right?" He takes a sip from his glass. "Thing is, in the end, all we jaw on about it… not a lot we can do one way or another. They got a lot of firepower - and fine as your girls are I doubt they're much match in a fight."

Nicholas grins a little bit. "I adore how they're 'my girls' in that head of yours. I'm not even the one that pays them." He laughs under his breath and downs a little bit from his glass. Then he allows himself to sober, tipping his head as he acknowledges the point. "No, not a lot we can do. Not right now, anyway. Not only a lack of firepower but sheer will. Honestly, have you spent much time on the Destiny, just around the decks? Place is the biggest headcase one could imagine. I could count on my hands the number of people out of thousands that even seem to be willing to notice what's happened to all of us."

"Eh, well, seeing as I don't know who pays them, it suits my personal requirements to think of them that way," Paris notes with a bit of amusement in his tone, and an implicit admission of his capacity for occasional self delusion. "Plus, they seem to like you." That comment is a vague allusion to the webs of loyalty and cash that tend to rule their sort of existence. "Yeah, its pretty whacked. Most people I meet carry on like nothing's changed at all," one particular songstress may come to mind! "I'm sure some folks have genuine truoble coping, but yeah… there's enough mental instability to go around and more."

"Indeed. And that is what they want us to repopulate with. Oh boy." Nicholas shakes his head, then sits up in the booth and gets ready to stand. "Well, Paris, much as I always hate abandoning you to the cruel world of business, I've got some things to take care of. I will undoubtedly see you around."

The thought is truly ridiculous, and earns a few more laughs. "Not that I mind a little 'repopulating' here and there, but it is pretty messed up when you stop and think about it." As the other fellow rises, Paris looks up. "Don't worry about it. Gonna hang out here just a little while longer I think." Whether just to enjoy himself and the last of his drink, or wait on whatever other shady opportunites - who knows. "You know me, I can't stay away. But if I hear anything about - " he taps his leg, the pocket where he stashed the disk " - I'll be sure to let you know."

Nicholas smiles at that. "I'll look forward to it. Enjoy yourself, Paris." He picks up his glass and finishes off the rest of it, then heads away, into the crowd and towards the the back areas.

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