Where Everybody Knows Your Name
Where Everybody Knows Your Name
Summary: Drinking Night at the Panther
Date: 72 ACH
Related Logs: None

Gold Squadron Berthings Genesis - Deck 12
71 ACH 23817 Souls

Sitting alone on his bunk with a cigarette and a bottle of water is Sloane. Offduty and relaxing, he seems rather bored as he flips the pages of his book.

Orion comes in, 162 pounds of frustrated pilot. He's not in a good mood tonight, this one. He pulls his helmet off, whips it at his bunk (He makes the shot, thankfully. "Sloane." The nod cast Sloane's way is, at least, friendly enough. Whatever's pissing him off, it's sure not the other pilot. "How'd things go for you, man?"

"How'd things go for me how?" Sloane asks, turning another page. "I'm alive, so the last engagement went fine, if that's what you're asking. I'm having a pretty quiet night tonight though." He pauses. "How about you?"

Orion heads towards his locker and starts to pull off his flight suit. It's starting to be time to have this thing cleaned, to say the least. "General. Yeah. I see you're still blowing air 'tween your teeth. Good habit ya got there, I'm fixing to get good'n addicted to that one." There's a long sigh, "I'm otherwise doin' okay, I guess. Hey, you know what got into the cag? Tell me she didn't stage that for dramatic effect or some shit. You -see- the way she tore that thing off??"

"I'm pretty sure it has more to do about focusing on coming home alive than giving a damn who gets where on the killboards…" Sloane closes his book, dragging off of his cigarette. "I mean, after the funeral and all for two of us…I can see that we kinda need that point rammed in home.

"Ain't never given two shits about that frakking thing. S'like I was telling Novella the other day." Orion crawls out of his flightsuit, still visibly agitated over something. "Ain't about promotions or kills or careers. This is -it-." And the other pilot, now standing in his skivvies, cuts the air with the flat of his left hand for punctuation. "We got, what, twentytwo thousand civilians with us? No idea what Pacifica or Galactica got goin' on, but it don't matter for shit. People actually gave a frak about kills? Who ya gonna brag to, son? Folks at home ain't at home no more. Ain't got no home to be at, neither."

"Basically the same way I feel. I record them when I get them for recording's sake, but aside from that I could give a frak." Sloane shrugs. "I'll let the CAG decide what they mean, in the meantime I'm more interested in coming home to better experiences."

"Yeah, but she was frakkin -pissed-." Orion finishes the job, briefly nude until he gets his towel in place and grabs his bag of showery… stuff. "I mean, you see the way she tore that thing off the wall? We don't need vipers. We got Major Rue. Just drop her behind enemy lines, tell her to get to it. C'mon, girl. Got work to do, hon. Got work to do. Get it in gear." He laughs a bit as he heads into the shower.

"I'd probably chalk it up more to the pregnancy. Soon she's going to not be able to go out there with us and she's going to have to settle for the results. That would suck." Sloane stands and moves to stand in the doorway to the showers to relax a bit and chat as Orion cleans up. "So hey…." He pauses. "…what's going on with you and Tempo, if you don't mind me asking?"

There's a sound of running water from inside the showers. "I got no idea. Story of my frakkin life. I fall for a girl, and she gets mad at me." A pause while he continues in the shower. "Need to have a heart to heart with her or something. THink she's upset because I didn't wanna talk about where I got that punch in the face from. Problem with her…." "…she cares a lot, and she's got a vicious streak. S'like I said before. They don't put introspective quiet types into vipers."

"Well she's a great girl man…a regular wing for me." Sloane replies. "Not getting protective but I can understand. She seems to be pretty fond of you, crazy girl." He chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm thinking of getting dressed and head over for some leave, down a few beers on the Carina. You in?"

"Why you ask, Cornbread? She ain't made any funny sounds or nothing, has she? I know she ain't too thrilled with me at the moment. I really gotta take her out or something." The shower stops, and there's soon a sound of rustling as Orion presumedly towels himself off. "Don't mind admitting that I fell pretty dangerously for Dynames. I mean… thud-boom-. My kinda lady. Soft 'n gentle on the outside, and vicious like a wombat on the inside. Damned easy on the eyes, too…" He emerges from the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. Cornbread is standing near the shower area, where he was conversing with him. "Sure. I'm up for that. Ain't been that way in a bit. Hey… what ever happened with that disaster me and Kal set in motion?"

"Nothing yet…" Cornbread replies, heading over to his locker. He pulls out a shirt and starts to get dressed. "Why don't you come over to the Carina. After the last few days worth I'm gonna head over there for the night, get some shore leave and head back in the morning." He says, buttoning up his shirt.

[Intercom] Sergeant Browne, please come to the marine offices. If unavailable, dial 1291. Sergeant Browne to the marine offices.

Bayless pokes her head in the hatch and glances around the berthings, as if looking for someone. Spotting the two Viper jocks, she posits the question, "Anyone seen Wide Load?"

"Yeah, yeah. We'll get a few in us and dance the soft-shoe or something." Orion drops the towel off at his locker and starts to re-dress, "Really gotta get my flight suit cleaned. Starting to smell like the south end of a northbound skunk." Bayless gets a nod, "No. Ain't. Flew CAP with her and I got no idea where she went."

"I think I saw her earlier but it was in passing." Sloane looks to Bayless, nodding upwards to her with a small little smile. "I'll send the word around. I'm heading to the Carina for a night off, you in?" He asks, lifting an eyebrow towards her.

Bayless blinks. "Umm, yeah, sure, think I could use some time looking at some different bulkheads. Just us three?"

"Whoever we can lay hands on, I'm guessing." Orion turns to head for his bunk, where he pulls out a piece of paper and a marker, and starts to write something down, "This the way we do things around here? Fight, drink, fight, drink?" There's a quick chuckle there as he finishes writing whatever he's written onto that page. He's heading right for Sloane and Dynames' locker space. "Ain't that much for the boozing anymore, but it's nice go get out. Surprises the frak out of me how quickly a fella gets used to being shot at." He slides most of the paper into Dynames' locker, bending one edge over one of the little 'vents' in the metal box. He writes 'Breit!' on the front, then tapes it over.

Grabbing a small overnight bag, Sloane moves towards the door and smiles to Bayless. "Well I'm ready to go. Should I take the first transport over and set up a table for us?" He asks, looking to them.

Bayless nods. "Yeah, sounds like a plan. I could use a bit of spruce-up time. Just got back from CAP and I look like ass."

Orion returns to his bunk, pulls on a pair of socks, then slips his feet into his boots and starts to lace up, "I'll head on over with you, Ant. I'm clean and fresh as daisies on a blue spring day." He's also got a little stubble on his face, but who's counting? He laces his boots up double-speed.

Sloane offers a smile to the two of them with a sagely nod. "Allright I'll hold the transport." He looks to Bayless. "What are you drinking? I'll get one lined up for ya." He asks, stretching his arms behind his head to hang on to his overnight bag.

Bayless grins and mulls it over before responding, "Whatever you guys are having's fine. Long as it's liquid and we can get frakked up on it, I'm not too particular."

Panther Sports Bar Carina - Bar
72 ACH 23817 Souls

Apostrophe sits at the end of the bar, in all white, drinking from a fancy martini glass something that is bright blue and sort of oozes fog from something that could be dry ice. There is a radius of three free seats on either side of her.

Sloane steps in wearing his civilian leave garb with his hands in his pockets. Finding a table near the bar, he stops near a server and puts some cubits down, effectively opening up a tab. The table, near Apostrophe, he gives her a nod as he moves to sit down. A pair of bottles and glasses are set down, and Sloane begins the wait.

<Trait Roll> Orion rolls Awareness-1 and achieves a degree of Great (5).

Orion walks in wearing a bit more than Sloane, all things considered. Not being on leave, he's in off duty fatigues. The man converses with Sloane as they step inside, "So I tell the guy I ain't. And I swear to Artemis he goes 'Then I'll need to see a ticket from all y'all, cuz the price just went up!'." He laughs and… spots Apostrophe. "Oh frak," mutters the pilot under his breath. He sits next to Sloane… and NOT next to her.

Bayless then walks in something that could *only* be described as leave attire, definitely something that wouldn't identify her as a Colonial officer, much less a hard-nosed Raptor driver. As she spots the table, she makes her way at casual pace towards the three of them. "'Evening, gentlemen."

Rachael Bayless is a athletically-built fair-skinned woman of average height. Her eyes are a piercing brown in color, and her hair is dark brown in color and straight in style. Her clothing fails to belie her well-toned frame, indicating that she maintains a modicum of diligence when it comes to her physical well-being. She is currently wearing a strapless black evening dress tightly hugs her every bodily curve, save for the bottom hem that flares out in a slight ruffle. Her only jewelry is a bracelet of chunky ebon gemstones on her right wrist. Black fishnet hosiery encases her legs down to the calf-length patent leather black boots, each fitted with a four-inch platform heel.

Apostrophe gives the slight asian male a glance as he takes a seat not far off from her position at the bar. It's a brief and obviously appraising look. Her expression sours a bit with a tiny pull of a frown. Stupid Hair harshes her mellow a little bit. Only a little bit. Her eyes return to the bartender and she nods, then leans in to say something quietly.

"Frak what?" Sloane asks, oblivious as he stands at the table, pouring three drinks. Setting one in front of him and Orion, he sets the next in front of the empty seat at his left. "That's pretty ridiculous, Flask, you should have just told him you were from the get-go. You gotta watch for that, people give 'tells' when they start asking either way questions…"

Smokes, booze, and the chance of a hot chick; that's what the bars back on Tauron were for, and truly there's little difference here in the Panther bar. Save now there's the added bonus of unwinding after yet more danger of being wiped out by the odd Cylon. Nestled back by the corner, Aleks is lounging at one of the tables - seat cocked back in a lean against the wall as he shuffles a deck of cards adeptly in his hands. Never was the greatest of players, but he always did tend to put forward the odd hand. With a sigh he tips back with a clunk of his chair, the legs scraping over the floor as he shifts to knock the tip of his smoke to the ashtray. There's a bottle of shine in front of him, along with a couple glasses. He's in fatigues, the hexagonal dog tags resting back snug against his chest, whilst the sleeveless top bares the swirl of ink that marks a tattoo on his upper arm.

Orion mutters low, elbowing Sloane to whisper something into his ear, then raises an arm to flag down the bartender while conversing more loudly, "Bayless." With a nod, he then turns to Sloane again, "Hey, we were kids out for a good time. What the frak did we know, right?"

Bayless grins and crosses her bare arms loosely before her. "Flask. 'Bread. Thanks for saving me a chair." The Raptor Queen pulls out the empty chair and seats herself, then takes the glass near her in hand. "Mine, I assume and hope?"

Apostrophe scribbles something on a napkin with a pen and slides it over the bar. It is taken by the 'tender. The blonde sips her drink, eyes not straying to the pilots for the moment.

"It's most definitely yours." Sloane says, sitting down and reclining between his fellow pilots. Taking up his glass, he looks to each of them and holds his out so that they can crash glasses. "To leave…a night off." He says, ever the toastmaster. He looks to Apostrophe for a moment before he sips his drink. It's strong moonshine. It will cause drunkenness.

The bartender comes up to Orion, who mutters something in a low voice. A few moments later, he has a rocks glass filled with something brown, served over a napkin. People paying attention to this will notice there's something written on it. Orion sure does. He raises an eyebrow, then narrows both eyes, "For frak's sake." The napkin gets crumpled up into a ball, dipped into his drink for good measure, then left aside to turn into a wad of worthless mush. And then he lifts the glass, "To friends lost 'n friends new."

Bayless lifts her glass in turn. "To the rare chance to celebrate and inebriate." She then knocks back the entire contents of the glass in a single gulp, then exhales slowly. "Frak me, that's stiff…"

Why the frak you lookin' at Sig before you mention drunkenness, huh? Apostrophe is cute, clean, exceedingly well groomed, and smells fantastic, thank you very much. Stop listening to Stupid Hair. Sig drains her glass, and orders up something stronger. Something on the rocks.

Sloane looks to Orion for a moment with a lifted eyebrow and attempts to get a look at the drink. Biting back the burn from the hard liquor, he lets out a little cough and leans towards Orion, whispering something. He then looks to Bayless and leans back in his chair, arm over the left side of it to talk to them. "Man I love this place. So how long did the two of you secure for leave?"

It's a night in a new venues, as the Pyr was, well, packed with a thicker crowd than Asty is comfortable with. So, with little ado, she steps into a bar quite different than the one she normally 'frequents'. She looks around some, keeping her face downcast some, veiling her eyes some with her still-damp bangs.

Micah wanders into the sports bar, probably, to watch one of the pre-recorded pyramid games he's heard they play here. Dressed in loose fatigue trousers, t-shirt and a beat up looking motorcycle jacket, he doesn't quite pull off the civilian look. Though that's certainly not for lack of effort, or hair that's a couple of inches too long for regulation cut.

Orion tilts back the glass. He doesn't cough, but he does have to fight a bit for that next breath. "Secure for leave? Uh…" He glances around the bar, "About six hours?" And then there's a wry grin spreading across his face. He notes a few of the people filtering in, including, "St. Germain." with a nod. "Nice to be off the ship. Sorta strange to be back -here-, though. Running in circles."

Bayless idly leans back in her chair, crossing a fishnetted leg over the other. "Just the day. Squadron leaders don't get the luxury of much more than that." A grin plays over her face. "So I suppose I should make the most of it."

Sloane looks back to Bayless, giving her a sly look. "Well it looks like you were able to find something to wear out and about, that's for sure. You look great, Scorch." Sloane offers to tap glasses with hers, then looks back to Orion. Pausing for a moment, he glances to Apostrophe and then sights Astyoche, he gives her an upwards nod and pulls a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket, waving them at her. "So…" Sloane says quietly, looking to Orion. "What's the deal?"

"Tyo!" a call comes from an otherwise inconspicuous priestling, clad in completely secular duds as if to deceive the Carina into thinking that she's a normal person instead of an Annointed Sister Of The Lords In All Capital Letters. Said priestling hustles close to offer the woman a brief hug, if she'll have one, along with a bright smile. "It's been a while."

Micah slides his eyes sidelong when he spots the fishnet stockinged Bayless seated at one of the tables near the door. He's not quite crass enough to leer at her, but nothing wrong with subtly enjoying the scenery, right? He's being subtle. Honest. "Hey, Scala." He hitches a grin at the man and rounds toward the bar, spotting another flyboy or two in the grouping. What is this, pilot night?

Apostrophe frowns again, just slightly, glossy lips briefly pouting. She removes a small mirror from somewhere on her person and checks her face, brushing her middle finger over a delicately arched eyebrow. She is perched on the edge of her seat at the bar with an empty martini glass, and another glass of amber liquid on the rocks. No wait, that's promptly drained. It probably burns on the way down, but the blonde does not wince. She just orders another. Drinkies!

Orion gives Bayless a look that might as well be a 'silent wolf whistle' but it's more in jest than anything else. His response to Sloane's whisper is a dismissive wave of his hand, as if the issue brought up was of no consequence. As for the next? "Deal with what?"

A shadow appears at the doorway. Its big and angry. Somewhere, the JAWS theme plays. And when it opens, Taylor steps in. Clad in his green fatigues and a bright blue hawaiin shirt, he's got his drinking hat on. The giant surveys the scene, ambling over towards the pilots. "Good goose shit! Who let you people off the Genesis?!" The voice boombs across the bar like it might the Flight Deck. He sidles up to the bar and orders something, watching the group with mild bemusement.

Bayless grins playfully as the glasses go clink. "Why, thank you, Cornbread. Nice to be appreciated." The whispering, however, finally gets her attention. "Something going on I don't know about?" The Voice of Boomy Doom from Taylor gets a curious glance, but her attention returns to Orion and Sloane.

Astyoche catches the waving motion off to one side and her eyes track to the source. Seeing Sloane and identifying his item, she smiles and gives a bow of her head before the sound of the door opening behind her draws a look over her shoulder, just in time to catch St. Germaine stroll on by without a word. Hrm. The sudden hail as she looks back toward his course makes her start, and she turns quickly to find Greje before her. Her expression lightens considerably and she steps toward her with a gently spoken, "Hello, Sister, how are you tonight?" As Indy turns the bar into the Temple of Loom, she sidelongs in his direction, appraising a moment, then she shrugs it off and turns her attention back to the priestess. No blood, no foul.

Apostrophe just looks over at Taylor like he's something that crawled out of a mud filled pit full of really big men. Blink. What the frak is that and what did they feed it?

They feed him pilots. RAWR!

Micah has settled in at the bar, apparently set on shunning the other pilots as he leans an elbow against the counter and considers his drink options. Taylor's arrival earns a look over his shoulder, and a raised brow. And somewhere in that mess, he manages to spot Astyoche— and shoots her a grin if she happens to be looking. Otherwise? Shun.

Sloane watches Bayless for a moment, giving her another slow smile before looking back in Orion's direction. In answer to his question, he nods his head slightly in Apostrophe's direction. It's a very casual move. Flagging down a server, he sets a pair of sunglasses on the tray and motions in Astyoche's direction. Another upward nod is sent in Micah's direction as Sloane manages to lean his side of his chair towards Bayless a little, sipping his drink. Biting down the liquor, he grins and looks to Bayless. "Cougar at the bar sent him a note. Guess she likes 'em young and inexperienced." Sloane says, oh the smack talking begins.

Bayless mock winces at the backhanded comment directed in Orion's direction, then looks in Apostrophe's direction. Looking at Orion but with the question directed to Sloane, "And Flask isn't interested because..?"

Greje grins easily at Astyoche, "Oh, I'm—" she looks over to Taylor briefly as he does sort of command attention, then back to Astyoche with a smile. "I'm just fine. We finally have re-inforcements in the Ecclesiastical department, so… I'll occasionally be able to leave my flock under his care and get some time to relax. But how are -you?- How's your… situation treating you?" she asks, a hint of delicate edging around the phrasing there.

"Hey Sloane!" Taylor barks, zeroing in on the Ensign. "You fly 210? That heap some stick-throttle interconnect brought back the other day?" He grabs his claw full of straight alcohol and ambles over towards the pilot. The man looks ready to play. Or tussel. Hard to say. But he's grinning as he tosses back about half the glass.

Orion snorts loudly, "Sorry. I'm uniform…ish. I think that might make it incorrect of me to say a thing or two. Probably three or four, to be as honest with the Gods as with you or me." He gasts Bayless a smirk, "'Cause I'm seeing someone who's got access to millions of cubits worth of combat hardware… that, and there's the three or four things I ain't too elligible to say right now."

"Yeah, what about her?" Sloane grins, wearing off duty clothes, he's got pretty much free social reign at the moment. Looking to Bayless and then Orion, he grins and looks up at the approaching form of Taylor. "You wouldn't believe it. It took a hit to the body, couple of holes punched through. Some sparks flew inside the cockpit and it apparently hit some sort of nerve that's making me not understand your shirt."

Micah has entrenched himself at the bar, and waved off the notion of a drink. Instead, he's pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket, chin hitched upward so he can watch the pyramid match on the television. It's an old game, mind, one they've probably shown a good twenty or thirty times. But it's something.

"I'm fine, sister." Tyo replies softly, "It's hard work, but, that's sort of the point, and it helps the cause." She gives a smile to the priestling and says, "Thank you, for everything, Sister… oh! Did Mister Gaelan get your scriptures back to you?" she asks.

Bayless suppresses an urge to laugh at Sloane's comment, hiding the stamped-down shit-eating grin behind her drink glass and remaining silent for the moment.

Micah is probably grinning at that smartassery from Sloane, too. Not that Taylor could, uh, see this. Hopefully.

"Yes… yes he did, thanks for making sure that got back. I hope you found them helpful," Greje adds. "If I asked the Commander for permission for you to join in the Dionysiac rites we're going to be putting on aboard Genesis, would you be interested in coming?" she asks briefly.

Taylor guffaws to Sloane, moving to clap a meaty hand on the poor Ensign's shoulder. "Oh man. Frakkin' mouthy Ensigns and their Vipers that will never. Ever. Fly. Again." He leers /down/ towards the pilot. "I just worked my ass off fixing the holes in that thing. Had to replace the ENTIRE main bus for your hydraulics system. It was supposed to be out tomorrow evening." But Taylor rolled a 7. A critical 7. Viper pwnage. "So.. apologize to the shirt before you make it cry." Luckily, the giant is grinning.

A blink, then, "A rite… me?" Astyoche replies in some surprise, "I… don't know what to…" Her head shakes, then, "What did the Commander say?" A morbid portion of the con's mind wonders if the priest is allowed the suspected sort of language that framed his reply. She'll get the details about what she's being asked to do once she knows whether she's going to be keeping her head down.

Sig finishes her drink at the bar, and gets to her feet. The passage of her body through the bar is measured in sharp heel clicks. An icecube might fly out of her hand and into Orion's lap as she passes, along with a flick of melted icewater over his neck. Stupid Hair.

"Hey man maybe your shirt needs to apologize to me but I'm man enough to know when I own my deck overlord a drink." Sloane replies, not shying back from the gigantic man one bit. Cooly, he waves a server over and offers her some cubits. Setting them on her tray, he motions to Taylor. "Open a tab to that limit on Taylor here for me would you?" Sloane grins, looking back to Taylor. Downing a bit more of the powerful alcohol, he bites it back, letting out the burn a bit. It's acting quickly. "Go enjoy your booze, ya walkin' tapestry. Hey! And thanks. I appreciate all your hard work."

Micah smokes quietly, and watches the game. He's half-listening to the conversation going on nearby, but it's hard to fix on any one person in the midst of all that jangled talking. The woman who gets up from the bar a few seats down is tossed a brief glance, if only because she flicks an ice cube at Orion. Oookay. He drags, and exhales out his nose.

Bayless shakes her head at the tomfoolery between Sloane and Taylor, then says to Orion, "I can appreciate monogamy. Quite proud." She tosses a glance to Apostrophe and muses, "I personally wouldn't kick her out of bed for eating potato chips, but…" Then Orion gets splashed, eliciting a very amused snicker from the senior Raptor driver.

Greje shakes her head, "I haven't asked yet. I wanted to see what you thought, first. I spoke to you about it before… about Theseus… remember?" she asks quietly. It was a while ago.

And no apology?! The shirt is offended! One of the pineapples leers at Sloane. In a meta kind of way. "Uh huh. We'll see how far the drinks get me, Ensign. Just remember.. the shirt apologizes to no man. And you hurt its feelings." He gives a tight little squeeze to Sloane's shoulder before waving his finger in the pilot's face. "Come to think of it.. your bird could use an engine overhaul. One all three plants." He looks off past the pilot. "Wait.. yeah I think it does. Better get back and check on that pronto. Can't have one of my Vipers goin' bad on one of ya'll." He grins at the guy before backing off and downing the rest of his booze. Taylor motions towards Bayless. "Lieutenant. That Raptor got shot to shit. It won't be out until Sunday afternoon at the earliest. Had to pull the whole electronic warfare suite. But she'll be brand new when she's done." There's a quick nod to her before he flashes a grin at Sloane.. and heads for the door. Not the bar.

There is a somber look from Tyo as she's reminded, "With Oreste and Phaedra." There is some weighty thought grinding through her mind on the matter, then, "I… if you think it appropriate, Sister." The matters of faith are best left to the priest, but should one be choses to aid in a rite… where does one find credence to refuse? There is a subtle trepidation in her tone, but, she concedes out of respect.

What's with this talking shop, anyway? St. Germain's just trying to get in some quality sports time, and Taylor's running his mouth off about work. Thankfully, Micah keeps his ass planted in his chair and doesn't go kicking off any drunken brawls with the deck chief. Though he is rolling his eyes as he smokes.

Sloane waves to Taylor as he walks off, supposing the credits will stay on file for future visits. Smiling broadly in Micah's direction, he narrows his eyes at the man with a nod. It's a form of saying hello. Taking another drink as so many people start filing about and heading their own ways, he turns to look at Bayless. "So…" He smiles. "…sorry about that. Guess it's down to just us two." He says. Turning in his chair to give her some more attention, he watches her. "Have any trouble getting over here? I'm infinitely grateful that you decided to come out with us."

"Hippolytus and Phaedra," Greje corrects gently. "It's up to you. It may help you sort out some things. But if you don't want to I won't twist your arm. It might also just be something fun to do. It's not really something you can mess up or hideously profane, dear," she assures her with a half-hug.

Bayless shakes her head after another sip of her hooch. "No, transports seem to be running smooth. I would've flown myself over, but this dress doesn't accommodate having a flight suit worn over it. Suppose I could've just brought it in a duffel bag or something though."

Micah salutes Sloane with two fingers to his forehead. Just an informal greeting, with a bit of a grin tacked on for good measure. The tape's started looping though, and he gives a disgruntled sounding sigh. Checking his watch, he decides to stub out his cigarette and push to his feet. "Catch you both around," he mumbles to the two pilots. Greje and Astyoche are offered a smile on his way to the door.

A server walks past Greje and Astyoche. A small pair of sunglasses are offered on the tray to Tyo. The pretty red-headed server motions in Sloane's direction. "He said you were looking for these." The server says, handing them over and walking off.

There is a tenative hug in return, Tyo's eyes closing for the duration, "I…" she says weakly, then withdraws and squares herself, "… I'll… I'll do it, sister." She owes her that much, at the least. She looks around as things jump, and she says, "I… should go. The crowds get too thick and someone may recognize me." She bows deeply to the priest, then, "I live in four sixteen at the Pyr Hotel, if…. if you want to drop by, sometime." She takes a look around, then, "Lords keep you, Sister." and she starts for the door.

"Woulda ruined the effect. I'm pretty sure at least three guys near the door are going to be calling chiropractors in the morning." Sloane chuckles, looking to Bayless as he sips his drink. He gets a flirtatious little smile on his face as he sits with her. "I'm just lucky that you were heading in my direction."

Greje smiles softly at the bowing, but she simply lowers her head and holds a hand out in a sign of casual benediction, breaking her secular disguise. "I'll be sure to come and see you," she promises, "Lords keep you strong, Tyo." She looks to the tray, and tries to call out, "Tyo, your—!" Sunglasses?

Bayless grins. "Hey, I was glad to make it out. And I've been waiting for a chance to wear this out ever since things went all to frak." She frowns a bit as she looks under the table. "Just wish I'd been able to get some decent shoes. These hooker boots were all I could find. Must admit they go nice with the outfit though."

Sloane takes another sip of his drink, setting it down on the coaster before him on the table. "Yeah they really do. It's hard to get things like that nowadays down right. You're lucky that you got the right color, no less." He looks back to her, letting out a relaxed sigh. "So did you want to go get some dinner while we're here or are you comfortable here just fine?" He motions to the bottle and a half left of the liquor.

Greje takes the sunglasses, faintly uncomfortably, since they're not hers, but she tucks one earpiece over the top of her tank top to carry them about with her as she turns her thoughts toward Dionysus. Yes, a drop of liquor will go down nicely.

Bayless considers for a moment, before saying, "Think I'm fine here. I had a reasonable dinner in the mess hall before I'd poked my head in your barracks." She pours herself another. "Unless you haven't eaten?"

"I ate before I left." Sloane replies to her. Seeing the Chaplain move about in the corner of his eyes, he offers her a nod and a smile, glad to see her about. He's been scarce at service, perhaps once or twice, offering prayers to Poseidon. Pouring himself another as well, he looks to Bayless. "So Taylor…how do you figure a guy with hands that large gets working on birds?" He smiles, asking with a twinkle in his eyes. "That guy's a beast, isn't he?"

Greje recognizes the Poseidon-worshipper after the nod makes her look him over again. Having recognized him, she lifts her shallow glass of bright red liquor toward him in a greeting, nodding to him and to his companion.

Bayless shakes her head and smiles. "I've scarcely an idea." She catches Sloane's silent greeting to Greje, then casts her attention her way and offers one of her own in the form of a smile and a polite lifting of her glass. "I'm just glad he does," she says, turning back to face Sloane and taking a sip from her glass.

Matching the salute towards Greje with a broad smile, Sloane turns back to Bayless. Taking another pull from his tumbler, the liquid fire of moonshine is smoothe, but it is also very potent. Watching her for a bit, he grins. "So…in this undercover outfit that I'm wearing, do I look like a proud, responsible, Viper pilot, Scorch?"

Greje turns back toward the bar and takes some time to savor the drink, a sip at a time, though it still goes faster than she would have wanted.

Bayless grins and says after another sampling from her glass, "Proud and responsible, perhaps. Viperjock, I couldn't be too sure. I imagine I probably look less like a squad leader and more like one of those bikini-wearing bimbos we met on the Hera. All…" She places her hands behind her head, fluffing her hair out a bit, and says in the Colonial equivalent of a Valley Girl accent, "…'like, Mr. Marine, I broke a heel, could you, like, carry me to my room, pretty please…?" A half-seductive, half-comical fluttering of the eyelashes follows.

Sloane sips from his glass, watching her make that pose. When she does so, he narrows his eyes a little bit in a mock gesture of evil mastermindedness. Biting at the inside of his lip slightly, he takes antoher small drink and then sets the glass down. Eyes only a little glassy, he leans towards Bayless a little bit as if to let her in on a secret. "No, you look like one hell of a squad leader that reminded a Viper pilot that group or no group, he still has a date with you. You look absolutely frakking unbelievable, and I'm remembering that tip you gave me well." He says, giving her a wink, minding her eyes.

Greje drains the bright red, and its color is seen nicely tinting her cheeks by the end of even just that much. Potent stuff. Flushed-cheeked and perfectly happy about it, Greje heads away from the bar to see who else is around, preferably those not mid-date. Any civvies getting together a pyramid match who could use an extra player for one team or another?

Bayless grins and sets the glass down, steepling her fingers in front of her on the tabletop. "Thanks, I do appreciate the compliment." She then looks at the wall clock and looks a little disappointed. "Unfortunately, it looks like I'm gonna have to call it a night. S'getting a bit past my rack time."

Sloane looks to her, then to the still unopened bottle. Probably best that he doesn't dive into it, seeing as how he has to head back to the Genesis the next day. Mentally flipping a coin in his head, he looks to Bayliss. "You heading back to the Genesis?" He asks, fishing out a tip for their server. "I'm not till morning."

Greje finds a jovial enough group with a few drinks already in them, and, managing not to be bowed to or 'Sister'ed, disguised in civvie gear as she is, she heads out with them to the courts for a little gaming.

Bayless shakes her head. "No, I need to get back… Ares duty roster needs shuffled since 214's in the repair queue… that and I'm getting hugely sleepy." She smiles and rises from her seat, only just a little bit woozy from all the alcohol she just sloshed into herself. "Thanks for the company, 'Bread," she says with an appreciative smile. "This was fun."

Sloane nods to her softly. "We still on for dinner sometime then?" He asks with a smile, standing to mark her exit. Grabbing the unopened bottle and deciding to store it for later use back on the Genesis, he is a little tipsy himself. "You sure you're okay to head back there?" He pauses, a bit dizzy himself. Blinking a few times, he refocuses his eyes on her.

"I think I can manage a meal, yeah," Bayless responds. "And yeah, I'm good for the trip back. Just glad I'm not flying. Both 'cause I'm a little drunk and because I don't have to hike this dress up over my waist to fit in a flight suit." If Sloane's thinking that Scorch deliberately said that to give him a mental image to chew on, there *might* be some truth to it. "So I'll see you back on the ship?"

Sloane gives her a low, flirtatious look, nodding slowly. "Yeah..you'll see me there." He pushes in his stair, giving her room to exit. Chewing his lip slightly for a moment, he nods again to her. Placing a few fingertips on the table for a moment, her imagery isn't lost on him, but his self control is stronger than his alcohol. He smiles. "Take care of yourself, Scorch. I had a great time too. A really great time."

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