2237-07-25 - Beach

Aubrey and Geoff chat on the beach while drinking rum.

Date: 2237-07-25

Location: Beach

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 325

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It's a beautiful day on a beautiful beach, and there's enough beach that getting on toward sunset you can find a spot not very near other people. Geoff has such a spot with a towel laid out, his shirt off, in a pair of cutoff shorts.

Aubrey is walking through the surf, wearing a bikini with a flowy coverup over it, looking like she's very much lost in thought. She looks like she was probably swimming earlier, from the state of her hair but, as any good surfer knows, being in the water at dusk or dawn is an invitation to be shark food. She spots Geoff and moves that way, curious. "Got any booze?" she asks.

Geoff doesn't lift his head. He reaches a hand under the towel he's on, digs out a little sand, and pulls up a bottle of rum, which may be a bit sandy, but is relatively cool from being buried. He holds it out.

Aubrey takes the bottle and sinks down on the sand next to Geoff's towel, resting an arm on her knees as the other tips the rum back for a few solid gulps. She hands it back. "Thanks. Geoff, right?" They sort of met in the hangar the other day.

Geoff opens his eyes and rolls onto his side to squint at Aubrey. "Yes. I forget your name." He takes the bottle and helps himself to a swig.

"Aubrey, or Banshee if you prefer," she replies. "What are you doing out here all alone?" she asks, as if she herself isn't doing the same thing. She watches the waves roll in, rather than look at the other Wolf.

"I'm drinking," Geoff replies. "What were /you/ doing?" He turns his head to look at the sky as it starts to turn the undersides of clouds pink.

"Thinking. Which is why I need the drink. To stop doing that," Aubrey says with a snort. She should be happy on a beach, on leave, but she seems relatively unhappy for all that.

"Why'd you start in the first place?" Geoff wants to know. "Thought pilots were supposed to be smart. Smart enough to not think."

"That's easy to do on a ship. Not as easy to do on pseudo-leave," Aubrey points out. "I'm putting my name in the lottery to go back home for 2 days. Picon." Didn't they just LEAVE that place?

"Clubs are opening up soon, you could go to one of them," Geoff suggests. "Music'll be too loud to think over."

"I'll probably do that, yeah," Aubrey admits. "Just want to watch the sun set. Might not get to see too many more of those. No clue how long we'll be planetside."

"Yeah," Geoff says. "Feels good to like...have your body on sand. Solid ground. But not like...metal-solid. Something that shapes to you."

"It's weird to adjust to day and night cycles again, then get thrown back into space where none of that means anything," Aubrey admits. "I grew up surfing, so it was all about the time of day. High and low tides, dawn and dusk being off limits in the water. Up there, there isn't even a true up and down."

"It's...not great," Geoff agrees. "Even though I'm from the city. There's no...privacy up there."

"Tell me about it. I used to do swimsuit and surf gear modeling. Calendars and ads and posters and stuff. Really kind of tanks that career when an entire unit of pilots and marines sees you naked in the showers every day," Aubrey says with a sharp laugh.

"How do you get used to modeling?" Geoff wonders. "Don't people talk shit?"

"I stopped modeling when the war started, and became a pilot. And sure, people talked shit. That's how I got my callsign. This one dumb ad I had to do for a surfboard company had me 'screaming for joy'," yes she airquotes that, "while riding a wave. But the Wolves have been good about it. At least the smack talk stopped after I hit double ace."

"Yeah, but like...how /did/ you?" Geoff asks, seeming more interested in talking about the past than the current reality.

"Well, my dad was an ad producer and he made sure I was always safe on jobs, so there wasn't much to get used to. I mean, I grew up on the beach, I lived in a swimsuit, so it wasn't like I was shy," Aubrey explains.

Geoff snorts faintly and nods. "Right," he says, reaching for the rum again.

"Plus Abby was usually there. Walker, the combat engineer. We grew up together. Our parents were friends. She and Addison are pretty much siblings to me. But I haven't been much of my old wild child self since I joined the Wolves. Needed to prove myself first." Aubrey looks over at Geoff. "Why, you interested in modeling?"

"I don't like her," Geoff says, but in a distracted tone. He looks back from the sky to Aubrey. "Not really, but I'd do it for money. I just always wonder how people get, like...that kind of work."

"It's most chance, with a dash of who you know. My dad did commercials, so I was in some of those, that got me a couple of music videos where I got to be the hot girl. That led to the modeling," Aubrey explains.

"Yeah," Geoff says. "I don't know anyone." He looks back to the ocean. "I want to be in music videos, though. I want to do, like, performances. Dance and stuff. Being famous would be cool."

"I can get you the info on the bands whose videos I was in. Can give you my dad's info but," Aubrey grimaces. "He's in the hospital right now. His condo complex got wrecked in the attack on Biscayne Bay and he was hurt. Should be out in a few days, but he'll be recovering for a while. Not sure how well the industry as a whole is doing right now. Not after what we've seen on Picon."

Geoff smiles. "Your dad doesn't give a frak about me, anyway," he says. "Especially not right now. But thanks, that's sweet." He passes the bottle to her, perhaps in gratitude.

Aubrey takes the bottle and takes another deep swig before passing it back. "You know me, I know my dad, dad knows people. That's how it works. I drop a line saying you're a fellow Timberwolf, and he'd do what he could to help. Just sayin."

Geoff looks Aubrey over, almost suspiciously. "Why would you want to do that for me?" he wants to know.

"Why wouldn't I? What, because I'm a model I have to be some kind of bitch?" Aubrey asks with a chuckle. "I'm a lot of things, but I do believe in paying it forward if I can."

"No, but most people don't really jump at the chance to do shit like this," Geoff says. "Maybe...maybe after the war."

Aubrey nods. "Don't think I'll be going back to it myself," she says, pulling up the edge of her coverup to show the nasty scar from the shrapnel that sliced through her thigh when she crash landed a bit ago. "They'd have to edit the scars out, and that gets expensive."

Geoff looks down at his chest, and stomach which are absolutely /covered/ with nasty scars, especially his stomach. "Yeah, that's probably expensive," he agrees.

"Well to be fair, most of the male models don't need to be shirtless or whatever. Rashguards and board shorts and the like. It's just the women who tend to get put in something skimpier to sell stuff," Aubrey explains.

"I want to be a drag queen anyway," Geoff replies. "So...I'm never naked for that. I mean...some people show their stomachs, but obviously...I don't."

"A drag queen? Really?" Aubrey asks curiously. "That. Is. AWESOME! You'd do great around here on Scorpia. Argentum Bay is pretty much anything goes I think."

Geoff blinks once when Aubrey seems enthusiastic, and glances over her way to see her face. "Yeah?" he asks. "I don't know much about any place besides Caprica. Where, like...you can also usually do what you want. But...it's nice here."

"Argentum Bay is like party central. I could probably traipse around naked and no one would notice," Aubrey points out with a laugh. "What size ladies shoe do you wear?" Because drag queens have fabulous shoes.

"Thirteen," Geoff answers. "I don't have that many cuz they're expensive and there's like almost nowhere to put them on the ship."

"Damn, I'm an 8. No sharing shoes. If you want to store some heels or something without people knowing they're yours, you can toss them in my locker," Aubrey says with a shrug. "I don't have a whole lot of stuff on board with me, so I have some room. We should go shopping sometime."

"Sorry," Geoff says, smirking. He narrows his eyes. "I would go shopping with you," he says. "But why are you being so nice to me?"

Aubrey arches a brow at him. "Why wouldn't I be nice to you? I think you're the first person on board I've found that I can talk fashion with."

"That's true," Geoff says. "Most people aren't into that shit. And...ever since I got blown up, I get really depressed about how frakkin' drab everything is on the ship."

"Yeah. I need to start shooting in color instead of black and white. I had photos up on my rack's wall that I took, but they weren't in color," Aubrey says. "Hope my camera gets back to me in one piece. I was taking photography classes before the war."

"You better take some while you're here, cuz it could be months before we see color again. I mean...besides blood," Geoff replies.

"Once my crap is delivered from the Vanguard, I will," Aubrey insists. "You'll probably see more color than I will. I don't get on the ground much at all." Pilots pretty much are in their birds or on the ship.

Geoff nods a little. "Do you get bummed by that, or does it make you feel kinda safe or in control?"

"I didn't used to get down much. But since we went to Picon it's been harder," Aubrey admits. She runs a hand through her mostly dry hair. "But in a Viper I'm alive. More alive than I even was surfing. I do find it kind of hilarious that I turned out to be a damned good fighter jock after a life of sun and surf and mellowness."

"I mean, you're an athlete, right?" Geoff replies. "Not shocking that you're good at tense, dangerous situations. I was a frakkin' bellhop."

"A bellhop? What made you sign up for the military?" Aubrey asks curiously. "And I was about as far from warlike as someone could be until," she makes a face. "Until they hit Hyperion during the Colonial Fair. My mom was a teacher and she'd taken her students there."

"Steady paycheck," Geoff says. "And you get benefits. Health and shit." He looks to the sky. "Listen, I want to go out tonight, so I better get going."

"Yeah, I'm gonna head back to the housing unit and get club-proper. Can't go out looking like this," Aubrey notes. She gets up and brushes herself off. "See you around though?" Then she's walking back the way she came.


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