2237-07-27 - The Bar Brawl That Didn't Happen

Kell and Irene enjoy a couple of drinks while under the threat of evil looks, Salvae joins the group later.

Date: 2237-07-27

Location: The Cove

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 339

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"It's fine, Wooly. They're not going to bother me." Irene assures her ECO as he stands at the bar between her and whoever she thinks aren't going to bother her. Wooly, Roller's replacement after that 'incident' is a bristly, greying old veteran. He's definitely not fully convinced, even following a long, measuring look at the table of men, and one woman who stare back over their drinks. They don't seem particularly friendly, or very tourist-y. Maybe locals? "Go on! You're making me nervous." She insists, giving him a gentle nudge to the ribs.

Leaving the Air Wing house, Kell has wandered back towards the broadwalk and to the bar that some of the Timberwolves had gathered in the other day, most likely giving Van and Isolde space since he is sharing a room with the engaged couple. Choosing to enjoy his leave this time, since he missed the chance last time due to the Inquiry, Razor steps into the Cove and is once again, in civilian clothing. His personal gear has not yet arrived from the Vanguard, putting him in a bit of a worried mood, one he plans to settle with a drink or two. After a quick look around the establishment, Kell starts making his way towards the bar and as he nears, he recognizes Irene, heading in her direction. He doesn't catch the exchange between the Raptor pilot and her ECO so when he pushes up to the bar next to her, he gives her a nod of head, "Iris." A simple greeting, perhaps a bit too short.

If anything, Kell's sudden appearance gives the other pilot some more ammunition to use in the argument she's having with her ECO, "Look, it's Razor. Now you can go have fun." Nudge. Nudge... and finally Wooly relents, leaning into the bar to look around the blonde at Kell. "Those guys at that table there? They've been staring daggers at Iris since we came in and - " Irene interupts with a laugh, "Now you're being dramatic." So she changes the subject, turning to devote her attention to Kell, "So. How are you?"

Not sure what he just got himself involved with, Kell looks from Irene to Wooly, then from the ECO back to his pilot, a brow arching up in curiosity and a touch of worry. Only when Wooly explains the situation does Razor glance over to the table that the older man is directing towards. "Oh..." Is the only comment that he has, but when Irene brushes it off and directs a question at him, Kell hesistates for a moment, "Umm... much better than when we were fighting non-stop over Picon. I think it's a leave we all sorely needed." A pause as the bartender comes close, Razor quickly waving him down before he loses the chance and has to wait longer, "I'll take a whiskey, neat, something mid tier if you have it." He then glances at Irene, "You want anything, Iris?" He would look at Wooly if the ECO is still there and nod his head, as if silently asking the same question to the older man, but if he left, the one less drink to order.

It's one less drink, since Wooly pushes off with a low growl. He's got to be used to Irene by now, so maybe he's just naturally gruff as a goat or maybe being interupted is a bridge too far for him, apparently. Either way, he marches out across the patio and back onto the street without another word. For Irene's part, she peers down into her glass, decides it's definitely not full enough and nods. "Another of these, thank you. So good. It's like a tropical sea breeze that burns but doesn't have a fishy after taste. And look, a tiny sword!" It spears a cube of citrus fruit, so when she pulls it out of the drink it comes along. Given the enthusiasm, she might be just a little tiny bit, more or less halfway in the bag already.

By the way Kell watches Wooly depart for the door shows that the younger pilot may have preferred the older ECO stay, strength in numbers. But what's done is done and Razor turns back to watch the bartender pour the drinks, pulling out some cubits for the drinks, not much else to spend on besides whatever antics are happening while on leave or the occasional Triad game that has been very scarce since they jumped into Picon. "Swords huh... guess they chose something more memorable or different than umbrellas." Watching her antics, Kell can't help but smirk in amusement before leaving the cubits on the bar counter when drinks are pushed towards the Viper and Raptor pilots. Picking up his glass of whiskey, he raises it as a toast to his drinking partner, "To kicking Cylon ass on Picon and living through it to celebrate here."

Irene lifts her refill, and having kept the mixer sword from the first, drops it in there on the way up. Two swords! It's like a duel in there for supremacy over the pink liquer sea swishing around inside. "Yes. Also to, uhm. No, that's good. Smashing toasters and not dying. Timberwolves!" Is her totally coherent reply, heavy emphasis on the timberwolves part. She's loud enough, that the table of hard looking guys all nearly turn their heads in unison to stare a new round of daggers her way. She's utterly oblivious to that, given she mostly turned away from them and has her nose in a drink. Probably for the best, because those are some terribly unfriendly vibes.

A gentle clink of glass to glass and then Kell is taking a slow but long sip from his whiskey, the type to enjoy the drink instead of pounding it down like rough, liquid sandpaper. The slow warming of his throat and then his midsection is a pleasant feeling but he can't help but glance at the table that Wooly warned him of. He sees the icy glares but tries to ignore it, as long as they stay put, there is no reason to make more eye contact with them, pouring gasoline onto the fire. "Did you get any trouble having your stuff shipped to you here from the Vanguard?" It sounds like a casual question, but an odd one to choose unless there is a reason he is asking. By the casual attire of a short-sleeved shirt, the Timberwolves logo, a pair of worn jeans, and sneakers he wears instead of his uniform, it seems like Razor is still missing his stuff.

Iris considers the question perhaps a second or two longer than should really be necessary before responding. It's delivered with a slow shake of her head, "No, not really. I was flying the bus so. Why, did you?" The drink is set down after another sip and the icy stares from the patio table ebb as they lean in and start talking amongst themselves like a cabal of thieves. Hard to say if that's much of an improvement, but as before, Irene is paying them no mind at all. She in fact, is just straight up staring at Kell while looking him over from sneaker to haircut. "I... don't think I've ever seen you out of uniform. Did you lose yours?" As for her attire, it's mostly wedge sandals, short olive drab shorts and an Aerilon Threshers T-shirt. Nothing ratty, but that shirt is well worn.

"Unfortunately... yes, seems like everyone else has had their kits shipped to them but I am still waiting for mine. I hope they didn't send it to the wrong place." Kell says, not exactly worried but not pleased either with the delay. With that, he takes another sip of the whiskey. He misses the sizing up that Irene is doing, only looking back to her when she asks her question, "Well, there is usually no reason to be when we're on the Vanguard." Sounds like a rather easy and logical answer from Razor, from his point of view. "But yeah, my uniform is with my stuff that is supposed to be shipped to me. I got a set of temporary replacements but... they're not the same."

"I can ask around, but they should turn up eventually... unless your stuff was vented into space." Irene says, a little less jovially, but not without some optimism - possible destruction aside. She even smiles to smooth that last bit over, as if she hadn't meant to say it at all and it's totally impossible, right? "I'm sure it wasn't. It's maybe jammed into the corner of a bus somewhere." Meanwhile, in the background, that small group of unhappy campers breaks there hushed group chat and stand up practically all at once. Cubits are left, stares are stared at Irene and Kell, then they leave - a personification of a black storm cloud on the move.

% The thought of his stuff and personal effects being vented into space has Kell crinkling up the bridge of his nose, "Yeah... I hope not. There are some stuff that I would prefer to keep that was left on the Vanguard." Nor would he like anyone else to find it, but that remains unsaid. When the unfriendly group rises, Razor can't help but glance towards them from the corner of his eyes while attempting to not turn to face them directly. There is a slight tensing from the Ensign but when the group moves to depart, he immediately eases, even releasing a quiet sigh of relief. He couldn't help but keep an eye on them, after Wooly's warning.

"Not Thresher fans." Irene explains with a brief, infectious grin, but somehow that doesn't seem to explain the animosity coming off the departed group like waves when they were around. Seemed much more substantial than her wearing the wrong team's shirt to their neighborhood. "And I lost my socks on the Vanguard. Let's drink to their safe return. Your stuff and mine. Also, to blue skies and people who aren't jerks." She lifts the hot pink drink aloft and finishes off a quarter of it before glass hits counter again. After that, she puts her hand to her cheek, elbow to the bar and watches Kell with lazy, cat-like interest.

The simple explanation is taken completely at face value as Kell shoots the entry way another brief glance before forgetting about the hostile group, "Oh, I see. Guess they are really into the rival pyramid team then, unfortunate. Maybe they are extra upset because we have a Tresher in the Timberwolves." Now that group is easily forgotten as another toast is offered, Razor raising his glass again, "Yes, to... lost socks and shipments, clear blue skies and nice people." Bringing his drink to his lips, he takes a longer drink, leaving perhaps a small gulp remaining. A satisfied 'ah' is released as he puts the glass down, then sees Irene watching him, a slightly puzzled look appearing, "What?"

Irene very slowly squints at the viper pilot after his prompt, then drops the scrutiny with a bouncy shrug of her free shoulder. "I don't know. I was just checking you out. I spend just about all my time with Wooly in that bus or in my rack sleeping. Barely talk to anyone else anymore." She points her finger then in his direction, sort of, "Where are you even from?"

Hearing that, Kell looks more amused than surprised, a slight shake of his head in response but he doesn't interrupt, listening to the rest of Irene's words, "Sounds like you definitely could use this shore leave then, Iris. Picon certainly has us running ragged." As for her question, it's a simple answer, "Libran. Born and raised there, served there as well before my transfer to the Vanguard. And you?" The question tossed right back to the Raptor pilot as Razor picks up his glass and drains the rest of the whiskey before motioning to the bartender for another, finding the taste acceptable.

At the bar together, would be one Irene and one Kell. Casually dressed, shorts and a Thresher t-shirt for the bus driver and jeans and a timberwolf shirt for the viper jock. The blonde half of the pair looks a touch lit on the pink drink she's almost polished off, and probably will do after she's done talking. "Virgon, but grew up mostly on Aerilon." Irene answers, gesturing vaguely off towards the street where both planets apparently lie, somewhere, that-a-away. It's not quite packed yet, night having yet to fall and the sky just starting to color with the coming dusk.

Salvae's coming in from the beach, looking forward to a nice cold beer after a scortching hot day in the sun. Looking like he caught a sunburn, everywhere but his forearms, which are a darker shade from a misspent youth on the farm, they contrast with his used to be fishbelly white body, now adopting the glow of a lobster red. "Aye, Iris! Razor! Howaryanow?" he asks, grinning. "I think someone made off with my shirt," he says, glancing around the beach area.

"So I take it your family was on Aerilon when they gained their independence?" The question tossed out there from what Kell remembers from his history classes in grade school. "And that explains the Thresher shirt, and the friends you made earlier." Hearing the familiar voice calling out to him and Irene, Razor turns to the new arrival which quickly falls when he sees the somewhat cooked Salvae, "Socks... you all right there? Looks like you stayed out in the sun a bit too long." He almost asks if he should be here in the bar rather than the infirmary, but the other Viper pilot's rather upbeat demeanor shows that maybe it isn't as bad as it looks.

"Mum's side is old stock. Father's from Virgon." Irene explains and might have aired her family tree in greater detail beyond that, but hearing her name distracts her pretty soundly. She perks on the turn, smiling before she even knows who's calling her. Media training, or good natured like that, hard to say. Both? The smile stays on when she lays eyes on Salvae, "Hey, Socks!" There's a sympathy wince to follow up, "You're not gonna want a shirt tomorrow. You'd best have a drink with us. Maybe like a lot of them." She's already waving down the bartender at that point.

Salvae winces, "Ay, some ah the locals had me goin on one of those boogieboards just down da way. Afternoon just flew right by." He touches a bit of skin, it turns white, then when he pulls his finger back, it goes back red, still hot to the touch. He then pats himself down and realizes he doesn't have his wallet, either, his speedo-style swimsuit doesn't have any pockets. "Ah, frak, could ya do a crispy pal a solid and put out for some beers, Razor?" He glances back to the beach where he thought he left his things. "Looks like they took my wallet, too." As Irene's already ordering for him on his behalf, he grins and leans up against the bar to join the pair of pilots. "Always lookin out for a wingman, that's what I like about you, Iris."

Kell tacks out his own suggestion after hearing Irene's, "And maybe after you cool down with a few drinks, visit the infirmary? You might need some... healing cream or something." When Salvae begins poking at his red body, Razor can't help but widen his eyes slightly, about to ask if the other pilot should be doing that. The request for beers though has him nodding his head as Iris places the order. When the bartender finishes pouring the whiskey, he fetches a tall, chilled mug and begins pouring a cold one from the tap, Kell providing some more cubits in exchange, "Hopefully they return it when they see your See-Eff ID."

"Looks like you were out haying all day." Irene laughs before turning to get the freshly poured beer and pass it along to Salvae before he goes poking at himself any further. Peering at the bright red skin on his shoulders she nods in agreement with Kell's prognosis, "It'll be tender tomorrow... maybe follow Doctor Razor's advice." Another sympathy wince is offered, and then the stool next to her is brushed off to be made presentable for a fellow Aerilonian.

"Ah, thank-you," Salvae says as the cold beer is passed his way. He has a quick sip to wet his whistle then hisses as he presses the cold glass against his shoulder. "Yow, ya, ya may be onto somethin. I'll swing by the chemist to get some spread, that'll fix me up right as rain," he says, feeling relieved by the cold beer. "So, you two gettin into any trouble? Heard a rowdy bunch jawing on about pyramid a bit earlier."

Picking up his own whiskey, Kell takes a drink as well, already feeling warm from the first glass and now he's just enjoying the second, "Nope, no trouble. Staying very much out of trouble." He says with a quick shake of his head after swallowing the delicious, amber liquid, "That group left us alone, I don't think the Major or Colonel would want any of us behind bars the day before the christening ceremony tomorrow." Would definitely be tough to explain themselves out of that one. Of course, Razor has no sense of danger or risk taking when he's on the ground and sober.

"Wooly wouldn't let me pick a fight. He was all, but Iris, you're only knee high to a grasshopper and you couldn't punch your way out of a wet paper bag." Irene sighs, straddling the line between serious and very not with her delivery. Her Wooly the ECO impression is pretty spot on though, aside from her voice not being anywhere as deep and more scratchy then gravel. "They're probably waiting outside to jump us." She adds, because that's a nice thought to have rattling around in the back of one's head. It doesn't seem to bother her much, not when she has a drink to finish off and a fresh one to order.

Salvae's eyes light up as Irene proves to be the goon of the group. "AAaah, ya see? I knew it!" he grins, having another sip of his beer, nodding in appreciation of how cold it is. "Those goons are milling about near the entry, ya. Tell ya what, let's shotgun the next round, then go tell them how good the Mudhens are, eh?"

Bringing the glass to his lips again, Kell was in mid-sip when he hears Irene mimick Wooly as she recalls the conversation before his arrival. He doesn't spit out the whiskey, but it takes a moment for Razor to swallow before putting the glass down while he coughs a few times. Oh it burns slightly, but after a couple more coughs, he feels a bit better. But hearing that the group may be waiting for them outside, Kell sighs, "Do we need to find a back door out of here?" However, when Salvae suggests the complete opposite, Kell furrows his brows, "I'm not sure that is the best of ideas." Problem is, Iris and Socks outnumber him, especially since Wooly isn't here to potentially even up the vote.

"We outnumber them four hundred to one, in spirit." Iris decides, when honestly, she's probably just four hundred times more drunk on spirits than they are. Bit of a difference. "We'll go out the front cause we're Timberwolves and Timberwolves don't sneak out the back like Timberdon'ts." She's adamant, and inspiring, and also already sipping down her third hot pink tropical sea breeze of a drink. It's not really ladylike to shotgun, but fast sipping is acceptable.

"Ya! That's it!" Salvae grins at the other aerilonian, keeping up the tradition of drinking and fighting to round out an evening. He does his best to chug his beer, letting some spill around the corners of his mouth and when done, he gives a spirited slam, putting the pint glass down on the counter. He wipes his mouth clean and grins, looking like a sunburned hairy tarzan in his speedo.

Irene's words has Kell arching a brow, especially when she tries to somehow pair up Timberwolves and Timberdon'ts, "That... doesn't even... nevermind." He realizes that it is futile to try to talk the two out of the bold plan of just going out the front door. Razor is also forced to speed drink his whiskey, something he really prefers not to do but when the choices are either to abandon his two wingmates or stay and sip at his drink, it's obvious which one he chooses. The whiskey is drained and a loud, long breath is released by Kell as he puts the empty glass on the counter. It does seem to help remove the Ensign's uncertainty, since their course is set now. "I'll go first." Since Irene is pretty intoxicated and poor Salvae is already lobster red.

It's dangerous to go alone. Irene tips back to last of the pink stuff in her glass and plucks the little sword shaped mixer from within. Thus armed and hammered, she swings her legs puts feet to floor and sticks her chin out. She's ready. Disregard how she has to grab hold of Kell's arm to keep from tipping over, she's got this! She absently plays it off with a pat of his bicep and then looks to Salvae. "Nobody's going to disrespect us and the teams we like." She tells him before biting the chunk of citrus off her sword. "Let's do this."

Salvae watches as Iris arms herself with a plastic sword and grins, "Gonna shankem outside the cove bar and grill? Damn, did they kick your dog or somethin?" he wonders. As Kell leads the charge, Salvae laments that they're leaving before the 'next round,' but he quickly catches up, he doesn't have any cubits to buy any booze for himself tonight!!

Kell slows slightly when Irene clings to his arm, glancing at her for a brief moment as if to ensure she has her feet and is not about to fall when he starts walking again. When she exclaims about the pyramid teams they like, Razor can only sigh and shake his head in resignation as he doesn't even like any teams, only to land squarely in the middle of whatever is about to happen. "We can always go to another bar, Socks, if we manage to disentangle ourselves from the group that is waiting for us." There is a little bit of hope in those words as he pushes the door open and steps outside to whatever is awaiting them.

So out the brave trio goes, into the long shadows of dusk, ready for battle against those foul knaves that apparently hate the Threshers, or something. Irene never really disclosed the exact reason the group of ruffians was radiating hate-waves at her... but it's about the Threshers? She is wearing the t-shirt. They must be dirty Stingers fans or something. They could ask them, if they were waiting outside for them. Unfortunately, they aren't. Off the patio, is just the normal crowds of tourists circulating from beach to boardwalk. So, hey! Victory for team Timberwolf. So far.

"Mudhens rule, Stingers drool!" Salvae proclaims as he steps out into the sandy outsides of the peaceful cove. And there he is, sunburned and near naked regaling the beachgoing public of how great a third tier pyramid team is now that they've broken a four year losing streak with a tie. You can take the Minotoan out of Minotoa, but.. He looks around, and doesn't see the gang of hooligans, just people on the patio sipping tangy rum drinks, staring at the trio of assholes at the entrance.

"Well, that was anti-climatizing," Salvae observes, the chugged beer going to his head after an afternoon of dehydrating himself on the beach.

When Kell steps outside, he was prepared for the worst. He wasn't expecting an immediate ambush or punch since the group wouldn't know when they were coming out. But he was waiting for a loud voice calling out at them, either with threats, slurs, or baiting words. However, all is quiet as Razor looks from his right to his left, a slight sigh of relief exhaled, "You don't see them, right Iris?" Maybe he was right to have a little bit of hope. Kell then looks to Salvae and laughs, "Another bar perhaps for something non-alcoholic, Socks? I'm partial to bottled water, as you probably know."

Irene starts laughing, the Mudhens, she can't help it. "Socks, no. Oh my gods." It takes her nearly a minute just to stop the giggles and be all semi-serious again. Wiping away a tear at the corner of her eye she steps into the street and looks down one way and then the other before shrugging. "I guess they ran away. I'm sorry." She's genuinely apologetic too, like she let them both down by not having a fight ready to go outside. "This is terrible. I was gonna show those Canceronians how to get punched in the face... I mean, punch them in the face so they learn stuff." Trailing off at that point, she looks from Kell to Salvae and back, almost as if she's forgotten what she was even doing out here.

"What? I love the Mudhens," Salvae says. Well, he doesn't know much about the hens, but going to their games is fun, though most fans don't remember much of what happens aside from who crashed who's truck into what on the way home afterwards, the team having a strangely passionate, yet at the same time, indifferent fan base, they just like to get together to party, and two cubit beers in the grand stands will do that for a saturday night. He follows along, and glances to Kell, "Aye, maybe a stop at the local to pick up a roadie, eh? I didn't see many bars round these parts."

Kell is almost at a loss at what to do with his two companions as Irene speaks of teaching others how to take a punch in the face and Salvae speaking of Mudhens. "Okay, you /both/ need water. Do we want to head back to the Air Wing house? We have water there." And lots of beer but that isn't mentioned since in Razor's mind, the last thing they should be drinking is more beer. The ruiner of fun.

"I love that you love the Mudhens." Is Irene's reply to that and despite all the talk of punching, she's right back to smiling again. She's not an angry drunk or a sad one, but a happy one that wants to pick fights. Definitely a woman of contrasts. A long loud breath is exhaled, betraying her continued disappointment in the lack of brawling, but she's not so belligerent as to ignore Kell's suggestions. "Let's go then. It's just I heard them talking about us, saying how we aren't any good. The Colonial Forces... but we are really good." Maybe not the most eloquent of arguments there, but she's going with it.

"Damned right! They're the best team in a thousand miles," Salvae says with an emphatic nod of his head. While technically true, that's mostly because of the vast distances between towns and cities in Promethea. The hens are quickly forgotten as he glances back to Kell, "Ah, you got digs nearby? I'll need to crash on your couch, I lost my keys and all that." He'd been billeted behind a security checkpoint, too. Good luck without an ID, Socks.

With the two actually agreeing to Kell's suggestion of returning to the Air Wing House, he definitely doesn't hesitate as he answers Salvae's question, "Not too far, a couple of blocks. And no, I can't carry the both of you there, I'm not a Gunner. There is an open couch for you, maybe even an extra bed, Socks." He now takes the lead again, setting a slow pace as he begins taking the path back to the temporary berthings. Razor does look towards Irene at his side, shaking his head, "Iris, if we have to tell people we're good to let them know we're good, then we're not very good. All we have to do is to show it, and that's all that matters." There is a pause before he adds, "The others could go suck on a lemon for all I care, drop them in the middle of Picon and see how quick they change their tunes when we need to save their asses.."

Irene loops arms with anyone that'll let her, both out of affection for her new best friends ever and because it helps with staying upright. "You are one very straight razor." She notes aloud of the Libran, not perjoritavely, exactly, more amused than not. "That's alright. Not everyone can be Socks." Nor can many people be like Wooly, who looks like somebody stuffed an angry goat into a man costume and set him loose. He's here to collect his pilot, it would seem. "Oh there's my ticket. See you guys at the ceremony!"

Salvae grins at Kell's offer of a couch that's only a couple blocks away. Walking down the streets barefoot is rough going. "Sounds like a plan, Stan," he nods his head, then he winces as Irene grabs his sunburned arm. He manages to not cry out, it's not like she was patting him on the lobster red back or anything. And there's Wooly the bully. "Eeeeh, Woooly!" he greets the ECO. "Got yer busdriver right here!" he says, handing Iris off to the grumpy ECo. "Alright, Razor, let's go find a home to crash into!"


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