2237-07-28 - Outside the Gala

Priya and Amon skip the decadence of the gala, but not the drinks.

Date: 2237-07-28

Location: Hotel Resort

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 1296

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here was a bit of a break after the christening and awards ceremony to let the crew disperse and prepare for the ball. Now as the sun is just starting to dip down, the crew has reconvened - mixing with some old familiar faces from the Galactica - as the ball commences. After collecting a drink, and saying hello to a few of those old familiar faces, Priya slips out the back door still dressed in her dress blues. Strolling idly out of the building, she finds herself a bench with a bit of a view attached to it and takes a sip of her drink.

The bench is not empty of an occupant already. Slouched on the far end of it, partly in shadow as if trying to blend into the surroundings, is Amon. He looks like he might be farther into his glass than he really is, his dress uniform jacket already partially unbuttoned and his hair looking a little mussed up. Any damage he suffered during the attack on the Vanguard has more or less healed. He glances to his side as Priya sits down and grunts...which might be a hello. Of sorts.

The fact that there is already an occupant on the bench doesn't really deter Priya from dropping down on it. She answers that grunt with a hum and a sip of rather nice grain alcohol. "You're looking a peach, Raisa," she greets, draping an arm over the back of the bench. "Survival suits you."

"A peach?" Amon echoes in a low voice, lips twisting downwards skeptically as he side-eyes Priya. That's awfully complimentary sounding. "Yeah...Life hasn't gotten me yet, I guess." A beat. "Or you."

"Well, I could tell you that you're healing up well enough that it doesn't look like you took a hammer to the face, but..." Priya takes a swig of her drink. "Don't worry, Raisa. I'm not hitting on ya." She snorts and shakes her head. "Not for lack of trying to take as many toasters with me." She is silent for a moment before she asks. "Is it weird for you? Being back here?"

"But looking like I took a hammer to the face is part of my usual charm," Amon deadpans, sounding about as charming as said hammer. "Don't worry, Tarsis. I'd never think you were." He takes a drink, then snorts softly. "All of us." They're a pretty murderous bunch of machines, those cylons. He knocks back the rest of his drink. "No," he states, then reaches for the bottle sitting on the ground next to his leg and refills his glass. "Maybe a little."

"Yeah. But usually it's more of a brick," Priya replies, a crooked grin touching her mouth as she glances at him. It's a particular kind of charm. Lifting her glass, she knocks back the rest of it and waggles it at him when he refills his own glass. Gonna share? "That's good. I think we'd both be uncomfortable and I've done enough of fraking that this week." Her head tilts, hair for once swept back and pinned to not expose the shaved side of her head. It looks parade march appropriate and rather unlike her. "Being back on Tauron was frakking weird," she admits. "And this bit of Scorpia... always seems to peaceful."

"Thanks," Amon replies, low and dry. For the briefest moments it almost seems like he isn't going to share, but he refills Priya's glass after tapping it to get her to stop wiggling it first. "Uh," is all he says in response to her...hitting on too many people this week? He shakes his head. Well, at least she still looks appropriate. He barks a quiet laugh at Scorpia being described as 'peaceful'. "Said by someone who's never gotten away from the base."

The tap is enough to cause Priya to cause her wiggling, especially if it gets her more alcohol. She flashes him another crooked smile at the refill. Lifting her brows to take a sip, she doesn't elaborate on her frak-ups of the week. Blinking at the laugh, she tips her head at him. "I haven't. No. So what's it really look like - past all... this." Beachy-beauty. "I've heard of the fighting."

She doesn't tell and he doesn't pry. Both glasses refilled, the bottle is set on the ground again. "I would've thought a Tauron would be familiar with what it looks like when families go to war against each other," Amon says, using the term 'family' a bit loosely.

Frowning Priya takes a sip of her drink at that comment. "Enough," is all that she says. "We weren't... really much involved in a lot of that. The families had a hand, but far enough out in the country. Less... of interest." She sips again. "Biggest concern was often who was going to try to take the planet net. Never thought it'd be the fraking farm equipment."

"Seems like everyone's been involved in fighting here, one way or another. Small, big...makes a great place to recruit for the military, I guess," Amon says, shrugging as if he hasn't given it much through. He takes a long drink, staring hollowly into the distance. Or into the past. "No one did," he says, low and quiet.

"Is that why they build the ships here?" Priya asks, honest question in her voice. Stretching out her legs, she hooks one foot over the other and takes another drink. "<<No.>>" Licking her lips, she repeats, "No."

"I have no idea. Maybe." A bastion of history knowledge, Amon is not. He takes a breath and heaves a heavy sigh. "Worked out for us, I guess," he murmurs like someone grudging about how lucky they really are. "Weren't so many of them here when..." You know.

"You worked on them here. Didn't you?" Priya recalls... something like that. "Better than us at least." She drinks.

"Yeah," Amon says, a long silence following. "I was here." Here when the cylons turned on them all. "Yeah."

"Frak." Priya mutters, tipping her head back to look up at the stars. She waits for a long beat then wonders, "You seen the new birds yet?"

"Yeah," Amon says simply again. Okay, maybe he undersold how weird it is being back here. "Had to take a look at them. Remember them as they were for when you all ruin them again."

"Technically," Priya says, sitting up a little to point at Amon, slurring the word. "Technically...it's the toasters that ruin them. When it's us we usually die."

Amon wrinkles his nose, leaning away from the finger pointed at him like it's a lot closer than it really is. "Dodge better," he advises before taking a drink. "Or whatever it is you do." Like he doesn't know.

The finger just might - just might - wiggle a little closer to Amon's nose tip. Priya snorts. "That's not my job. And I have many jobs. You know." She frowns taking a sip of her drink. "Electronic Counter measures. Shooting things. I'm alright. I do tattoos. Too. Sometimes."

Ugh. Pointing is rude, Priya. "You mean other than being a pain in the ass," Amon wonders rhetorically. "I don't think the tattoos are part of the job."

"That's just the part of me you like, Raisa," Priya points out, knocking back the rest of her drink. "Depends. The wing and the marines like 'em well enough. You want one?"

"That's just what you tell yourself every time you tape a cup-holder to one of the birds," Amon grumbles, rolling his empty glass between his palms. He snorts, a little bit of a laugh, a little dismissive. "For what?"

"They should have come with cup-holders." Obviously. Despite the fact it'd be impossible to use one while wearing a helmet. "I dunno," Priya says, rising slowly with a glance down at him. "But if you think of something. I'll do it." She tips her head at him. "Thanks for the drink."

"Be sure to put that in the suggestion box." There is no suggestion box. Amon says nothing for a moment, just refills his own glass as Priya stands. "You're welcome," he murmurs before taking a drink.


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