2237-10-14 - Inter-Colonial Bonding

After a rough mission on the surface, a Caprican buys a Tauron drinks. The world doesn't end, though there is some tension between officer and grunts.

Date: 2237-10-14

Location: Crew Lounge

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 1487

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That's the thing about triage -- they usually deal with the worst wounds first, and if they can bandage you up and kick you out, they will. Good thing for Gage, since he has free beer to claim. His head is wrapped in a bandage, as is his right bicep, and his gait is largely even though there might be a little lilt as he progresses down the corridor and into the lounge. Motivation is a strong thing, and he casts about for that familiar Caprican head.

Geoff's wound was light enough that he didn't even need to go to medical. A dressing from a first aid kit was plenty. So he beats Gage to the bar, where he's already drinking something clear and fizzy. He looks over the man's way and upnods. "What are you drinking?"

There's no Tauron beer, even though the words might be on Gage's lips enough that he hesitates for a moment, gaze flickering towards Geoff's glass with a lift of brow -- and a wince. Bandage is tight. "Vodka, since you're buying." A querying glance checks that the Caprican still is, first.

"Vodka," Geoff repeats for the bartender's benefit. So it seems like he is. He nods to confirm. "Guess they think you're okay if they let you out, huh."

"If you can walk out under your own steam, you aint that badly injured," a maxim Gage can get behind, given he doesn't like to linger in sickbay. With a nod of thanks -- and a brief grimace -- he settles onto the stool next to Geoff. "Saw 'em buzzing over Wagner and Wetlake, though." Not Westlake.

"Yeah," Geoff agrees, drinking. He pauses, almost hesitating to ask, "You think they're gonna be okay?" Meanwhile, he pulls a pack of cigarettes from a pocket and fishes one out.

It takes a moment more for the bartender to set the glass of vodka on the table in front of the Tauron. Meanwhile, Gage is eyeing Geoff's packet of cigarettes, the flicker of his fingers silent request for one. Shit. Cigarettes and free drinks? What a day to be a alive with a head wound. "Figure so. Wagner's too much of a stubborn shit to die. And Wetlake," he maybe struggles a bit more to come up with something, "Eh. Seems an all right sort." For a Caprican goes unvoiced, given present company.

Geoff passes a cigarette over, lights his own, and then offers his lighter to Gage, saying nothing about it. "I don't know him that well," he says. "We haven't had enough leave lately for folks to get social."

"Plenty of games going on all the time," Gage flickers fingers towards the card tables. Apparently that counts as social enough, for him. "Ought to play with him. He aint that great." With a brief grin, before he accepts first cigarette and then lighter in turn, breathing in deeply then exhaling with the relief that can only come from a smoke long anticipated. "Probably something soon, if we ever get out of this shithole," the Tauron is not shy about his opinion on them being here, that's for sure.

"What, Triad?" Geoff asks. "Been awhile since I've played, I guess." He drags on his cigarette and exhales through his nose. "Where you think we'll go for that?" he asks. "I hope it's somewhere with, like, a city."

Now this earns interest, the Tauron even straightening. "You should definitely get in on a game." Gage is grinning, and even tips his glass in Geoff's direction in salute as he downs the contents in one hit. His voice is rough with the liquid as he gives a half shrug and responds: "Figure it'll be Scorpia again. Aint anywhere much safer. Except Gemenon." And he snorts -- because who would want to go there except the Gemenese? Even the Cylons aren't interested.

"I guess Scorpia's all right," Geoff allows. "I like the beach." He points at Gage's empty glass. "Have another," he encourages, and drains the remainder of his own. "You come get me the next time you wanna deal a hand."

Gage surely isn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Soon as Geoff makes the offer, he's gesturing towards the bartender for a refill, looking pleased. "Don't much mind the beach, either. Figure, one day, if I aint dead, might find a place on a beach somewhere and retire." With his many riches, what with the pay of a grunt. "Will," he promises, on the game of cards, as he inhales more smoke.

Geoff orders another drink, too. "That sounds pretty good," he agrees to Gage's retirement plan. "I don't think I can live anywhere that doesn't have a nightlife. Or anywhere that's frakkin' /brown/ or /gray/." Like much of the ship or like the canyon they just got shot up in. He pulls an ashtray over.

The Tauron doesn't imbibe the drink straight away, instead smoking thoughtfully, tapping ash into the tray when Geoff pulls it closer. Gage snorts, an amusement and agreement of Geoff's assessment. "Anywhere that's like a tin can," he gestures towards the walls around them as if in demonstration. "Somewhere with green trees. Not unbearably hot, like," a jerk of thumb that might indicate the planet below them. Or, given their trajectory, might not.

Geoff nods a little in approval. "Green trees would be good," he agrees, accepting his drink and starting it off with a sip. "I wanna see flowers sometimes. Birds and shit like that."

"Picon was a lot like that. But hot. And with things as big as your hand to bite you." So, that earns a so-so shake of Gage's hand by way of assessment, as he downs the second glass of vodka. He exhales, pleased, and brings the smoke to his lips again.

Geoff gives a little curl of his lip and a nod of agreement just before he has another drag. "I don't wanna get bit. I only really know city life. We didn't have trees or flowers so much but you didn't really get bit. I mean...not usually much." He frowns.

"I ever find a place like that, might even share it." Gage considers the Caprican through the smoke he's blowing. "But maybe not." Because Caprican, presumably, the Tauron grinning suddenly, unrepentant. "But hey, I appreciate the drinks, Courtois." And the smoke, indicated with the wave of his hand.

It's been a busy day in medical, but then... so many are during an active campaign. Sarita's finally off duty and free to do as she pleases. After a quick meal in the Mess, she's venturing to the crew lounge. The woman does spend a fair bit of downtime in the medical lounge, but once you want to be free of sickbay and its environs? That means seeking out other places to relax. She's stripped out of her duty jacket, but the slacks remain; clashing only marginally with the dual-tanks. She hasn't even let her hair down from its bun yet, though a number of wisps and strands have come free. The Captain is holding a mug in one hand and a book in the other as she walks in- the latter open and commanding most of her attention as she winds towards a couch.

"Share it, huh?" Geoff asks, one brow raising a little. He shrugs off the thanks, having another swallow of the clear, fizzy liquid. "Anyway, they'll owe us some paradise after this, right?"

"The location," Gage clarifies, with a furrow of brow as if to say, what else? He gives a snort for the latter, however. "They don't owe us shit. Don't fool yourself otherwise." He's contently smoking with Geoff at the bar, an empty glass in front of him.

Someone must have rearranged the couches since she last visited. Sarita continues reading, moving by memory... only to run right into the arm of one. She drops the book, but thankfully not the coffee. There's a sound of surprise from the woman as she finally looks up, staring in mute surprise as she's stymied by a piece of furniture. There's a sigh as she leans to scoop up the book, turning towards the voices. "Who doesn't owe us shit?"

Geoff shrugs, sucking on the cigarette rather than replying verbally to Gage's rejection of his opinion. "Brass, I guess," Geoff answers Sarita as she comes near. "But, I mean...not sure docs have the same problem."

There's a tensing from Gage, briefly, at the sudden query, a brief grimace before he draws on the cigarette and seems content to let Geoff answer that one. His gesture towards the bartender indicates his order of another drink and, after a moment, a gesture to Geoff's glass, too.

There's a long stare for Gage, but Sarita just takes a breath and looks past the man towards Geoff instead. "Maybe some, but I've got an officer's commission. I'm in the same boat as the rest of you. I just, fortunately, don't have to be the one getting shot at." She lifts her mug for a drink, making her way nearer the two marines. "But no, the brass doesn't owe us shit. Part of the joy of signing your life away."

Geoff looks at Sarita with an expression that can't help but be doubtful, as Lance Corporal to Captain and combatant to non-combatant. He drinks. "Maybe people will try to hire vets after the war, though."

There's an echo of the Caprican's expression in Gage's, too, though he hides it better, instead stamping out his cigarette and reaching for his newly refreshed drink. "Now that's frakking wishful thinking if I ever did hear it. Didn't realize you were an idealist, Courtois," he says, with a hint of amusement.

There's a look between the two of them and Sarita's lips thin into a line. "You know not all doctors sit around base hospitals or on ships, yes? I was with an embedded unit in the field before my assignment to the Wolves." She sounds annoyed, but it's masking something else that shows in her eyes an her motions, as she moves to set her book down on the bartop. Some romance novel. Plenty of those around the ship for trade or to borrow. "And I imagine you'd prefer your medicals staff capable of treating you than on the table themselves." Hurt, there's a bit of hurt in those words.

Geoff doesn't seem that offended by Gage's mockery. He drags on his cigarette and flicks ash into the tray. "I know it's bullshit," he replies. "I just wanted to see how it sounded to say it." He looks back at Sarita. "I didn't say anything," he says. "Give us a frakkin' break, we both /just/ got shot for frak's sake." Indeed, Gage's head is freshly bandaged, though Geoff doesn't look much the worse for wear. Not physically.

Now that earns a bark of laugh from the Tauron, and another little salute of his glass before Gage imbibes the entire contents of the glass. He, too, plays kind of dumb as to Sarita's sudden reaction. "Frak, Hargrave, aint anyone contesting shit's all around. But you're one of the brass, aint no talking like you aint just because you get your hands in people's guts."

"Yes. And who was it that tended to your wounds? Or did you all suddenly learn how to be doctors when the rest of us weren't looking?" Sarita lifts her mug, but hesitates as she looks to Gage. Her eyes narrow, just slightly. "If you want to look at it that way, Tomak, you are too. As an NCO, you hold certain rank and responsibilities. You have expectations on you. It may not be as much as, say, the Colonel, or even your Gunny, but you do. My rank means a grand total of jack and shit in the grand scheme of things. The most I can really do is order your asses to stay put and ground you from missions if necessary. I assure you, none of the upper echelons has or will ever ask my opinion on what commands to issue from on high."

"And take home Captain's pay," Geoff points out quietly over the rim of his glass. But he doesn't seem to have the energy to be any more obstreperous than that.

"Aint discounting what you done. Taking it awful personal, Hargrave," Gage says, levelly. "Weren't even directed at you." When she indicates he holds rank and responsibilities, he barks a laugh. "You think anyone gives a shit what I think? Frak, you think that, have I got a great piece of land to sell you on Aquaria." With a shake of head, and grimace, he pushes to his feet. "Thanks for the drink Courtois. Think I'm going to stick my head in a toilet or something." Because that's what you do when you have a head wound and, to judge by his actions down on planet, little sense of self-preservation left.

"I made more as a civilian surgeon," Sarita notes, dryly, to Geoff. "I volunteered for this. If you resent me so much for the pay, I'll gladly give you some of it the next time we're on leave." There's a look to Gage and her lips thin. "No one cares what I think either, Tomak. You've made that abundantly clear."

"I'm sure you did," Geoff says, then nods at Gage. And as he's finishing his drink he finds another appears as if by magic. Since Gage ordered it. So he raises that at Gage in appreciation. He looks back at Sarita. "Look, I'm not trying to piss you off. I get that doctors are important. I'm not saying your shit's easy. But it's different being a doctor and a grunt, that's all."

"I don't care," Gage agrees, "But I aint anybody. Just a shitkicker." When Hargrave offers her pay to Courtois, he snorts. "Drinks on you again next time," to the Caprican, as he strides away across the lounge.

"Oh, no, you're not pissing me off." Hurting her feelings, perhaps, but Sarita is still fairly even-keeled over all. Mostly. Something about Gage's departure seems to rather bother her. "Just reminding me that no one gives a frak about the medical team until they're dying. The rest of the time, you'd rather we not exist." She sets her coffee on the bar top an picks up the book instead. "I guess I just needed the reminder tonight."

Geoff is usually one to get more fiery over the course of an argument, but right now he just puts his elbows on the bar and sinks his face into both hands, pressing the palms flat. He's still holding his shortened cigarette between two fingers of his right hand.

Tapping the book against her leg, Sarita casts a look back towards the couches. "I'll stick to the lounge outside the barracks from now on. Hopefully that's acceptable." She does, after a second's hesitation, grab her coffee as well before turning to start for the exit.

Aldrich is just coming in to the lounge as Sarita starts for the exit. He's looking distracted these days, so he just about bumps into her, before doing the weird back-and-forth dance people do when they aren't sure which direction the other person is going. "Oh! Sorry..." He deliberately takes a long step to the side, out of the way, flustered.

Geoff rubs his face and then puts the cigarette back in his mouth for one last drag, staring at the bartop.

"No worries, padre," Sarita offers to Aldrich. She tries to smile, but there's not much heart to it. Instead, she just angles to the side a bit herself until the chaplain has figured out his bearings. There's a quick nod, then, before she continues on her way.

Aldrich smiles, uncertainly. He looks like he might say something else, possibly try to stop her, but then he just lifts his hand in an awkward wave. He moves on, and when he spots Geoff, he heads that direction to join his table.

Geoff drinks from his glass of something clear and fizzy, looking to Aldrich as he comes near. "Hey," he says. He extinguishes his cigarette.

Aldrich drops into a chair, glancing to Geoff's drink, but for now he just leans against the bar, himself. "Hey." After a beat, he volunteers, "Lyn has a two-day pass for herself and whoever she wants to bring with her, and she wants me to come with her to meet her mother." Random chaplain is random.

Geoff looks at Aldrich a moment. "You guys gonna get married or something?" he asks, rather to the point.

Aldrich blinks rapidly at that question. Apparently it hadn't occurred to him. "I don't know." Then, he grows a little concerned. "Do you think that's what she's thinking?"

Geoff shrugs in return. "The frak do I know?" he replies. "Just seems like it means things are serious when someone wants you to meet their mom."

Aldrich nods a little, brow furrowing a bit. "I mean, she just went through a very traumatic experience," he points out. "But we're not... not serious."

"Okay," Geoff answers. "I was just asking. I'm not trying to say I know your relationship better than you." He drinks. "But you should go, it'll be good."

Aldrich nods a little, "I should," he agrees. "I think she needs me to." He puts and arm on the table and leans, watching Geoff. "How're you doing? I don't think I ever thanked you for..." He waves his hand vaguely. "You're a good friend."

"I don't know," Geoff says. "I just got shot. A little. Some people on the patrol got it pretty bad. I don't feel that good, actually," he says, seeming to decide that rather abruptly. "I'm gonna go, sorry." He starts to get up.

Aldrich winces a bit, and doesn't try to stop Geoff. He does, however, offer, "Okay... Come by the chapel sometime before I leave, eh? You know, if you want to."

"Yeah, I'll see you," Geoff says, sounding distracted. It's hard to tell if he even fully processed the suggestion. He makes a beeline for the nearest exit.


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