Air Wing folk are enjoying the R&R in a bar by the boardwalk, and there's talk of plans for off-shore leave.
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 1540
The boardwalk is packed tonight -- the weather's been lovely all day and afternoon, and tourists are out in droves. So too, are Dauntless' compliment, visible by their off-duty uniforms -- although some are dressed casually, too. Alain's one of the latter, looking neat in his shirt and shorts, crisp and clean even after an afternoon of wear. His hair is still damp from an afternoon at the beach as he settles in at a table in one of the open-air bars jutting onto the boardwalk. There's a handful of other Dauntless folks around, apparently a common bar for the air wing to hang out at.
There was talk of going out drinking some months ago. It may have even been back on Picon. Something almost lost to memory, but regained as Astraea seeks out things other to do. Ways to distract herself from the bad memories and find something more uplifting and enjoyable. Spending time on the beach followed by drinks at an actual bar (rather than just the stash of rum she keeps on the ship)? Perfect. Her hair is carefully braided, though not in the same style she uses for under her helmet. This is more decorative, but suited to sea and sea air. She's not far behind Alain in settling at the table, having gone to get a pitcher of beer and some glasses. She drops into a seat near him, leaning to pour for each of them. One is slid over.
"I saw you're a stand-in for Thursday," she says, sounding mildly disappointed. "I hope you don't get called up for CAP so you can come to karaoke."
How long has it been since Ines actually had something resembling shore leave? Sure, there was that thing with the picnic and the orchard on Caprica, but they were still on a military base, with a curfew. The possibility of an extended pass to relax on the surface of anything that isn't a ball of insurgent-infested dust overrun with the VRM is practically mind-blowing by comparison. She has yet to make that request, but she's determined to spend the day figuring out how she'd spend such a luxury window of free time, and thus she's been wandering Argentum Bay for a couple of hours, imagining the possibilities.
It's hot, though. That's extra-true when you wear your fatigues even planet-side, albeit unbuttoned, untucked. Something cold to drink is called for. She stops just inside, swiping her sleeve across her forehead and letting her eyes adjust.
"I could swear Banshee was right behind us," Alain's saying, with a frown, as he glances along the boardwalk, out towards the beach. It doesn't last long though, as he leans back, running a hand through his hair to keep it neat. "Hey, there's--" he lifts a hand to try and catch Ines' attention. "Pour another one, would you, Nova?" he says, nodding his thanks as he reaches for the one she pushes towards him. The mention of karaoke earns a fleeting grimace, there and gone. "Actually, I've put in for leave. It hasn't been approved yet, but I'd like to go home, take a couple of days." Sagittaron has been difficult on all of them, but for Alain, there's plenty of memories -- few of which he talks about -- from his days as a ground-pounder.
Since it was a beach day (and Argentum Bay tends to be warm and hot), Astraea is in bikini top, shorts (presumably over the other half of the bikini) and sandals. She looks up as Alain points out Ines, grabbing a spare glass to pour another beer. It's nudge towards one of the open seats. Just waiting to be claimed. "They seem pretty lax on the 48-hour passes," she says, absently. "Maybe in apology for us not getting full leave." A week with being able to spend downtime planetside is almost as limiting as the base on Caprica. No late nights. No taking an adventuring tour through the jungle. At least they have afternoons like this.
"Well," she muses aloud, leaning back with her beer. "Before you go, I was hopin' you could do me a favor." There's a pause, but not too long for him to grow overly concerned. "I wanted to know more 'bout th' music I'm always hearin' over th' radio from your bird."
Dim shadows in a blessedly air-conditioned room. One of them waves. It'll be another ten seconds before Ines can tell who's doing the waving, but she gambles and starts weaving her way toward that table anyway. She's going to feel really stupid if it's some guy with a popped collar and poor judgement. But no: Jigger, and Nova. The quality of her smile is subtly relieved as she pulls the spare chair out and sinks into it, and widens into a fuller thing as the beer is slid her way. "Thanks!"
The humidity is playing havoc with more than just her wardrobe: on the Dauntless, or somewhere like dry Sagittaron, her hair is only very loosely wavy; here, it wants to run riot. She's coralled it into a ponytail, but it looks a little as though someone curling-ironed the puffy ass-end of an unhappy cat. While she sits and listens -- and sips -- she picks through it with her fingers, trying to untangle what the wind's made worse.
Brow up: "Yeah, what is it?"
"Do they? That's good news for getting approved, then," Alain sounds cheered by that, although it doesn't linger, given the topic. "After everything that went down -- I'm not surprised. We could all use a break to reorient ourselves." He's grimacing, briefly again, the motion almost entirely covered by the lift of beer to his lips, taking a brief sip. "Either of you planning to take leave?" he asks, gaze flickering from Astraea to Ines as she settles herself in. His brow rises at Astraea's request, expression becoming something bemused as she speaks, glance flickering to Ines and back with a brief awkwardness. "It isn't anything special. The Dauntless has some of it available, even. It's just... it reminds me of those long moments -- the spaces where we used to pray and contemplate, just be in the moment -- and it helps center me." Before battle, presumably.
"I haven't got anywhere to go," Astraea offers, simply enough when Alain asks if they're planning to take leave. "Mebbe spend a couple days by th' shore somewhere but I don't wanna go alone, so..." She shrugs. "I'll just stay on the ship." Being alone is something she's worked very hard to avoid since her capture. She lifts her beer for a quick drink, watching Jigger as he explains the music. "Well, can ya show me some of your favorites? Mebbe we can go by a shop when we're done here. Been meanin' to get some sorta music player anyway. I like what I've heard of it." She props a foot up on one of the unclaimed chairs. "S'that all you listen to?"
The little hitch in Alain's manner when he's questioned doesn't escape Ines, whose expression of curious interest shifts, turning equal parts amused and sympathetic. "It just looks special?" The balance of that look shifts a little bit more toward amusement: "You just look so...enthusiastic." She sets her glass down and (badly) mimics a few drumming gestures by way of explanation, then crinkles her nose, sinking back into her chair.
Astraea's first declaration gets a glance that lingers, but the look Ines is wearing is a difficult read. Careful, in a way that it isn't usually -- although, all things considered, she probably looks that way more around Astraea than anyone else in the Wolves. "I'll...probably be here." She's striving for a casual tone, clearly. "You know. Around the beach. I love the water." It's not quite an invitation, but it's obviously trying to be.
The Gemenese pilot takes a long gulp of his beer, studying the raptor pilot for a moment, but leaving that first statement alone, too. "I have them stored back on the ship," Alain says, readily. "Shouldn't be hard to find a player, either. Plenty of places along here," he gestures to the boardwalk, "Would have one." He gives a shake of his head, "I listen to a bit of Caprican music -- some of the operas, mostly -- but for the cockpit, it's all Gemenese," he doesn't seem apologetic about it in the least. Ines' mimicing of his drums earns a brief clearing of throat. "Hey, cockpit time is private time," he scolds, not-very-seriously, given he's grinning moments later. "I must confess, I have a growing fondness for Argentum Bay. Banshee and Walker and a few others always go surfing when we're here -- I started going with them about six months back. I'm still pretty rubbish compared to them, but I'm getting there. You should come out, early one morning," he invites Ines, easily. "Do you surf?"
"Well, I'll pick up a player an' you can give me a list of your favorites, yeah?" Astraea sounds hopeful, at least. "I mean, I'm sure there's lots of Gemenese music out there. I don't wanna frak up an' pick out garbage, y'know?" She tries for a smile, but it flickers and fades raher quickly. Especially as the invitation to Ines is extended in the wake of her own vague one to Nova. The Scorpian woman sits there a moment, unable to hide the awkward in her body language. She ultimately just picks up her beer to down a good third of the glass. "You should go with 'em," she says quickly and finally. "I've gone, but I usually just swim. My, ah- th' beaches where I grew up don't get enough waves for surfin'."
Ines widens her eyes and silently mouths the word 'oh,' slowly nodding a single time in the most exaggerated of ways, as Alain declares cockpit time private. "Of course. Sorry-sorry." She's not. Still, she manages to look amused only underneath that wide-eyed contrition as she reaches for her glass of beer. The question angled her way gets a short laugh and knit-browed shake of the head. "Never tried. We lived near mountains when I was younger. Snowboards and skiis, yes. No surfing."
One long sip later, she gestures with arch-browed interest at Astraea. "You've been surfing with them?" If she notices the awkwardness, it certainly doesn't show. "I think I would drown, trying to keep up. Aren't they, eh...professional?"
"You never know, Nova. One person's garbage is another's treasure. Music is very... personal, you know? What you like and don't is very specific to everyone. But definitely, I'll leave you a list. It's... probably not to everyone's tastes," Alain warns her, although he does so lightly. He lifts a hand as another Dauntless crew member wanders in, although the man -- part of the deck crew -- heads over to join some of his fellows at another table deeper in the bar. "The water's freezing at dawn," the Gemenese pilot admits, wryly. "But once you're out there, and the sun is rising over the waves, it's... something." He runs a hand down his shirt, to smooth out what's probably an invisible wrinkle. "I was absolute rubbish at first. Still am, by comparison. I've gone under more times than I care to count, but they haven't let me drown, so that's something." He's grinning, genuinely enthusiastic despite his words, "I'm sure they'd be happy to teach you if you were interested, Kestrel."
"I dunno that they're professionals," Astraea hedges in answer to Ines. "Good at it, but not professional. I've tried, but I ain't so good at it m'self an' I'm sure Banshee doesn't want me out there much anyhow. I'm fine just swimmin' an' stayin' near the shore." She still looks a touch uncomfortable, but tries to hide it by staring into her drink; cradled close to her torso. There is a smile for Alain when he agrees to share some music; small, but there. "Yeah, but I dunno where to start at all, y'know? I don't wanna spend days diggin' through all th' Gemenese music. An' I like what I've heard over comms, so I don't think I'd hate yours. I just think it'd be a good place to start is all."
"Dawn?" This time, the widening of Ines' eyes isn't manufactured for effect. The thought of waking up at dawn to go throw one's self into the freezing cold ocean leaves her genuinely aghast, jaw dropped. Her brows stitch together enough to print a shadow between them, and she's looking at Alain as though she might be a little bit concerned about his mental state. "Drowning is a risk I'm willing to take, but waking up early on leave..." The mere thought is enough to leave her visibly torn. She's viscerally drawn to the lure of new experiences...but...sleep. Precious, precious sleep. There's a glance at Astraea too, though the woman's closed off enough that it's unlikely there's anything to glean there about Nova's sleeping habits, or where surfing might factor in.
She subsides with these thoughts into silence again, considering the contents of her glass, and finally turning her eyes up to sweep through the interior of the venue, checking out the things stuck to the walls -- inevitable tourist-trap kitsch.
"I think they've just both been surfing all their lives. They grew up on Picon together," Alain explains. There's a flicker of something in the pilot's expression when Astraea mentions Banshee -- a brief tightness that passes a moment later as his gaze drops to the pitcher, reaching over to refill everyone's glasses, his own -- barely touched at that -- last. "Banshee would be fine with you being on the water, Nova," is all he says, after a moment's pause, tone deliberately light. It's awkward though, no getting past that, hence, presumably, the beer. Surfing talk is a welcome distraction: "Surfing is a harsh mistress," he admits, chuckling at Ines' reaction to such an early start. "Apparently that's when the best waves come in. Although I prefer the ones in the afternoon -- they're not as good, but better for my skill level. Ought to try it at least once, for the experience," he suggests.
Since the incident at Camp Thorpe, Astraea's sleeping habits can best be described as 'random.' She's been on some terrible shifts for a while, but their layover at Scorpia is helping things ease up a bit. It likely makes waking up so early easier. "Dawn ain't so bad if you don't have work an' all to do. Most of the first bit is just floating out to a good spot. It's kinda lazy at first, y'know?" She looks over to Alain as she holds out her glass for him to top off. "Mebbe," she answers at his assurance, though she doesn't sound convinced. There's a slight shift. "Perhaps we could -- th' three of us that is -- go one afternoon. So th' waves are easier for us," she gestures between herself and Alain, "an' it's not so early or intimidatin' for you?" That, to Kestrel. "I'm not great, but I know th' basics. I bet Jigs could help, too. Hell, could even start with body boards. They're good for gettin' th' basics of how to catch a wave."
Alain, Astraea, and Ines are sitting at a table in a bar, as one does. Or three do. Whatever. They're not the only people present from the Dauntless; there are others scattered at various tables, some in uniform and some wearing civvies, though most are from the Air Wing. Alain and Astraea seem to have been on the beach recently, or at least in water of some kind, but Ines is (probably unsurprisingly) wearing her greens, though unbuttoned and untucked. Her hair is practically a riot, barely-there waves agitated by the humidity until the ponytail she's put them into seems barely enough to control it.
She's lifting her glass in thanks after Alain refills it, and then flashing Nova a full, brilliant sort of smile. "I like that idea. And if it's very cold, or I'm very terrible, I'll just..." Turning her head, she gestures vaguely at the bar behind her. "Add a drink." It probably won't do much for the awfulness, but it'll help with the cold and make her care significantly less about being terrible.
"Oh, no," Alain looks a little alarmed at Astraea's suggestion. Or, perhaps more accurately, wary, holding hands up as if to ward off that plan. "I'm not good enough to help first timers. I don't even go out on my own, yet. Besides, it's much more fun in a group," he says, as he reaches for his beer, though he doesn't sip it yet. "As long as you're willing to wear the ribbing from washing out," is added wryly. And then, to Ines, kind of ruefully, "And definitely not after you've had beers. Before."
The key to a successful shore leave is to go hard, take no prisoners, and if accosted on the street outside a bar by a local speaking a language you don't understand, threaten to either hug them or start off a fight. It's hard to say if Irene is doing one or the other, arms spread wide to the guy that's just stepped on her heel and popped her foot right out of her shoe. It's either a come at me bro, or a let's be peaceful, my brother. There are some words between them. Kinda looks like the former, rather than the latter, but the Scorpian doesn't seem interested in actually having a brawl with an obviously crazy woman about half his size. He walks on with a dismissive gesture, she lowers her knife hands and spends a little while backtracking to find her lost shoe. It might be noted that she's in full off duty mode, garish sunglasses, neon touristy shirt, short shorts, big, big straw sunhat.
"What about body boardin'?" Astraea puts to Alain, tilting her head slightly. "Kids do that. An' I'm pretty sure I can help Kestrel along. That way she doesn't hafta wake up early an' we can come straight to the bar-" she agrees with him on this point, "after. It'd be a nice introduction to how to catch waves without th' sharp learnin' curve of surfin' itself." She removes her foot from the spare chair -- leaving it free for Irene; serendipity! -- and draws it in to perch her heel on the edge of her own seat instead. "Or, y'know..." but she trails off, either losing her train of thought or purposefully opting not to continue with it. No, her beer seems good enough. It's freshly refilled, but she still hasn't finished off a full glass yet.
"Oh...sure. After." Nodding. Yes. Ines would never do anything so reckless as to drink before she attempted to go surfing!
...She would, actually, and meant exactly that, but there's something about Alain's character that makes it feel uncharitable to antagonize his cautious nature, so: light, offhand backpedaling, spared the necessity of being convincing by the impossible-to-miss blaze of neon color that is Irene Harris in civvies, out in the glare of the Scorpian sun. She turns her head and leans to watch the unfolding almost-confrontation with one slooowly rising eyebrow. Whenever she finds that shoe of hers -- or doesn't; whichever -- Ines tries to catch her attention with a waving hand, eyes glittering with easy humor.
"Sounds like you've got that covered," Alain says, with a grin, at Astraea's suggestion. "Don't wait around for me, though. I'm going to be off to Gemenon soon as my leave's approved," he's completely unapologetic about that. Leave time is precious time! The glance he gives Ines is encouraging; completely oblivious to her intentions, yes. The younger pilot's wave draws his gaze -- not so difficult, given her colors -- to Irene. "I'll grab another glass," he says, already pushing up to head to the bar to grab three more. Because where there's a handful of pilots, there's inevitable, eventually, more.
Irene finds her shoe, slides her foot in carefully and takes a tenative step, only to discover she's broken an important strap. It's the one that keeps her foot in shoe, so, she stares a dagger at the back of the guy responsible and considers her options. Walking is going to be problematical, so maybe sitting would be the best option. Hey look, there's a bar full of chairs to sit on! Serendipity, indeed! She hobbles carefully in after spotting a welcome wave and plunks down in the spare chair. "These are almost brand new and that... guy! ... gives me a flat tire." She explains, because usually one does owe that when they immediately pull their shoes off and put the pair on the tabletop in front of them. "Oh my gaaaawds." She cries when she sees the extent of the damage, dropping her head to table and hugging the remains of her shoes to the top of her now smushed brimmed hat.
"Weren't you th' one just sayin' it's better in a crowd? You only get 48 hours of leave." Astraea's not trying to deny his home time! "Come with us on another day. We'll go out, then have lunch on th' beach or somethin'." Don't leave her alone with Ines! It's super awks at best. When Alain gets up for more glasses, she calls after: "Get another pitcher, too!" She watches Irene's approach with somewhat wide, uncertain eyes. "Uhm." Yep, that's the extent of what she has to offer. The Scorpian might be in a bikini, shorts, and sandals, but none are what one might call fashionable or expensive. Nope. She shops at the galaxy's Walmart equivalent.
Ines seems pretty preoccupied with Irene's footwear saga, to the extent that she appears to miss all of the remaining conversation about surfing or bodyboarding, or who is or is not attending. For her part, in spite of her endlessly uninspired commitment to wearing regulation clothing, she views the Virgan's approach with increasing amusement, tempered only by a sympathetic slant of her brows as the casualty of pedestrian war is plunked down on the tabletop.
Leaning forward, she reaches out and gets her fingertips on the strap of the broken shoe, pulling gently, like she wants to have a closer look if Irene can bear to let go of it. "It might not be unfixable."
Alain sets empty glasses on the table, along with another pitcher, and begins pouring more -- the first dutifully put in range of Irene, though not so much as to risk her knocking it over, given her current crises. He looks kind of awkwardly uncertain as to her mood, glancing towards the other two pilots as if they might have some insight. "Everything okay, Iris?" he asks, confusedly. He doesn't comprehend the horror of a newly-destroyed shoe, clearly. "Sure," he tells Astraea, with a hint of hesitation. "I mean, I thought maybe you'd want a girl's day out, or something." Except now it's even more awkward because he's said it aloud, reluctantly.
The shoes look fragile to begin with, so probably stupidly expensive. The ankle strap on the broken one is snapped right off. Irene releases it, too distraught by the loss. Of all the things to break. The cheap tourist shirt with the 'Beach, please' caption she could live without, the bright pink, mirrored sunglasses - sure, not so bad, but the shoes. "I'm sorry. I just need a sec to mourn. I'm okay, I'm okay." Just hyper-ventilating slightly. No worries! Slowly she drags her face to the edge of the table and sits up and back, lowering her shades as she does to pointedly look to the others, and not her shoes. It'd be too upsetting. "Hi. Thank you, Jigger." For the drink. She picks that up and sips, and sips and sips until she's catching some calm.
There's a slight face made for Jigger's assessment. "Ain't girl's days out about shoppin'?" There's a look over to the broken shoe and the other two pilots fussing over it. "No offense. Just never... been on one, so I assume." And as someone who grew up poor and has continued to live that way: shopping sprees are an unknown quantity. "Plus, if we wanna kick you out, we'll just go while you're seein' family." Astraea looks to Irene again as the other Raptor pilot begins to drink her woes away. Nova just goes for a drink of her own beer. She tries to find the right words, but fails, and instead looks back to the Gemenese pilot. "Think you could bring me back some like, children's books or somethin' in Gemenese? It'd be easier for me to learn from those, I bet."
Alain's distraught look gets a small smile from Ines, the corners of her mouth turned down as though she'd tried to suppress that expression and failed, but it's somehow reassuring. Don't stare too deeply into yon feminine mysteries, it says, even as she's drawing the delicate bit of footwear across the table to examine the damage.
"I won't sugar-coat it," she says, tone grave, the way she recalls doctors on medical soaps sounding. "It's bad. But modern cobbler...y..." Cobblery? Is that a word? Ines only hesitates for a moment. "...has come a long way. Don't give up hope, Ms. Harris. Your shoe needs you now more than ever."
It's very unlikely that this performance is disabusing Nova of her notions of what a girls' day out is, or how silly it might be, but Ines is unrepentant.
"I really wouldn't know," Alain admits, with a wry grin. Clearly Alain has no idea what trauma accompanies the loss of shoes. Although he does know the pain of a scuffed shoe, but that's about the extent of it. "Uh. Well, most children aren't taught Gemenese. It's a priest and scholar's language," he says. "I thought the notes I gave you would be enough. But I can ask about while I'm there," he replies to Astraea, thoughtfully. He sips his beer as the talk of shoe-repair progresses, glancing over to lift a hand again to another group by the bar, mostly flight deck crew. "I, uh, should go say hi. I owe some beer to some people." Bets lost, undoubtedly -- he has a habit of that. "Back soon." And then he's up and striding over towards the bar before heading to join the other group bearing drinks. Totally not bailing, no!
Irene takes off her hat and places it respectfully over her shoe, the live one, maybe so it can't see how bad its mate is now. Or she just wants to distract herself by fussing with her hair, which she does. Absently. "Thank you, Kes." she definitely appreciates the support in these most trying of times. There's a bit of silence from her after that, which she fills with more drinking and some listening as she tries to catch up on the conversation. When Alain excuses himself she waves politely, and the Gemenese childrens books earns Astraea a curious look, but she doesn't pry about that - yet. Eventually, when she's lowered her glass, she whispers an aside to Ines, "Sorry I barged in. I was just super distraught and forgot my manners."
There's nothing Ines can do for the shoe, so eventually she returns it, wiggling her fingers as Alain makes himself scarce and then hitching her shoulders up a little into a shrug for Irene. "I found them by accident, too." 'Them' is a vague word she defines with a loose gesture at the other two seats at the table. "We were talking about surfing. Ever been?" But more interesting than that, at least to her, is the question that follows, and she accompanies it with a quirk of the brow. "Going to take advantage of the forty-eight hour pass? Go home, or...?"
"Last time we were here. Wagner taught some of us... but I'm not very good. I mostly just floated around in the waves. Are you a pro?" Irene wonders aloud, lifting the brim of her hat so she can hide the returned shoe and not have to see it and get upset again. Best if it was just out of sight for now. As for the forty-eight hour pass question she sucks her bottom lip under for a thoughtful bite and rocks her head side to side like she's uncertain but leaning towards the negative. "Maybe? How about you two? You can come to Virgon with me and stay at my family's castle on the coast."
"That reminds me-" Astraea tries calling after Alain, but he's gone. Scoff. She'll have to ask later. The woman's attention shifts back to the other two at the table. "You could join us when we go body boarin'. I'm not a great surfer an' Kestrel's never been. It'll be easier, but it's a good intro. Jigger should join us." But she doesn't sound too confident and even a bit forlorn about that. When the question of leave is turned around, she squirms slightly. "Uh, I ain't got anywhere to go an'..." she can't quite figure out the words, but ultimately just shakes her head. "Sounds too rich for me." The Scorpian looks mildly embarrassed as she says it, downing a good bit of her beer.
Ines starts to shake her head when Irene asks her about her surfing experience, but Astraea gives the full answer, so she occupies her mouth with her glass instead, gradually chipping away at the contents. She's finally starting to cool off after an hour or two of wandering around the boardwalk, and it's making her languid, lazy. Enough so that the invitation gets a double-take, processed slowly. She looks, actually, like she might be thinking about saying 'yes,' which will make everything extremely awkward if it was a toss-off remark. "Your family and friends, they...wouldn't be put off by, ah." She's quiet a moment, tapping the nail of her index finger against her condensation-slicked glass. "You know. Everything with the CF...?"
"I was joking, Nova. It's more like a country manor? We have horses." Irene says with a smile that hints at an apology. There's a few nods for the body surfing though, definitely game for doing stupid things in the ocean. "We should surf, and make Jigger surf, and you should come to Virgon with me if you want. I promise we're not all raging bastards. My family and friends are really quite nice, I think. My grandparents are a bit scary, but not socially. So. Consider yourselves invited if you want some country air and fun and..." Yeah, all the Virgon stuff. She's going to drink now though.
The Scorpian still looks somewhat uncomfortable. Perhaps more so when Irene mentions horses. Astraea squirms, leaning for their table's pitcher to top off her beer. She drinks deep. "I, uh... Horses, kinda..." She looks quite uncertain: "...scare me." The two words are nigh muttered; perhaps in the hopes the other two women won't hear it. "No, I should... I mean, after what happened at Camp Thorpe, mebbe I should... y'know. Stay here."
Muttering does little to deter Ines' attention, obviously. "They're huge! Some of them are ornery." She says both of these things in understanding support of the Scorpian's wariness of horses. It's probably not something that Astraea needed to be supported about, but Ines has a full glass of beer in her now, and she's feeling supportive, obviously. "But I bunk with people who fit that description." She's not naming names! "If you can manage a marine," she pontificates, one finger up, "You can manage a horse." To gauge from her tone, this is exactly the same thing.
She's still perfectly steady when she pours herself another glass, but she is definitely pouring herself another glass, and glancing at her watch. "We can talk about it more tonight." Then she's pouring for them, too. It's a lot of beer. Alain isn't here anymore. "We've got to get ready for the thing soon. Remeber? That..." Pause. "Thing? Wolf thing?"
"Most of them are sweethearts, even if they look big and scary." Irene assures them both, either of horses or marines. "And I'm sure they aren't going to have photos of you at the spaceport so they can arrest you for a little tussle on another colony entirely. Impossible. Anyway, if you come with me, I'll abuse my powers of celebrity on your behalf so much, it'll be so great. Think about it!" She grins, but is down with leaving it for tonight at the party. "I need to find so much beer and get ready for that."