2237-11-24 - Two Rules

Two off-duty Wolves drink, smoke, and find they have something in common: performance.

Date: 2237-11-24

Location: The Ship and Castle

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 1588

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The joys of being on base. You finish your shift and don't have to be in at the asscrack of dawn? You can take a jaunt into town. Yelena's making her first trip into Conway and of course the Tauran has found herself in the pub. It's not like Conway is very big and the pub is the sort that would lure a woman like her in. The Lieutenant is snuggled deep into one of the Timber Wolf-branded bomber jackets, collar drawn up around her neck. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail and she's dressed down in BDUs. She'd almost pass for a marine... maybe. She lacks the grizzled countenance and certainly the build. No, Yelena Reznik is somewhat else altogether. The woman is not refined as many doctors may be, but she'd also last all of five minutes in a firefight- if that. She makes her way up to the bar, leaning against its wood-and-leather surface with a brush of fingertips drawn across it in satisfaction. Oh, she approves. As the bartender makes his way down to her, she looks up. "What'cha got?"

There's not a lot of people in yet, but there's a few pockets of Wolves and locals gathered. It's a quiet, sleepy... and cold place, yes.

Geoff has been taking a lot of advantage of the opportunity to take these jaunts. And this being the place where the most human beings and liquor are gathered, this is the place that Geoff wants to be. He's smoking a cigarette and drinking something clear and fizzy, the bartender just moving away from him to go serve Yelena. So Geoff looks her way. "They've got everything regular plus local rotgut," he says helpfully. "If you're gonna take my conversation partner then you have to talk to me. It's the law." He's definitely already had a few.

"Bit sad if the man tending bar is your conversation partner," Yelena points out with a wry smirk. If her accent didn't make her origins obvious enough, the Ha'la'tha sun on her hand and the tic marks of a year in service on the side of her neck as she turns down the collar of her coat probably do. Once she's got a few beer options listed out, she finally goes for one of those 'old standbys' known throughout the colonies. She doesn't know Piconese beers well enough to be adventurous. The woman leans her elbows on the bar, dropping fingers in the space left between torso and wood. She looks over to Geoff and beyond him to the other gatherings hither and yon. "Didn't have anyone to drag down here with you?"

"Not my fault if everyone else can't hang," Geoff says, dragging on his cigarette as he eyes Yelena. "People at a hick place like this are not ready yet to pick up what I lay down, trust me," he says. "But maybe if we don't zoom off too fast, I'll have time for a solo show." He squints. "I forget, have we met?"

Before her beer is set down, Yelena points at Geoff's cigarette: "You got another of those?" She nods to the 'tender once her glass is delivered, unfurling her arms to remove her jacket. Beneath she's got on the long-sleeve version of the gray shirt that goes beneath the brown tank. It fits her frame a bit loosely. She takes hold of her beer, drinking deep. She shakes her head as she swallows to initially answer Geoff's question. "Doubt it, 'less you were Legion and I stitched you up at some point in the last year. Or, same on the Kratos." You see so many bodies as a doctor. "They transferred me to the Wolves just this past layover."

There's a beat before she has to ask: "Solo show?"

Geoff takes out his pack of cigarettes and lighter and puts them down on the bar so Yelena can help herself. "I've been Wolves the whole time he says, and drinks from his clear drink. "Wait, wait. Maybe I heard you wrong," he says. Not that it's loud in here, but he's definitely drunk. "Never mind. You're skinny, what are you a pilot?" A moment's thought and processing comes back. "No, wait. Frakkin' doctor. Right, right, right. I always fight with doctors."

Taking up the pack, Yelena shakes out a cigarette and lights it. After a long drag, she slides pack and lighter back over before taking her drink back up. It's a balancing act of smoke and drink, but a pleasing one and a good way to wind down. "No, no pilot." She snorts faintly. There's an arch of brow. "Fight with or-" There's a laugh as she lifts her beer for a good drink. "Mmm-" she utters, into the glass. "Marines argue with doctors, it's the way of things. And I refuse morpha until you shut the frak up and let me do my job. Cats, dogs, oil, water. What the frak else do you want?"

Geoff pockets his items. "Doctors don't fight," he says. "They let the frakkin /preacher/ fight for some dumbass reason, but doctors don't fight, not in the Wolves anyway." He juggles cigarette and drink quite naturally. "Nothin' else," he agrees, and there doesn't seem to be much animosity in him for all he says he has a habit of arguing with doctors. "Beefs I usually get in with doctors are, one,' he sticks out a thumb, "Smoking, which obviously you're not gonna give me shit about, and two," he sticks out a forefinger, "Doctors trying to act like officers and enlisted is the same thing which it's obviously frakkin' not so if we don't get into that shit then maybe no problem."

"Was gonna say- I don't fight. Didn't in the Legion and didn't plan to start anytime soon, but the Wolves are... different than what I'm used to." Yelena looks to her beer, half-gone already. She seems a natural with her two vices, too. There's no sense of 'college girl out for a fun weekend,' but more a woman who does this on the regular to escape and relax. When Geoff lays down his difficulties with doctors, Reznik looks over at him for a long moment. "You ever consider part of the problem is the Wolves? I'm still... wrapping my head around the bunk arrangements. In the Legion and on the Kratos, all us doctors berthed together. Here it's a free-for-all. I don't think we're the same, but... we're gotta figure out how to work together at least."

"I don't know anything but the Wolves," Geoff says. "I was with 'em before they /were/ the wolves. Only had basic on Caprica." He drags on his cigarette and squints at Yelena. "I got no problem working together," he says. "Just those two things. Doctors saved my life. I get it. That you're important and all."

"Gotcha. Well, ain't gonna fuss at you 'bout cigarettes, alcohol, or hell- even food. Eat whatever you want. Probably gonna be a toaster that kills you, so might as well enjoy yourself until then, right?" Yelena's about as fatalist a doctor you'll find. Or maybe not. Wartime brings them out. She takes another long drag on her cigarette before reaching out to pull an ashtray between herself and Geoff, ashing the thing. She taps it out, gently. "I won't frak with your guns and shit. You don't frak with my medbay. Yeah?"

When Yelena suggests that Geoff will die at the hands of a Cylon, he flashes her a big, delighted smile. "Exactly what I think," he agrees with her point, nodding and punctuating with a drink. "And believe me, I don't want to go back in the med bay anytime I don't have to."

Lifting her glass, Yelena drains the rest of it and slides it to where the man tending the bar can see it. She taps the edge to signal her need for a refill. "No one wants to be there, but that's how that shit works." While she waits for more of the amber, alcoholic liquid, she finishes off the cigarette. The butt is stubbed out in the ash tray. She leans back on her barstool, boots hooked in a lower rung. "So you never answered me earlier. Solo show?"

"I thought you said something else," Geoff reiterates, drinking off the last of his drink too, so the bartender can refill them on the same trip. "I've been, like, trying to get into performing? I guess like...more seriously since I got blown up." He lets out a short, loud laugh. "Which is like...the stupidest time you could pick, right? Trying to do this shit at the end of the universe..."

"Ah!" Now that there's some understanding. Yelena nods slowly, waiting for her own beer to be refilled. Once she has it, she sips off the foam. The woman settles back. "I used to perform," she says, quietly. "Years ago. Before..." she blinks once, twice. There's another drink and a small cluck of tongue. "Well, before I went to medical school, I was in ballet."

Geoff looks Yelena over again with renewed interest. "Really?" he asks. "I didn't, like...train right, you know, like you're supposed to from a kid? For that kind of stuff. But I dated someone who was a dancer and I learned some stuff from that. We worked on this cruise ship one time for a few months, you know? Dancing with old ladies and doing shows?"

There's a bark of laughter from Yelena; sudden, unbidden, but she covers it as soon as it happens with the back of her hand. "Sorry, the-" She clears her throat. "Sorry, the imagery. That was bad of me." The woman takes a long drink. "Nothing wrong with that. Anyone can learn. Yeah, uh, as a kid. Through my teens. I tried to keep it up in college, but med school is frakkin' hard. And then the war started and..." She shrugs. "Now it's just sorta what I do for exercise, I guess."

Geoff just smiles at Yelena. "It's the job," he says. "Old ladies aren't so bad. Least when they tip. Stingy old ladies are the frakkin' worst though. You wouldn't believe it, but they can get handsy, too." He realizes he's been refilled and drinks. "Do you want to meet sometime? To practice? I mean, like...I don't really know ballet but maybe there's some way I could help."

"Oh, I believe it." On the subject of old ladies being handsy. Yelena takes a long drink of her beer. She considers Geoff's offer, looking thoughtful. "Sure, why not. I could use a workout partner. There's stretches that are easier with someone else." The woman leans on the bar slightly, shrugging. "And there's a lot that... crosses over, y'know? At least with the stretching and strength exercises. I know other styles of dance, too, not just ballet, it was just... y'know. What I preferred."


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