ALT #342: Atia's Wetting Down
Atia's Wetting Down
Summary: The Air Wing Celebrate Atalanta's recent promotion
Date: 14/12/2013 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: None
Warren Atalanta Phin Holtz Jason Skyler Darius West Quorra 
Checkpoint Charlies's
The first structure completed on Piraeus was a 'recreation center' that was thinly veiled as such. Checkpoint Charlie's is in every other way a blue collar bar with an unsurprising bent towards the military establishment. Camouflage netting hangs from the ceiling with some kind of dried vine tangled throughout. On the walls are pictures and mementos of times past on the planet they currently reside on. There are a few billiards tables smuggled out to Piraeus specifically for this location, along with card tables and an fully functional line of taps and kegs mounted to, perhaps unsurprisingly, a beat-up but taken-care-of oak bar. The matching stools and wood tables seem to indicate that the construction workers may have disassembled someone else's bar back on the Colonies. The story even goes that the name is taken from a former bar on Aerilon that happened to resemble, very closely, this particular establishment.
AWD #342 12/14/2005

Not one to be late to her own celebration, Franklin has already arrived and parked herself at a corner table currently filled with several pilots from the Rubaul. Their glasses are already half empty and the CAG, perhaps to everyone's surprise, is already turning a bit pink — though it's hard to say whether she's a bit in her cups or blushing at the story being told by a rather stout looking redhead at her elbow, whose hands are gesticulating animatedly as she announces, "And so she looks the poor kid in the eye and she tells him, "The winner isn't the one who lasts the longest; it's the one who doesn't get caught!""

Holtz strolls into Charlie's, wearing his usual civilian getup: jeans, black t-shirt, and his old patch- and pin-laden bomber jacket. His expression is relaxed, though one brow does peak slightly when he notices the group of pilots already clustered around Orion's CAG, merrily laughing and drinking. "Started the party without us, did you?" he asks with mock severity, checking behind him to see if any of Orion's other pilots have entered yet. "I'm devastated." Not too devastated to order a drink, though. "Ambrosia sour," he says with a gesture to the bartender as he pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

Phin tries to position his arrival at a time when there's at least a chance a crowd he can blend with has gathered. He still can't really manage to be late, though. He's dressed down in civvies as well. Long-sleeved dark blue shirt and jeans, dog tags hanging down the front still marking him as government property. He offers a general "Hey" around as he heads to the bar, leaning into a piece of it not far from Holtz. The CAG and the group of unfamiliar pilots she's with get an inclination of his head, before he orders, "Can I get a beer, please?"

Warren slides into charlies, jeans shirt, leather jacket. You know, the stuff that pilots are 'required' to wear when off duty. The only thing he's missing are the aviators but hey who's perfect. He grins when he sees who's at Atia's table and throws up a hand in a wave to some of the Rabulites there before heading to towards the bar to get a drink real quick, "Beer me" Theres a nod towards Holtz and Phin, "Storm, Dolly"

Stepping in not too far after Phin, Jason looks around as he stops just inside the door now. Like the others, dressed in civilian clothing, it would seem that his hat is left at home today, though. Stepping over towards the bar as well, steps a bit slow now.
It's not often Skyler bothers with civvies; she hasn't got much by way of them. Still, the woman manages to scrounge up something every so often and today it's jeans and a top that fit well, but in that comfortable, broken-in sort of way. No tailoring or anything of the sort; just a casual comfort. The shirt bears the name of a Virgon Pyramid team; a sparse remnant from a home long gone. She's not too far behind Jason and when he gets up to the bar, she'll prop a hand on his shoulder and lean in to make her order: beer.

On the other hand, poor Darius probably is going to get teased for his clothes, he is after all, a hayseed from the boonies of Virgon and is wearing a yellow plaid shirt, and brown overalls and brown boots. All he needs is a straw hat on his head to complete the ensemble, and someone needs to take this boy shopping. He walks in, not even realizing that he's already the butt of jokes by people in the bar and heads over to his squadron mates and has a huge excited grin on his features as he says, "Hey guys! Am I late? Has the party started already? Where's the food? Oh! And cake! We can't forget to have cake!"

There's a few chortles and at least one cackle from Franklin's table, before she twists her head in the direction of familiar voices and the cold air that comes through the door with them. Apparently, there must've been some sort of dress code for the day, because she, too, is wearing the pilot's civilian uniform — jeans, a fitted white t-shirt, and her bomber jacket, complete with duty patches and all. She, however, does have a pair of aviators perched atop her head and the clatter to the floor as she cranes her head to shoot a smile to the new arrivals. It is, needless to say, more than a little off-putting to see the woman dressed down. And acting like a human being, no less. "I'm sure you'll survive the wound, Holtz. It's not like it's the first shot I've seen you take," she says, scathingly. There's a quick upnod to Warren as he strides in and tosses them a wave.

The jeans-and-jacket combo is likely Holtz's only surviving civilian outfit. It's not like he had much to his name before he returned to the Fleet, and not as if he had many opportunities to wear something besides a uniform after. The jacket bears his name and flight wings on a leather patch on the right breast, and a multitude of unit patches and rank pins, both green and gold, are arranged across the jacket's leather. At Atia's retort, he places a hand over his heart and mimes being shot. "And it won't be the last, Colonel, sir," he replies dryly, cheerfully tossing off a rude gesture before accepting his drink and lighting a cigarette. A brow creeps upwards again, this time at Darius' entry. "Cake?" he asks Darius, a slight mocking edge in his tone as the ensign bounds over. He can't help it, really. For an old, cynical type like Holtz, such unbridled enthusiasm makes for an easy target. "I didn't know it was someone's birthday."

"Hey, guys." Phin aims the greeting toward the pilots filing in. Darius' clothes might get a blink, but he's not the sort to be too concerned about fashion. He does chuckle at the question, though. "I don't know if we get cake. The booze selection isn't bad, though." Skyler's shirt gets a broader grin. "Nice. I almost wore my Silverstars shirt tonight. I figured I'd give it a rest, though." The banter makes him shift a look between Atalanta and Holtz, but all he adds to it is a formal, "Congratulations, Lieutenant Colonel."

Beers, Ambrosia Sours…The bartenders working the drinks out and Warren grabs his when it arrives. He gives a nod to the 'tender and those about him before he's heading over to Franklin's table. "Well look who it is," he says as he slaps the back of one of the other pilots from the Rubaul, "You know this drinking aint going to help you shoot any straighter" He chuckles with him a moment before giving a nod over towards Atia, "And there she is…"

Darius blinks at Holtz, not fazed in the least, and he tilts his head and says, "Well, of course! It's a momentous occassion! Being promoted is always something special and should always be celebrated with cake!" He takes Atla's hand and pumps it, "I said it earlier in the Sim room, but CONGRATS! You deserve it, and I KNOW you'll be just as great in your new rank as you were before!" He moves to get a glass of something only mildly alcoholic and takes a sip as he winks at Phin, "I think I'll leave the booze, one of us is going to have to stay relatively sober tonight."

West arrives from the Living Complex.

"Ohhh, for frak's sake," she blurts out. The word "frak" coated with her prim and proper upper-crust Caprica City accent is practically a joke unto itself. It'd be like hearing Virgon's Queen Mum blurt out something about Aphrodite's left tit after tripping on live television. "We've got tomorrow and the rest of the apocalypse to bother with all of that. Franklin is perfectly fine for one night." Still, even as she's trying to dispense with the titles, not all of the authority and formality can be erased from her tone. Not quite. She laughs at Darius, the sound still just a bit stiff, but without bothering to hide her amusement at his exuberance at all. "Thank you, Helios. That's quite kind of you."

Jason pauses at the hand to his shoulder, turning as he sees who it is, offering a smile. "Hey," he offers, before he laces his own order now, and offers a grin to the others at the bar. "Looks like it'll be quite a nice time," he remarks, before he looks to Warren again as the man speaks with the Rubaul pilot. "Ah, come on, have you seen him shoot? Booze can only improve that."

Captain and Dr. West are well-known for not missing a party, and so they show up together, the former having thrown on his greens in order to come down after finishing up one of the many miriad engineering department tasks that occupy his days. He has a wrapped cylinder of some sort under his arm, as well, and the stem of his pipe pokes out of one of the pockets of his fatigues. "I don't know if you were there when we got around to it during the triad game, Quorra, but did you know Colonel Franklin is another fleet legacy?" he's mentioning, as they enter.

"Frak you Smythe you son of a bitch," says the man who Warren slapped on the back earlier as they both chuckle. He grins and punches Warrens arm, "Don't make me take you to school in the sims," the man glances over to Atia still chuckling, "You still let this joker fly?"

"Hey now who's the one who schooled you last time Ryan?" Warren says with a laugh and a shake of his head, "Frak you remember the time Jenkins got drunk and swore he could take all of us?" Theres a smirk and a shake of his head, "Oh and did I ever tell you the story about Franklin here as a nugget?"

Phin shrugs to Darius. He doesn't comment on sobriety though, given the way he starts sipping his beer when it arrives, he's not speeding to get messed up too soon. Atalanta's swearing earns a blink. "Umm, sorry. OK, Franklin." See? He can do it. He chuckles at Jason's comment, and the banter between Warren and the Rubaul jock. And settles in for stories.

"Fleet legacy?" Quorra West is also wearing her greens, though the sciences officer has actually put on make-up and given her hair more attention with a stylish up-do she'd never employ for on-duty time. A gleaming pair of gold earrings add a festive touch as well. Her demeanor is easy-going and relaxed as she enters Charlie's with her husband.

Atalanta gives Jason a wry smile, before turning it on Ryan and the rest of the Rubaul table. It's an expression that she wears much more easily with them than she has with the Orion's pilot, though it may not be hard to determine why — she's known them longer, and was lower in rank then. "Let him fly? Are you kidding? The man's got Captain's pins now. I don't know what idiot gave them to him. Frankly, I still suspect Smythe slipped into supply, stole a pair, put them on his uniform, and hoped no one would notice." At that, she shoots Warren a sidelong glance. Clearly, if they turn the topic to whether or not she still lets Warren fly she may — may — be able to just barrel forward in the conversation, without stopping to take a detour at whatever embarassing story it is the man intends to tell. After all, if he's going to give her a hard time, turnabout is only fair play.

Darius smiles brilliantly at Atia, not minding the least the nickname, it's no better or worse than his callsign after all. He leans against the bar, giving everyone a grin and settles in for storytime, looking on in excited anticipation of miracle shots, seat-of-your-pants maneuvers and ribald adventures.

Holtz utters a snorting laugh at Atia's sudden outburst as he relocates himself to a seat near the Rubaul table. "I think that idiot was me," he interjects with a smirk, leaning against the bar as he takes a long pull from his bright green drink. "But what's done is done, yeah? Please, Captain, by all means continue!" He's clearly entertained by the prospect of hearing an embarrassing story about the CAG.

"Yes, a family with generations of service to the Fleet." West explains, as he and his wife make their way towards the subject of the party. "Anyway, I suppose we should say hello and then get a drink, because… well, hell, I want a drink." He grins a bit, causing his scar to curl and tug up one corner of his lip. "Colonel!" he says, "Congratulations. Did they drop your pips in the glass yet?"

"HA! If you're just going to leave them out there you never know what idiot's going to put them on," Ryan says with a laugh before taking a swig of his beer.

"Well its not my fault, the door was unlocked and they were just sitting there," Warren says before nudging Ryan and stage whispering, "Woulda gone for Major but think they would have gotten a little suspicious there." Theres a grin as he raises his beer towards Atia with a grin before taking a swig, and a chuckle towards Holtz, "Oh yes right Franklin as a nugget. Now I wasn't there but…She was on her first assignment, fresh nugget, one of her first missions. She takes off and she's hearing this rattling all over the hull. Everythings good but, keeps rattling and vibrating all over the place. She panics, and calls out KRYPTER KRYPTER KRYPTER thinking somethings wrong. Has to be right? Whole things vibrating, rattling sounds. So she gets cleared, heads down for a landing…" He pauses a moment taking a sip, and glancing at Atia trying not to grin or bust out laughing too hard, "And she lands yeah. Nothings wrong, she just got part of her harness caught outside of the canopy and thats what was causing all the racket."

Phin sees West and Quorra heading toward the general drinking area, raising a hand to semi-wave and offering a friendly enough, "Hey." Mostly, though, he's quiet as he listens to the story. He stays on the outskirts of the Rubaul table, for his part, but close enough where he can hear. It gets a laugh, but also a sympathetic wince.

Jason smiles as he listens to the others, staying relatively silent as he sips his beer now. Paying attention to what's being said, but aside from that, not saying anything himself at the moment.

"Drop her pips in the glass?" Quorra blushes, feeling like a parrot of the engineering officer. "I'll never be caught up on military culture, will I?" She seems to be poking fun at herself for she smiles warmly when she says it. A hand is lifted in return wave to Phin and then Quorra turns her attention to the newly-promoted CAG. "Congratulations, Colonel. You've earned it, I'm sure!"

There's a soft groan from Franklin, who immediately puts one of her hands over her face. "Gods, you should've heard the knuckledraggers. For months afterwards, one of them would come over to personally strap me into my seat, grinning all the while. Chief's orders, you know. I think they finally stopped a few months before Smythe was assigned to the Axiom with me," she says, sighing with the sort of mild embarrassment that suggests she has no idea what ass told him that story…
Fortunately, West provides the CAG with an excellent distraction. "No, no, we haven't. Not yet." It's a short-lived distraction, though, as the stout redhead at her arm, the one with the suddenly dangerous and daring grin announces, "Ohh, that's nothing. Get enough scotch in her and she'll tell you all about the time she hurled on her instructor's shoes." And probably will regret telling the tale in the morning, judging by the look slowly dawning on Atalanta's face. Angry mothers and scolding librarians have nothing on this look. This is a look that firebreathing dragons make. For her part, Gilligan only grins that much more.

Holtz, for his part, doesn't look quite as welcoming as Phin. He eyes the newcomers with a skeptical expression, seeing the lack of wings on their uniforms. But then he turns back to the table and takes a drag from his cigarette, smoke shooting from his nostrils as he laughs at Warren's punchline. Unlike Phin, though, there's not much sympathy in his laugh or his expression. "Nugget mistake," he snorts.

West chuckles a little bit, and explains, "Some places, it's common that when someone is promoted, the new rank insignia are dropped in the bottom of the largest available drinking glass and the newly promoted must drain the glass to get the new insignia." He scratches his chin and says, "Of course, in the Picon Navy, when enlisted men used to wear rank insignia on the upper arm, the tradition was to 'tack' it on. Your shipmates would hold the new one in place and punch you in it a few times…" He clears his throat, and then grins at the CAG, "Congratulations again. And I'm glad we didn't miss it. Here, I decided this would be an appropriate use for my winnings from the other night." He hands over the wrapped item.

"How's it going, Lieutenants West?" Phin asks the engineer and scientist. He seems inclined enough to make small talk with the non-Wings. It's an excuse to turn any trace of a grin away from Atalanta's general glaring vicinity, at least.

"He's a captain," Quorra elbows her husband and grins as they come within conversational distance of Phin. "Doing fine, thanks. How're you, McBride?" She glances around at the assortment of other faces, nodding to Holtz who she remembers from boxing night but hasn't formally met yet. Then she cants her head at the sight of Warren. "Smythe, isn't it? Captain Smythe? Met you here in Charlie's a while back, I believe. Good to see you again."

Warren grins at Atia, "Look on the bright side Franklin, you did learn how to put on your harness eventually. You can't help being a late bloomer." There's a chuckle from him and he finishes off his beer, "Course she nearly took my damn nose off early on after warday. All I hear is 'Loose Deuce' over the wireless and WOOOSH! cut right past me. Scared the ever livin shit out of me. Both of our wingmates thought it was fraking hilarious." He looks at his empty, "I'm gonna go get another. Anyone? Franklin?" He says looking about and pointing at them as he starts to make his way towards the bar.

Holtz abruptly snaps his fingers and points at Atia. "Wait a second," he blurts out. "You took Basic Flight with Lieutenant Hamalka, didn't you?" He laughs wickedly as he takes another drink. "He told me that story a few weeks after I joined the instructor cadre on Nike. Couple years before, he was chewing out some damnfool nugget, and suddenly, right in the middle of his spiel, she pitches over onto her knees and blows chunks all over his boots." He shakes his head. "That was you?"

"Oh, sorry," Phin says quickly, a little abashed at mussing West's rank. "I was trying to be clever with the plural. And I'm good, thanks. I like to get off the ship now and then. This is as good a chance as any…" He's about to say more, but Holtz's contribution to the story gets his attention. He can't help but laugh at this. He tries not to, but he can't help it.

Jason is unable to hold back a bit of a laugh as well, as he listens, hiding it in his glass of beer as he takes a long sip now.

"Thank you," Startled by the offering of a gift — apparently something she was not in the least expecting — Atalanta wraps her hands awkwardly around the wrapped item that West has handed her. "That's very kind." It's not easy to balance with her drink and the aviator glasses which she'd been trying to pick up off the floor and resettle on her on her head. "Ohhh, shut it, Smythe. Not all of us are brown-nosing Academy snots like you!," she retorts, making a face at the man. Her taunting him is soon interrupted, as she pales slightly at Holtz's retelling. Or, at least, partial retelling. A nod to Warren. Gods, she's going to need that drink. "To be fair," the woman says indignantly, "that was Hamalka's own bloody fault. The one time I slipped out with the rest of my class…"

West steps back and waves down the bartender to order himself a cold one. Then he turns back, "Don't worry too much, Colonel. When I was an engineering midshipman, I dropped a spanner from one of the catwalks in the Fusion Room. It bounced off three catwalks on the way down - making an awful racket. And then right onto the chief engineer, who looked up to see what all the noise was about." West shakes his head, "We all make mistakes. Then we grow out of them. Somehow, I still managed to graduate and get a commission after that little misstep." A pause, "That Chief Engineer was later a Colonel, and we were assigned to the Mercury refit project together. The nose healed quite nicely."

Warren sticks his tongue out at Atia when she makes that face at him and just chuckles as he heads to the bar. "Lets see I need a double whiskey for her, make one for me. And a couple of beers yeah?" he smirks as he leans on the bar looking back at the table listening in to the conversation as he waits for the bartender to make the drinks.
"I could do with a beer," Quorra tells Warren as she attempts to catch his gaze and offer a smile of recognition from the time previously they crossed paths in Charlie's. Then the geologist looks pointedly at Atalanta and the wrapped gift. "Well," she chides with a grin. "Let's see what it is!"

There's a blink from Atalanta at West's story, and then a laugh — sudden, warm, and open. It lights up her face in a way that's rarely seen aboard the battelstar, and she shakes her head once. "If he was smart, he would've lied through his teeth about where he got it. Personally, if I ever smash my nose up that badly, I'll be telling anyone who will listen that I got in a barfight with some beefy Tauran brawler. I'm sure it won't be the least bit dubious. Not the least." She slips a nail under the tape holding the wrapping in place. Apparently, the woman is one of those awful people that can't just tear into a gift with unrestrained glee, but must do so neatly, with consideration for paper that would normally just end up in the trash.

Phin continue to nurse his beer, and listen in on the periphery of the conversation. He does lean forward curiously to see what's in Atalanta's box.

"Don't blame Hamalka for that," Holtz needles Atia with a grin. "You must have been pretty damn careless to get caught by the likes of him." He leans forward, propping his elbows on the table. "How purple did his face get? Before and after you yakked on him?" He motions for a refill of his drink as he takes a drag from his cigarette. When she mentions a Tauran brawler, his own face colors slightly, and he makes a brief sputtering sound before managing to regain control.

Warren apparently finds something amusing about Atia's comment about the bar fight as he chuckles as the drinks arive. He passes out the beers first, handing them over to those who asked for them including Quorra before, then the other drink, and finally he heads back to pick up the whiskeys and returns to the table to set one down infront of Atia. He smirks a bit, "Well better a bar fight with a tauron than walking into another bulkhead yeah?"

"A beer sounds wonderful, thank you." West says, in answer to the offer, and then laughs, "Well, I think the moral of the story is don't look up at anything in engineering spaces. Just move out of the way. Because anything that's falling is likely to not be a bag of feathers. He didn't put me on report, but I had a few miserable weeks of extra duty, so I suppose he got his revenge."

"Sometimes, they're just unavoidable," she replies to Warren. Atalanta is about to make a retort to Holtz's query, or perhaps even tell the whole story, when she pulls back the last of the paper. In her hands in a bottle of Virgon scotch — not some swill from an illegal still set up down in stowage, or in one of the deckhand's closts, but real, honest-to-gods Virgon scotch. She blinks a few times, her face almost immediately coloring. It's quite noticeable, given how pale the woman normally is. So much for informalities. "Captain," she says, very softly. "I… honestly don't know what to say." Is it possible she's embarrassed? Her brows furrow. "This is very generous, but… really, I… I think there are people far more deserving of something that's now so rare than me."

The nature of West's gift to Atalanta was a secret even to Quorra. Her face lights up when the precious scotch is revealed and she beams at both giver and recipient. "Congratulations again, Colonel." She lifts her glass of beer in toast.

"Let's just say that some people prefer Virgon bitters, which are even harder to find, tending as they do to turn sour." West figures saying more than that probably isn't wise, though it's well known he brews his own of ever-improving quality. "Besides, if we can't hold on to the faith that there will be good booze sometime in the future, what are we living for?" A droll smile at that little bit of gallows humor.

Warren grins a bit at Atia's retort and then whistles as the scotch is produced. He raises his glass towards West with a grin, and then towards Atia, "Very nice. Now we know what you'll be doing next time you and your wife have another argument. Cheers" Theres a smirk at the end of that and he can't help but grin as he takes a sip of his whiskey.

Jason has finished his first beer now, so he quietly moves off to get himself another one. Stretching a bit as he moves to the bar with slow steps now.

"An excellent point, Captain West," she says, finally forming a smile. The bottle is cradled carefully for a moment, as its transferred to the table. Who knows how far some of the pilots are into their cups? And knocking the thing over would be an unforgivable sin. "Thank you." For a moment, she bites down on her lower lip, white teeth sinking into pink flesh. The raucous banter has been halted by the rather sobering — and yet not — gift from the Wests and, for a moment, she's at a loss as to what to possibly do to try and liven things up for the rest of her "guests". But then Warren goes and says that again, and she grins lopsidedly. "Sooner or later, Smythe, that damned JAG officer is going to show up at my office knocking on my door."

"You're welcome. And why is it that I can never get anyone to call me Seneca, even when we're off duty." West rolls his eyes a bit, "Camraderie between officers and all that." He accepts a delivered beer and takes a sip. "Oh, that's…" his face falls just a bit, "Not bad."

Warren laughs a bit at Atia's comment and shakes his head, "The only thing that could make it better is if he comes knocking when you are…discussing…things with your wife." He smirks a bit and takes a sip of his whiskey again, "Can you imagine the look on his face?" He laughs a bit again grinning at Atia.

"To the new colonel." Quorra smiles broadly and then takes a drink of beer. "So," she smacks her lips as she licks away foam, "tell me more about this 'wetting down' ritual. Did I hear correctly that it involves, ummm…." She regards Atalanta hesitantly. "….being dunked somewhere?"

For one moment, Atalanta's eyes go wide at Warren, that dark green suddenly surrounded by a circle of white. And then she rolls them, dramatically, in a way that all women invariably learn when they're disapproving teenage girls. Somehow, she's managed not to lose the drink. Picking up her glass, she conveniently avoids making any reply to that statement by taking a sip of her double, then answering Quorra. "According to the finest of Fleet traditions, I'm supposed to be carted off on people's shoulders and thrown into the sea — which was much easier in the days of the Caprican Navy, given how vast the oceans are. Here, the nearest one is a few hundred miles from here, so clearly we're just going to have to dispense with the whole thing." Or throw her in the lake, of course, though it is almost winter.

West laughs, and sips his drink before remarking, "Everything must be done in accordance with Tradition, Colonel. Or, I suppose as the books more formally put it, the Customs of Naval Service." Which dictate things like what color shoes pilots wear and who calls upon whom when reporting to a new post. "I don't think we can pass up on that one. Though if we dunk you in this weather, Doctor Nadir will come hunting for us all. And shoot me a death stare when I self-satisfiedly light up my pipe and tell her that she doesn't understand."

"Did you go through this when you were promoted to captain?" Quorra asks West. "I guess I should be grateful I was commissioned straight in as a lieutenant!" A light laugh. She punctuates this observation with more beer. "I guess that makes me shameless for saying I think he's right and traditions must be maintained in one fashion or another…" The geologist pauses to consider. "I suppose it would be a waste of an important commodity to give you a beer bath?"
"There's a lake around, isn't it, sir?" Jason offers after a few moments of pause, as he returns with his new beer now.

Warren raises an eyebrow at West, "I do believe there is a perfectly suitable lake to go baptize -our- new Lieutenant Colonel. After all we certainly can't break with tradition." He grins to Atia, "I'm sure we can scrounge up some warm blankets for after she manages to get out of the water so she doesn't get too cold. But I do think before we toss Franklin here into the drink we need a toast…"

"Ohhh, gods of the holy mount!," Atalanta replies, sputtering on her drink for a moment. It's as though she's slightly aghast at the idea. Would it ruin her hair, maybe? "No! No, no. No matter how rowdy a wetting down gets," she says, eyeing the thinning crowd with a slight frown. "No, you never douse a newly promoted officer in liquor. It'd be a waste, especially when a ship's been out of port for who knows how long, and has a limited stock. It isn't a Pyramid game or something…"

"Yes! The lake, certainly." West jumps into officer mode, pointing at Jason, "Lieutenant, fetch towels and blankets. The rest of us… I believe it's time at Lieutenant Colonel Franklin got her new pins." The engineer downs his beer in three swallows, tilting his head back almost ninety degrees, and says, "And somebody bring a bottle of something." A pause, then, "But not the good scotch."
Quorra has, up til now, been in a good mood, but a pretty mild-mannered one. Atalanta's reaction to her suggestion of a beer bath though coaxes the sciences officer into throwing back her head for a loud and happy cackle. "Woo!" she slaps her knee. "Yes, sir, Colonel!" Her hand snaps to her temple in salute and then she gives another good laugh. "A freezing cold lake is preferable to beer. Mandate understood!" The geologist grins at the CAG over the rim of her glass as she finishes what's left of her first drink of the night.

"Ahem. So before we see if Franklin here can swim I'm going to say a few words," Warren takes a swig of his whiskey a moment and waits for people to settle down just a bit. "Now I've known Franklin here for, gods how long has it been since the Axiom? 8 years or so. Everywhere I've served there she's been. Hell I'm pretty sure when I showed up on the Orion she thought I was stalking her," he says with a chuckle, "We've had some good times, over the years and she hasn't killed me yet. She's given me more swift kicks in the ass than you all will get to hear about. But she's always been a good loyal friend. Theres no one out there I'd rather be flying with. No one I'd rather see take up the mantle of CAG and drag our asses in and out of the barn. So Congratulations Franklin you've more than earned those pins." And with that Warren raises his glass towards her, "Cheers!"
It is a fall day. The weather is warm and overcast.

West has gotten a fresh beer in time for the toast. And so he is ready, and answers, "Cheers!" in response to the toast, taking a big gulp of beer and clapping.

It would be easy for Atalanta to protest being tossed in the lake — it is, afterall, a late fall day. A warm one, but still. The water is hardly going to be warm. But when Warren starts speaking, she turns towards him, her smile softening significantly. She is not known to be a particularly sentimental woman, save when it comes to her home Colony. But they've been friends for years, and if there's anyone here who ought to be offering up the toast, it's him. "Cheers," she says, with warm appreciation, clinking the last of her glass against his.

Jason nods a bit as West's words, "Aye…" he offers, with a smile, before he raises his own glass in response to the toast. "Cheers!" Draining what he has left of the beer, before hurrying to get hold of those towels and blankets.

~"For she's a jol-ly good feeeel-low, for she's a jo-ly good feeeel-low…."
Leave it to Quorra to launch into song in the middle of things. Only one beer under her belt and already she's overcome by party mood! The sciences officer holds one arm out to wave back and forth to "conduct" the singing while she gulps beer with her other arm.

Warren finishes off his whiskey after the cheers and puts the glass upside down on the table. "Well then…let me be one of the first to shake your hand," he says moving over towards Atia and extending his hand. Well the hand goes out, but its not there to shake hers. Its there in fact to unceremoniously grab the poor woman and help him throw her over his shoulder. "Alright quick someone get that jacket of hers off. She has a date with a lake and it would be a shame if she was late to it!" he says triumphant once he has her up there.

West looks at Quorra, and while he gamely goes along, he's pretty sure the traditional songs for moments like this are a little more… bawdy. He jumps in with Warren when he hoists the CAG up, offering another shoulder, and says, "Aye, the lake it is!" Another beer is finished, a casualty of, like so many, wrong place, wrong time.

There is a squeal that comes from Atalanta as she's hefted up onto Warren's shoulders and suddenly finds herself eye to eye with the back pocket of his jeans. (Really, the woman so often tries to present herself as being made of iron, who knew she could make a sound quite like that?) It's her only real protest, though. Honestly, it isn't like she didn't know that was coming. "Ohh, gods, not my boots! I'll be stuck in wet boots for days!" Her aviators, fortunately, hit the ground again. Left behind in the bar is better than completely unrecoverable, at the bottom of a lake.

Jason grins as he watches this, pausing as he hears what's being said. "I'm sure we can remember to remove the boots," he offers, before he gets hold of the towels and blankets. Also, reaching down to pick up those aviators, since it seems quite certain that she'd want those back afterwards. Moving to follow after the others now.

Warren looks at West like he's got two heads, "Jacket. Boots. Come on now. I've got her" He shifts a little to make himself a bit more comfortable, "And someone grab her shades before they get stepped on." He shakes his head and starts to move to the door, he's not going particularly fast letting people do their thing as he makes for the lake.

~"For she's a jol-ly good fel-OOOOOOW….That no-body can de-ny!"~
Quorra mirrors her husband in killing what's left of her second beer and then promptly looks around for the shades that Warren mentions. "Got'em!"

West helps get the boots off, tossing each one to Quorra as he does, "Right, right. Cool your thrusters, pilot." He acts quickly, so as not to slow things down. And off they go?

It's a rather comical sight — the CAG with her ass in the air, her socked feet dangling down in front of Warren. She refuses the indignity of staring straight at his ass for the entire walk, though, and instead rests an elbow against his back so she can prop her head up in her chin. "I ought to drag you in with me, you awful wretch," she declares, to Warren. She may just be able to, if she refuses to let go. It may just be a genuine threat. "I never did get to see you soaked to the skin when Holtz pinned those damned Captain's bars to you…."

"Oh you ought to? Well then I ought to do this!" Warren declares right before he brings his hand down for a playful slap to the CAG's upturned rear. He laughs a bit at that and shakes his head and smirks, "To be fair I don't fit over your shoulder quite as well as you fit over mine. Though it would have been amusing to see you try to toss me over your shoulder to throw me in the lake." As he works his way to the edge of the lake with a grin.

Quorra is not so intoxicated yet that she forgets to pluck her coat from the back of a bar stool and get it on before the group is out the door of Charlie's and into the crip cold autumn air. She lets out a fresh hoot of laughter at the swat on the derriere that the CAG gets from her long-time friend Warren and briefly the geologist is tempted to join in. But apparently she thinks better of it, bites her lower lip and RESISTS temptation. "Hey Seneca," she nudges the engineer along the way, "you didn't happen to stash any drinks in your jacket did you? We should have something for the road!" The lake is a little hike from Charlies, after all.

Jason grins as he moves along with the others now, shaking his head a little as he listens to what's being said. Looking quite amused at the moment, and for now not bothering to hide that fact.

There's another cry from Atalanta, this one of absolute indignance! Fortunately, she's at least a bit in her cups, and even though her face is turning red with embarrassment at the spectacle they're likely drawing on their little parade to the lack, it's not enough to keep her from laughing. Or from threatening Warren with a huffy, "I will have you know, Smythe, that I will be back to being your boss by morning!"

"I'm sorry did you just say that till morning I'm all good? Well in that case…" and there goes Warren's hand for another little swat and a laugh. He looks out at the lake with a grin as he starts kicking off his boots to make sure he can get her properly wet. And then he starts wading out a bit into the water, so that when he tosses her she won't just hit bottom and barely be wet, and then bounces, once, twice and then toss!

Quorra decides it's too painful to watch. Yes, a shame to turn her head away and not witness firsthand the CAG being dumped unceremoniously (or not, depending on point-of-view) into that ice-cold frigid water…. "We're lookin' after your jacket and boots and sunglasses, Colonel!" she shouts out loudly, managing to get it in before the splash. Is that really any comfort to Atalanta at this very moment? Well, the geologist tries, at least!

Hitting the water bottom first, there's a split second where they can hear the high-pitched shriek that comes from her when her skin hits the glassy surface of the water. But then it break, and swallows the rest of her up, taking all of her objections down with her. There's a splash, and then a few little ripples, and then for a few seconds — longer than really ought to be the case — she's gone. The CAG is a strong swimmer, though, and always has been. A few seconds more and her head pops back up, drenched, but significantly closer to shore. "Agggggh!," she complains.

Jason applauds as he watches now. "Nicely done…"

Warren can't help but laugh when the CAG hits the water. And quickly he's taking steps back towards shore just in case. The laugh continues when she resurfaces, "How's the water sir?" He grins not even hiding his amusement, "Well if you're done playing in the lake Franklin we got some towels over here for you if you want to get dry again."

Towelling off is hardly going to get the CAG *dry* in Quorra's mind; she throws a twisted smile Warren's way when she hears him. "For shame, Smythe. The cruelty, taunting her like that! You know she won't be truly dry and warm again til she's had a hot shower and clean clothes!" And ummm, how long exactly is the shuttle ride back to the Orion? "You didn't bring a spare change of clothes did you Colonel?" she calls out to the poor woman swimming to shore. "At least with the towels to mop up the worst she won't catch pneumonia though…we hope…"

Her teeth are already chattering, long before she reaches the shore. When she does, it's with the awkward steps of someone who is weighed down by soaking wet jeans, which are suddenly two sizes too big and threateing to fall off her. And the white t-shirt? Oy. Fortunately, she's got something on underneath. (And the Wing is hardly what one would call "shy", anyway, given the complete lack of personal space.) "Ohhhh, ggggods… we sssssskipppped the whole pp-party last ttttttime and I ha-haven't done this sssssince I was m-made C-Captain. One year in M-May." Towels! Give her the damned towels!

Stepping forward with those towels, and handing them out to Atalanta now. "Well done, sir," Jason offers, along with the towels, and one more word. "Congratulations." Stepping back a bit again now.

Warren grins as jason moves over to give the poor woman some towels. For his part he's cold as well, moving over to his boots to put them back on, "Back to charlies to warm up a bit or are we getting you back to the ship first?" He grins a bit as he moves to bring Atia her jacket and boots, grabbed from West, for when she's slightly less soaked.

"You're a braver woman than I am, Colonel. I second Springthorpe: congratulations many times over." Quorra breaks into enthusiastic applause, smiling ear to ear. She doesn't really know any of these members of the Air Wing all that well yet and as part of the sciences department she sometimes feels like she doesn't fit in with the rest of the Fleet at all. But standing here in the cold by the lake shore seeing the newly-promoted Atalanta walk sodden and shivering out of the water cheering and clapping and being a part of the bizarre ritual…..she feels suddenly not just that they're all part of the same diverse team fighting together for humanity's survival - she also feels somehow a little bit more alive.

The towels are almost immediately taken to her hair first, mussing up her ubiquitous bun. Wet strands are left dangling all loose and haphazard, after a few good rubs. The rest of her next. It's mostly a futile effort — she won't be dry for hours, so long as she stays in those damned clothes, but another layer between her and the wind is an improvement. "Ohhh, ddddon't g-get your hopes up, Lieutenant. It's not just a ppppilots' tt-tradition. When it's your t-tt-turn, you'll be tttt-tossed in, t-too, same as all the rest of us. One of those f-ffine, uuuuunifying ce-ceremonies, g-guarant-teeing esprit de c-corps. Like h-hating your dd-drill instruct-tor. And the c-coffee."

Jason is unable to hold back a chuckle as he hears what's being said now. "Just hope it's on a hotter day?" he offers after hearing Atalanta's words, voice kept a bit light at the moment.

"Hey its not our fault you decided to get promoted while it was cold. Long time coming but still we have to work on your timing I think," Warren says with a chuckle as he offers up the jacket and sets her boots down, "How about we get you warmed up before you get so cold you could cut through the bulkheads with those things."

Quorra laughs as if at a truly amusing joke. "Scientists don't get promoted! But I thank you all the same for the implied respect." The geologist glances at her husband then and smirks. "But *you* my dear…I bet engineers *do* move up through the ranks!"

West laughs and applauds as Colonel Franklin gets dunked, and then nods in agreement, "Of course, it was much nicer getting dunked in the sea on Caprica than in a cold lake here, last time I did it." Then hd just looks at Quorra and nods knowingly about the whole idea of her getting the same treatment eventually. He arches a brow, "Well, as nice as the idea of Major West sounds, I think the Fleet has bigger concerns at the moment."

As her boots get set down, she peels her socks off and stuffs them into her pocket. Going without socks is better than wearing wet ones, if she hopes to ever have warm, dry toes. Almost immediately, she shoves her feet into the boots and tightens the laces. "Believe mm-m-me, if I h-hhad any say in t-t-thhhis, they would've waited unt-til June, at l-least. N-nothing l-like bbbbeing mmmustanged uppp." Brrr. Yes, she's quite cold. Getting her somewhere warm would be a good idea.

Warren chuckles a bit and pats Atia on the back, "Lets get you back inside before you freeze." He starts to try to herd the poor woman back towards charlies at least to get her slightly warm before hauling her back up to the ship to get properly dry and warm again.

"You gonna walk back on your own two feet again this time, Colonel, or let Smythe tote you like a sack of potatoes?" Quorra can't help grinning as she queries the CAG. "Hey Smythe, speaking of you…I know this isn't an occasion for business so we don't need to go into details now, but I'd like to sit down with you sometime soon to discuss a project I'm heading up that I think you could help with." A beat. "With your commanding officer's approval, of course."

Warren gives a little nod at that, "Yeah I'm sure we can talk about all that later. For now I'm gonna make sure she gets warm and then up to the ship alright."

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