AWD #338: Play Any Sports?
Play Any Sports?
Summary: Randy and Dreyer discuss girls, sports, loss, and decide their friendship is more important than tail.
Date: 25/05/2016 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: Social Fail Point
Dreyer Randy 
Marine Enlisted Barracks
It's got bunks. It probably smells.
Sat Dec 10 2005 (AWD #338)

Randy hasn't been much of a conversationalist these last few days. The retreat is so marked that it brings to light the fact that she was shelled up before and not just a shy or gruff person. She hasn't been giving anyone any stinky looks, but she hasn't been talking either. For the most part, she's changed her pattern. In her off hours, she's spent a lot of time at the gym, the observation deck, the rec room, and even the library. When she steps in through the hatch, this time around it looks like it was the gym. Sweat still clings to her body as she pads over to her locker and lifts the towel around her neck to her face to wipe off some sweat.

It's not like Dreyer has been the most… interactive individual as of late, either. Perry's return seems to have heralded a change in Rakes and his studies have narrowed to mostly working alone. No friendly chatter by the JTAC's bunk these days. And since that night at Charlie's, he's just been sort of ghosting about. Not shirking duty or being avoidant, but just… drifting. In that way that's easy to miss because he doesn't announce himself in some way, shape, or form as he did before. At the moment, he's in his bunk and reading. Some book on common radio functions. When he realizes Randy is standing nearby… the MP just lifts his hand and starts to sloooooowly close the privacy panel, doing his best to keep his gaze averted.

The engineer just holds her face in that towel for a moment or two as if giving herself a little break from the world or steeling herself. She herself can't figure which, so she tosses the towel haphazardly into her locker. "How long are you going to let this go on?" She asks without turning, her hand seemingly stuck on the cheap water bottle she keeps on the her locker shelf.

"Until I'm cleared as a wirelo." Either Dreyer misunderstood or he's being purposefully obtuse. There's a sort of flat quality to his voice and a muffling as well. Through the crack in the screen, it's clear that he's turned towards the inner wall. Effectively adding another layer to himself and the outside world.

"Fine," Randy sighs softly, grabs her non regulation towel she nicked from the superstore (it's a hot green and yellow squiggly striped thing that was in style a decade ago on Caprica). Then she hauls herself up into her bed and lays down the towel. "Really?" she sticks her head out of her bunk to ask loudly enough. They're the only two in there at the moment.

Closing his eyes, Dreyer is quiet for a period of time. Finally, he lets out a sigh and slides open the panel. "What do you want? If you want some elaborate setup just so you can tell me how much you hate me now, I'm not going to do it. I frakked up. Perry made sure that the entirety of Charlie's paid witness to it, at that. What more do you need? Shall I abscond with the ship's PA system and make sure everyone on Orion knows, too? If you're going to yell at me, just frakkin' do it."

"Wow. I…don't know what to say." Randy sounds genuinely tired and defeated, or is it sad? She flops down on her back to stare at the ceiling and the place between the only two pictures she has left, letting her muscles relax. "Just let me know when you want to talk because I don't feel like yelling." Then she rolls over onto her side, facing her back to the light and open air beyond her bunk.

"What's there to say? I'm sorry. You know that, yeah? 'Cause I am. I just sorta slipped up and said something. But, well, works out for ya, right? She told me all about how she thinks you'd be good for a roll or whatever." It sounds frustrated, what Dreyer is saying. "But then, she said the same thing about me. So maybe she's just some Virgon elite who likes to stir shit up. I don't frakkin' know. I just made sure to tell her that she'd better not just frak with you like she has been with me. You're worth more than being used as some toy."

It's those two magic words that get Randy to sigh and heave herself back into sitting position. She stares down at her legs, then where the barrier is open, back to her legs. But it's really the words about Randy being good for a roll that give her pause. If only her legs didn't feel like lead. She'd probably be on the floor by now. What's a marine to do? Push through it. She wrenches her legs over and hops down to the floor, catching herself with an extra step. It's only a step or two away to lean against the frame of the bed. "All I wanted was an apology."

"Thought I gave one at the bar," Dreyer's voice is still low. Still frustrated. Still the dog kicked out into the rain. Uncertain about going back in again, lest it happen all over. "If I didn't, I meant to. I'm sorry. She introduced herself to me and it just came out, y'know? S'not like I was trying to ruin whatever you've got planned."

"You might have. That night's kind of a messy blur for me," Randy admits with her eyes turned down. "It's fine. I don't have any plans. I just ran into her at mess and we had a nice lunch. It's," she hesitates, "It's been awhile since I've enjoyed something like that. It was nice…It's fine. Look, I probably would have said /anything/ to get her into bed, so who knows what's coming out of our mouths at any given second she's there." An exaggeration, but one born more out of affection than truth.

"Well, she wants you, so I don't think you have to really say anything specifically. Just… lemme know so I can spend the night in the Gym or something." Dreyer lifts a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose, rolling to his back. He stares at his own photos. Family. Friends back in High School. A few photos of units he's been in. But like a lot of marines, he's bounced around too much to really make any new ones. Not that last. "She… kept flirting with me, but I dunno. You saw her first kind of deal, I guess. And it's not like I have any friends here, so I don't want to go frakking over the only one I did have."

"Well she already fucked over my best friend," Randy adds through a cough, "only," and then smiles a little. It's the first sign that a weight has been lifted. "Why don't we both just blue-ball her. Embargo the shit out of her imports..assets?" But that makes her think about said assets. "Dreyer-Flynn N-Flynn-Dreyer—-No. Fleeeeyer Nation. Gods I'm going insane on this ship."

The MP drops the book over his chest. He's in a grey CMF Academy tee and a pair of shorts. Awwyeah, pale hairy legs. "Best? Only?" Dreyer scoffs, just a bit. "Look, I'm in a pretty bad state, but you don't gotta make shit up. And that's all well and good, but- I've asked her to quit flirting with me until she's decided what the frak she's going to do. I hated standing there, her complimenting me and telling me she wants to sleep with me, all the while you'd gone off like you did. It just wasn't right."

"Well you're not going to be for very long if I have to fight you just to tell you what you mean to me," Randy looks down at the MP, her head now bearing a bit of weight as she leans, her thumb unpinned and hanging down free to scratch at the bridge of her nose. "Thanks…I'm not making it up. So don't transfer okay?"

"I just… I dunno that I could handle you two going at it over my head, y'know? So if that does happen, seriously. Just… warn me. I'll get someone to switch bunks with me." It's awkward and uncomfortable to talk about and Dreyer just sort of burrows deeper into his bunk. The book flops over, slides out the gap, and hits the floor. He ignores it for the moment, dragging his blanket up to his shoulders. "Just don't let her use you and throw you away. She's not worth that."

"Yeah, I wasn't planning on that either." Randy steps away from the frame only to have a faint imprint of the bar on her forehead where she was leaning. "Look, I'll just back off if it's going to bother you that much. I didn't know she had wound you up or any of that." And just like anyone who is infatuated, it's kind of hard for her to get worked up over something she didn't expect to hear. "Um," she stoops down to scoop up the book and then gently puts it down next to his waist, her free hand on the barrier.

"Honestly? I was on the verge of just saying frak it and making out with her the other day on the Obs Deck." Dreyer will refrain from discussing the shorts. "But she said something about…" He twists, reaching to recover the book with something mumbled that might be 'thanks,' "and I left instead. I guess that's why her doing that at Charlie's threw me so bad. I mean, who goes from hitting on someone to calling them out like that?"

"Said what?" Randy works with bombs. She's naturally curious, too curious, but that helps when summoning up the courage to face down somethin unknown. "Someone who's a really really bad flirt," she says deadpan. "A disastrous one. She shot for the ribs but hit your back instead. Sounds kind of familiar?"

"Just this whole spiel about how it upsets her that someone can be a marine and have not seen combat. I thought it was an insult to me." Dreyer, eternally seeking validation from a source that can never give it. He's here because of trying to impress his parents. And now he's stuck in that cycle. The book get shoved onto a messy shelf in the bunk, amidst some others. Mostly fiction, but a few radio texts. "Before Perry introduced herself to me… Rakes decided to tell the whole barracks how I've flirted with her. Not even heavily. Just… get-to-know you stuff. Kinda wondering now if this is some perverted payback, as if telling me off publicly wasn't enough."

"Did she mean it that way? I mean her accent is kind of.." Randy tilts her nose up little, "You know. She could ask me to pass the butter and I'd feel like a slave." Bound to do whatever a hot woman compels her to? Maybe a little. She winces at the blowback from Rakes. "Maybe she thought your whole wirelo thing was just a way to get into her BDUs?"

"I dunno. She might've meant it another way, but it stung all the same. It's not my fault they withheld me as long as they did." Dreyer's only a Sergeant. He can't go deploying himself into hot zones. There's a shrug. "Frak if I know. She seemed just as keen on teaching me as I was learning it. Perry said something about that having been something she tasked Rakes with long ago. To pass on the knowledge. Maybe I said something amiss one day and rather than tell me directly, she thought to embarrass me in front of everyone." He lifts both hands, drawing knees up so hat feet are flat to the mattress. Hands to face, his words are muffled. "Might be I'm just anathema to women."

"No. It's not," but Randy doesn't say it with final resolution or opposition. "Weird. Maybe she's got some super rag that outblasts the meds. Like really raging ovaries." Randy clearly never had any brothers, or she just thinks aloud, but the thought brings enough joy for her to smile. "Damnit. That just makes me want some cho-" And then there's the announcement. Her fist tightens at the news of the cruiser suicide pact. "I just want to drink," she admits, flat out, the mirth hollowed out of her eyes where it once just was.

When Randy starts talking of menstrual cycles, Dreyer groans faintly and turns, dragging his pillow against his face. Nope, he doesn't want to hear about that. Bad enough when some of the women in the barracks end up on the same cycle, but to hear them talk of it. He relaxes, a bit, listening to he announcement. His eyes go up to the photos above him as he leans back. "In the bag at the bottom of my locker," the MP mutters, digging around on his shelf for a pen. In said bag there is not a flask, no. A full bottle of something. Probably some sort of 'shine. But if opened, oh- it's strong. One photo, tucked behind another, is slid out. This one is a group of young men. Boys, really. Fresh faced and all grouped together. A few have X's over them. And another, a dark-skinned lad kneeled at the front, grinning… is X'd out before the photo is slid back away.

Randy's head swings towards Anton's locker slowly before she pushes away from the bunk frame and opens his locker. It's probably the one time she can steal a glance at what's inside without being pegged for being overly interested. Does she? Of course. Her eyes graze over the interior out of habit though, no conscious desire. Then she bends down to root around for the bag, and there it is. She opens it as she stands and takes a delicate whiff. "Gods I'm starting to stink," which means she stank all along. She turns towards Dreyer in time to see him crossing out someone from a picture and putting it away, but she doesn't say anything. She's stuck…stuck in Dreyer's moment, the kind she's been running from, avoiding by avoiding relationships, friendships, life. She just stands there, hands at her sides, bottle in hand. "Found it," she finally says, of course after he's put it away.

The MP's locker is a mess. Why wouldn't it be? There aren't many mementos. The few he has are in the bunk. This was a man who thought his assignment wouldn't be long term and he'd see family on his next leave. Some more books. A Cap Buccs jersey. A music player. A pair of socks he's been forgetting to wash for what must be weeks…

"Yeah?" Dreyer's finished tucking away the photo and tossed the pen in some corner of his bunk. He's not passing inspection without at least a five minute warning. And he's been here barely two weeks. "It's strong stuff, but it's Piraeus-special. Using… ah, frak, I dunno. Some native fruit to the planet, I think. Traded a signed ball," since most athletes are dead now, "for a bottle of every batch for the next year."

Luckily Randy is too zonked by the announcement to even smell Dreyer's dirty old socks. She's standing in front of her and Anton's bunk with a bottle of some kind of 'shine in her hands. "Not a bad trade." Randy would know. "And how many batches is that?" she teases out the particulars of the deal. Wheeling and dealing is not something Randy does as much as she did in her earlier days, but even her 'not as much' is way more than most people. She pads over and holds the side of the barrier with her bottle-hand for balance as she works her athletic shoes off. "Here," she says to indicate yep, this is the crappy handoff.

"Hmm?" Dreyer looks up, spots the bottle, and nabs it. "Three or four. This was the first. Takes a few months for him to have enough and get a full batch done. He keeps telling me I should let it… whatever the word is. Y'know, not drink it for a while, but frak. That's like dangling a candy in front of a small child and expecting them not to grab it." The MP sits up carefully, opening the bottle to take a swig.

The engineer can't help but grin a little through her somberness, but she doesn't bother to fill in the blank for Dreyer or correct him. She hops up on the frame to lean into her rack and grab her towel. After she hops down, she spreads the towel down in the corner between their bed frame and their lockers. It'd been too cozy for most people, but she slides right in like someone in a metal sleeve, her knees half drawn. "Yeah, frak that. So does it taste like the fruit at all?"

There's a sidelong look for Randy on the floor, but Dreyer doesn't say anything. He just sits upright and leans back against the interior wall, stretching legs out before him. "Not at all," he admits, taking another swig before offering the bottle over.

Randy leans forward to grab the bottle but comes up short, opening and closing her hand twice as if the second time would be magic and summon it. In the end, she scootches forward a little to grab it and takes a swig. "This is like vodka before it's filtered. Frak." It's a eureka moment, a happy moment that's quickly saddled with the current events and the distant past. She holds the bottle up to the light to look at the contents. "Takes me back."

There's a soft snort from Dreyer at Randy's 'review' of the liquor. "What'd you expect? But it's better than the watered-down crap at Charlie's." And by better… he obviously means stronger. Because Charlie's has some decent stuff. They were fully stocked before the war and some salvaging has been good to the place. It's just all watered down to make it last. He stretches, back arching a measure as he leans forward and grabs his ankles. Too much time lying down, even if he is off-duty. "Just don't finish it. I don't wanna go the next few months without."

"I like it," Randy informs Dreyer with a toothy grin. She takes another swig and then waits for him to finish stretching before handing it back. "Reminds me of home." She leans back into the locker into a slump, not bothering to move an inch if she doesn't have to. "So…" She's much better with bombs and more booze in her. "You play any sports or anything?"

The bottle is taken back and Dreyer studies it a moment before taking a long drink. He lets it rest against his hip as he leans back to let the alcohol do its thing. Ahh, the sweet burn turning to a lofty feeling in the head. He lets out a slow sigh. "Pyramid. In high school. I'd hoped for a scholarship, but it didn't happen. Folks couldn't afford college, so… boot it was."

"I thought that'd be me for awhile." Randy's eyes catch the light as she stares out dumbly from the dimness of the lockers. "Well, not the pyramid. Never played it…but uh," she plays with the edge of her shorts. "I had always planned on going straight to boot."

"My friends went in and I decided following them was better than some shit job. Thought maybe I'd be nabbed for some secondary schooling through the CMF. Get my Pyramid time that way." Dreyer snorts, lifting the bottle for another long drink. He sinks back, closing his eyes. "Nope. Just ended up an MP instead. Weeks of boring-ass legal shit."

"Well that's life kicking you in the balls," Randy says as she leans forward and taps against the bunk frame before opening and closing her hand. "I always wondered how MPs became MPs. Like, where did they come from?" Did the stork bring them?

Even though she can't see it, Dreyer rolls his eyes. He sneaks — hey, it's his booze — another swig before passing the bottle over. "Some folks finish boot and are riflemen. Over and done. Depending on scores and shit, others go off into more specialized avenues. For me, it was a few months of study about the legal system. Sorta thing a cop goes through, I guess. The Colonial laws, how to handle an arrest. Stuff like that."

"I was being facetious. I know how it works. How do you think I became EOD?" Randy swipes the bottle from her bunkmate and holds it up to see how much is gone. Then she knocks it back for a swig. "After uni I went to boot," yes, apparently once upon a time Randy went to university, "and then my first tour. I applied for the EOD program and quickly wondered what in hades I had gotten myself into. It was a frakking gauntlet. Then my frakking CO went and recommended me for AIEDD, which actually was way more fun, so I guess I can't really complain about that."

"Frak. Anything is more fun than MP. I don't really know why I did it. I guess I thought it'd make my parents happy, y'know? Heyyyy, your son didn't go to college, or find some nice office job, but at least he's not just a grunt!" Dreyer rolls his eyes, leaning back on his elbows. Hands come up to lace over abdomen; compacting him slightly. Not that one can really sprawl anyway with the way the bunks are. "Guess it helped ensure I survive, so it's not too terrible. Part of why I'm studying wirelo, I suppose. To do something different someday."

"Heh. That's why I went to uni. My adopted parents," Randy can't seem to get away from saying 'adopted,' "They ah-" She lifts the bottle for another swig. "They wanted the best for me. I was just some punk kid. They wanted more for me…I went. I partied. I passed. Then I enlisted. Idiot recruiting officer kept pushing OCS at me, but I enlisted for my da'. It's where he started." And she gets in one last mini swig before extending the bottle back to the opening in the bottom bunk. "It's good. We all should be teaching each other things. Strategically speaking, redundancy is better."
Nate has left.

The bottle is taken back and Dreyer goes for a final drink before capping it. He wriggles towards the edge of his bunk, grunting faintly. He's listening. He's just a touch drunk, so processing takes longer. The man's feet find the floor and he leans out over them, one hand lifting to rub at his hair. His stubborn, never-lay-flat hair. "Used to think about OCS, but I figured I'd end up bored, so I never tried."

Drawing her legs up, Randy rests her chin on her knees. Her voice sounds murmur-y. "I think you'd be good at it. I mean you've already built up the tolerance for boring so it can't be all that much worse." Her eyes crinkle up, presumably from a smile. "But seriously. I think you would make a fine officer. You'd probably fetch a lot of ladies in that uniform too." Brain back to girls, girls, girls.

There's a roll of his eyes at Randy's words and Dreyer reaches up to the barrier between bunks. He grunts a bit as he leverages himself upright, sidling towards the locker to re-bury the alcohol after a squint at how much is left. Randy may be his friend, but a man can be protective of his liquor, too. "I'd be a shit officer. Leading people stresses me the frak out, Randy. I just want to do my job and not see people get hurt, if possible."

It's easy to see, and perhaps a little disturbing, that Randy fits inside the locker, though her feet are just outside of it like a vessel anchored down so it won't float out to sea, to be swallowed by the horizon. "I'm pretty sure it stresses everybody out, just some people are better at making decisions when the shit is hitting the fan. Doesn't mean they're smarter or anything. Just means they're better at thing."

"Yeah, well… I'm glad I blacked out once we got back from that mission to Aerilon," Dreyer admits. He's grabbing some shower items. A man's gotta bathe and drunk is a great time for it. "I probably would've cried if I hadn't. I couldn't imagine leading missions like that on a regular basis. I also don't want to get stuck behind a desk, y'know?"

"I like going out on missions. I wonder at what point they stop sending you. That's probably when I'll wish I was an officer. Yeah, when I'm too old and fat to fit in the suit." Randy chuckles to herself, letting her head rest on the metal panel. "That mission…yeah. I'm just glad you made it out." She could really use a shower, but she doesn't look like she's got any motivation to move. "Yeah. Last thing I want to be doing is getting shoved into the hangar bay or something. I'm better out there in the thick of it. I think."

"I think, in a war, you only stop going out once you're dead." Like many, Dreyer's refused to consider the end game. The 'after' time. Survival and/or retirement. They're too far off. Too unlikely. It's just the here and now. The preparation for the next engagement. At least he's not standing watch at a gate day in and out anymore. "Hopefully, though, I never have to arrest one of our own like that again. Shoving someone in the brig for a night for drunken brawling is one thing, but that…" he shakes his head, grabbing a clean (enough) set of clothes to haul to the showers with him, along with his towel. Feet get shoved into flip-flops. No point wandering the decks barefoot, right?

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