AWD #336: Social Fail Point
Social Fail Point
Summary: In which we learn that Dreyer should not try to understand women while drunk.
Date: 23/05/2016 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: First Views and another log I've lost.
Dreyer Perry Randy 
Checkpoint Charlie'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.
Thu Dec 08 2005 (AWD #336)

It's a lovely evening to get hammered and forget one's troubles or just to have a bit of fun, bet big, get rowdy, or get our rocks off, depending on how naughty one is. The place already has a few patrons milling about. One group is already playing pool. Randy's at the bar on one of the stools, talking to one of the tenders. "Oh really? I'll believe that when I see it yeah?" She lifts her pint towards the tender as if drinking to her own words and then takes a deep sip.

You could say it's been a rough few days for Dreyer, but it really hasn't. Not compared to some. He managed to bring back the prisoner alive, with only a couple bruises to show for it. No one on his team ended up injured in the least. But he had a bit of a massive misunderstanding with someone and it's been eating at him. Someone who is, largely, optimistic and upbeat, he does tend to thrive or wither on approval or the lack thereof. It makes him a great soldier at times because he's very intent on following orders and succeeding the damn mission without casualties. But whenever there's a fail point, he can spend a while kicking himself over it. A military failpoint, he can just train harder and strive to do it Right next time.

A social failpoint? Anton's not so good at those. Especially when it's not something where he can just make a self-deprecating joke and smooth things over. So, time off meant seeing local buddies and knocking a few back. The MP is in jeans and a Cap Buccs tee, hanging out with some of The Boys at one of the pool tables. He's in his element there; laughing, joking around, and drinking beer like it's going out of style.

Charlie's. Well-then. Someone seems to need a drink. The other Marines here might not recognize her at first. That pretty Staff Sergeant? She's 'slummin' considering her normal digs. She's in a black hoodie and tight jeans. The top hides her generous figure better than a uniform does, but the jeans don't. She wanders in and heads towards the bar. "Bitters. Warm." It's an odd order, but not for a Virgan. It's taken up before she looks over towards Dreyer, then to Randy. Seeing Randy, her smile spreads. Yep, things have been said.

<FS3> Randy rolls Alertness: Good Success.

Randy may have might as well fast tracked herself through to a fireworks show career like a remedial high school loser, but she's far from what she might seem considering the average jarhead. At first she smiles back to Perry, but then it dawns so clearly. She blinks and eyes flick sideways to where Dreyer is. Then she purses her lips and knocks back the rest of her pint. "I'll have another." Then she leans her elbow onto the bar, her eyes settling lazily on Perry, "That's all you're drinking?"

Crowded as he is, Dreyer doesn't spot the newest arrival to the bar. And either he already parlayed with Randy or opted to leave his bunkmate be. No, he's currently lining up a shot. It should be an easy one, by the placement of the cue ball and the one he's aiming for. However, the man is clearly drunk. It takes him a few tries to get his footing and the stick wavers in his hands. When he finally goes for it… the shot is wide and clatters the ball uselessly off the side walls. Anton steps back, looking ceiling-ward, as he's heckled pretty extensively by the others.

There's a few rude gestures tossed off, to the group as a whole, and he drains the rest of his beer before grabbing a nearby pitcher and hiking his way to the bar. The spot he leans up against isn't terribly far from the other two, but he's more intent on securing a refill, perhaps

Perry catches the look and smiles easily. She doesn't answer right away. She sips her drink and moves over to sit on a barstool two down from Randy. "For the moment. Had a rough few days at work." Someone on one of the arrest parties shot the hell out of someone on the Mallfut. Perry was assigned to the Mallfut arrest. But she sips her drink and looks to Dreyer. "SO! Dreyer!" she greets. "Doing well tonight? Looks like you've scared up a table of people who are fearing your shots." Perry gestures to Randy. "You've met Sergeant Flynn before, if I recall?" Ahem! Totally friendly.

Some kind of beer on tap slides across the bar to Randy's waiting hand. "I heard. Cheers to being alive," is said more like a passing comment than an actual toast. She swivels towards Dreyer, brandishing a grin. "We're rack-mates," Randy leans back towards Perry to fill her in with a loud whisper. "He stole the bottom bunk from me…How you doing at the tables?"

The MP's left eye just twitches when Perry calls him out. Like one of those cheek-quivers that's painfully obvious. He looks over, hand tight on his beer glass, as he waits to have his pitcher filled. Stuck. Trapped. All due to a busy bartender. "Yes." It's a sort of flat answer and he blinks a few times. It seems to perhaps serve for both queries. Or just one. Dreyer looks over his shoulder towards the table. It's the usual sort of fray when you have too many people around a game meant for fewer. His 'spot' has already been claimed by someone else. Trick of the service. You can serve alongside folks for a while, but unless you form a close friendship… you're pretty quickly replaced.

Rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, briefly catching tags and making them rattle, Anton shrugs. "Fine. I guess." Talking to the two women, directly, does not seem high on his list of 'Things Anton Wants On His Night Off.' It's fairly out of character and he just looks, impatiently, towards the bartender. A silent pleading of 'please save me.'

Sheers to being alive? "I'll drink to that." Perry sips her bitters. The direction from Randy to Dreyer has her look while she considers, talking to Randy, "yes, I've run into him in the bunks before. He's an interesting guy. He has so much to say about other people." She looks back to Randy with a sly grin and then turns to Dreyer. "So Dreyer. You're bunkmates with Sergeant Flynn. You said something the other night about something she had said." Julia props her head up on the bar, looking between them, but mostly at Dreyer. "What was it you said? Something about how beautiful Randy was? I must agree. I just don't want to jump in between." Troll. TROLL.

Randy's glass is raised in turn for a passing moment. She draws it to her lips, but instead of contact, the pint hangs in the air as her brow knits. Her eyes flit between the metaphorically squirming bunkmate and his predator. Eyebrows arch slightly. "Not drunk enough for this." She decidedly looks straight on across the bar before lifting the pint all the way to start a long pull. It allows her to ignore the others and try to figure out how to prevent small phenomena such as blushing. Luckily, the meditation is working for now and the drink gives her time to regroup. "Maybe I shouldn't have crawled into bed with you the other night yeah? Maybe I gave him the wrong idea."

There's that quiver in Dreyer's cheek again that makes his eye twitch. He looks back over to Perry and Randy, blue eyes clouded and unfocused. He starts to try to cut the JTAC off, but isn't quick enough. At the last she says, there's a sort of burning in his cheeks and he looks impatiently to the bartender again. There's no reply, just a tightening of his jaw. He's too drunk to navigate this properly and not drunk enough to be able to pass it off well. Not with how his and Perry's last chat ended. But the man, at least, is able to just keep himself from saying anything. Silence is best, right?

But then Randy interjects and all Dreyer can do is groan and… slump forward and let his forehead hit the bartop in a dull thud. One might, barely, overhear him mutter "Apollo kill me."

Perry just watches the wrecking ball swing. Yep, she's Virgan aristocracy to an extent. She seems pleased as a kitten with string for the moment. Swilling the bitters, she shakes her head a little to Randy. "Oh no, he was apparently a gent. He enjoyed the company. Don't confuse what I said. Mister Dreyer is a lovely sort of bloke." She just smiles happily and pats his head as it pounds on the bar. "Chin up, friend. Come, come. You said something else." She tries to get him to sit up. "Something about me, yea? You were pretty specific." She puts her arm around his shoulder while she sips. "I won't make you spill secrets, but I think you should point out that woman you were talkin' about." She looks to Randy and gives a sly wink. Maybe its someone else? Yeah, not likely.

At first, the trolling seemed shallow, not much to it, but then it doesn't stop. It's the continuity of the whole thing that has the engineer's sloggy brain grappling for all possible meanings. What was he saying? The question that's running rampant through her mind as she nurses at her beer, trying to look occupied. She can't keep her finger from drumming against the glass though. "I'm afraid I don't have any bad cop left in me." Her grin broadens at the wink.

On a scale of 'One to Unfair,' this is dangling bacon in front of a dog and then eating it in full view. Dreyer does not lift his head, oh no. Even if it's patted. Even if Perry puts her arm around him. Even when the 'tender sets down the pitcher of beer. Nope. The MP remains slumped forward, forehead on bar, still clutching his empty glass as if it were a lifeline.

"Told 'er you like 'er," he mumbles finally. "Happy now?" He turns his head sideways, looking towards Perry with a frown. Someone's not finding the fun in all of it. He turns back and starts to straighten, reaching for the pitcher. Perhaps to ry to make his escape. "Already a shitty marine now I'm showcased as a shitty friend, too."

"Oh, no, don't worry. I'm not even worried about the bad cop." Perry grins at Flynn, a knowing look there. She's just looking to draw this out a bit. "He's adorable. And honestly, I might feel the need to share a bed, myself. Problem is that I might end up making sounds. Have you seen his bone structure? Look at that faaaace," she whispers with a playful laugh. But when the admission pipes forth, she looks more entertained. "Tut tut," she sighs and tries to pull him up. "You're not a shit friend. In fact, I'm willing to bet that you're probably an awesome friend. You've done myself and Flynn well. And I'm not gonna take that Marine thing lying down. Don't make me issue orders. I totally can't deal with that in a hoodie. Missing my ranks." She holds her casual smile, though, looking at Randy. "Sorry, couldn't help myself. I love this guy."

<FS3> Randy rolls Presence+Presence: Failure.

"Why would y-?!" The words burst out of Randy like a fire from a propane tank. They burst and subside as if running out of air to burn. She doesn't try to do any damage control. "It's fine," she mumbles, shaking her head as she turns towards her drink to swing it back. Anything to start swimming away from the nightmare she's somehow wading through. It's as if her whole body brims with the energy of her mood, unable to hide rough it is to learn something that you thought would be the /last/ thing you'd hear. "Yeah," she offers to Perry before lifting her hand to call the tender. "Get this guy a whiskey..on me."

"Stop teasing me. Please, for the love of Kobol." Dreyer is drunk and had been planning to maybe find some cute scientist to distract him for an evening. He's already suffered through Rakes announcing his flirting to the whole of the barracks, handily severing any possibility there. It's quite a handy way to say 'I'm not interested.' when it comes down to it. Now, at the bar, he's been led to reveal his slip of tongue in a terrible fashion. "It's not fair. I do have feelings, you know." In the wake of the verbal poking, he's seemingly taking Perry's words as another way to mock him. To dangle something just out of reach. The snapped words from Randy lead the MP to flinch and his shoulders just… kind of… sag. Too much to even resist Perry's attempts to get him to straighten. That whole 'puppy' thing? Let's just say he pulls off the ol' 'I'm so sorry I got into the trash it was just so tempting and I forgot myself' look quite well.

"Mebbe… I should go?" Someone give the guy some direction. He's lost upriver without a paddle.

Perry watches the reaction from Randy with an easy smile. The whole bursting and subsiding seems to do nothing to diminish her bright light to all of it. "Actually!" she calls out. A chit is produced from the pocket of her jeans. "I would like to purchase his next drink. Please. Yes. Whiskey for him." She slides it to the bartender and looks over to Randy. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves for assumptions, yea?" She winks to Randy, but there's something more than friendly about it. Nope, she isn't shutting the door. She's opening one. "You have him to blame. Thanks for running into me in the mess." But her gaze goes back to Dreyer. Perry does her best to hang her arm off his shoulder. "Do you need another tut? I dont think so. Nono, Mister Dreyer. Sometimes in the midst of things we don't get to thank our friends properly. Not every secret revealed is a disaster. Sometimes it's gold. Siiiit, sit. Have your whiskey with us." She takes another small sip of her bitters. "Tell us who you like. Come. I'm not going to run the embarrassment flag up for you with it. You did myself and Flynn a favor." A sly smile over then back. "Can I repay a favor?"

To Randy, the violation is crystal clear and stings like a bitter Aquarian winter. If she'd warmed up to people more often, maybe it wouldn't have felt so much a shock. She wraps her fingers around her glass, studying the amber liquid inside. "Oh /you/ have feelings…" When Perry insists on paying for the whiskey, Randy looks up, just in time to catch Perry's focus on her. "I don't think I'm making any assumptions," the little marine bares her napoleonic streak, unable to just let Perry's implication hang in the air uncontested. Still her expression softens a little with her curiosity, so easily charmed. She'll take the bait and twist her body more towards the woman between her and her bunkmate for a listen.

And all Dreyer can do is just stare at Perry. It's a pained, confused sort of stare. All he managed is a quiet "Why?" Blue eyes waver a bit, from JTAC to engineer, then back. The arm can hang because he's just too stunned and drunk to process everything and know what to do. "I- I don't want to say. Not now." He's feeling a bit guarded. He won't turn down the whiskey, no, but there's a sort of hurt and disconcertion in the man. He's too drunk to properly put things together, so he's going for the most simple route. "Why…. don't I leave you two alone so you can-" he lifts a hand, waving it, a bit between them. "Do whatever two women do."

<FS3> Randy rolls Presence+Presence: Good Success.

Something inside Randy snaps back /into/ place. That hardened demeanor Dreyer has seen before, the one she arrived with. Like a turtle ducking its head back into its shell, Randy doesn't even bother to warrant Dreyer with any sort of response. Well, outside of the fact that she suddenly drains the rest of her drink, pays, and leaves with only a 'thank you' and fat tip for the tender. It may be a lonely walk, but it's safe from the mess behind her.

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