PHD #050: Get Ye Flask
Get Ye Flask
Summary: Pallas pesters Alessandra, completely hammered.
Date: 18 Apr 2041 AE
Related Logs: None
Alessandra Pallas 
Observation Deck - Deck 3 - Battlestar Cerberus
Post Holocaust Day: #50
With a quiet view to the stars, this tends to be one of the more popular 'quiet areas' of the Cerberus. Up front is a small-unseated area for ceremonies or other activities while the seating rises up behind it. Each level rises up behind the one before it, comfortable chairs and couches set up for crewmembers to relax, get some work done or even take a nap. A large armored plate is lowered during Condition One to protect the interior against a breach in the glass.
Condition Level: 3 - All Clear

Peace is a precious commodity nowadays with very little in the way of it to be found; berthings often times has people coming and going and the galley is full of people who are chatting, not exactly a quiet venue. Even the library can be noisy thanks to people who'd rather talk than read. That's why Alessandra has picked the observation deck to spend her down time at, the Lieutenant currently dressed in her off-duties. There is a notebook and a pencil on the couch beside her but she has forgotten them due to her mind being elsewhere.

Lounging in a corner all to his ornery self is Pallas. It's his 'usual spot' up close by the huge glass wall, where's he's known to sit, smoke a pack or two, slam back an irresponsible amount of alcohol, mumble to himself, and jab at his pad of paper with a pencil before stumbling out again some time later. And that's exactly what he looks to be doing now that Condition Level 3 has been set. He's got a smoke in one hand and a flask in the other, alternating rapidly between the two. The flask gets wedged between his leg and the couch for a second as he grabs the pencil from behind his ear to jot something down in his pad - the lead snaps the second it touches paper. "Frakkin' useless piece of shit," he slurs, tossing the thing away blindly. Toward Alessandra.

Alessandra blinks as she finds herself pinged in the head by a flying writing implement, it getting stared at once it settles on her lap after bouncing off of her brow. "…the frak?" She somehow managed to catch the last of it's flight so has a vague idea of where its point of origin is although she doesn't know who the person who tossed it is. It's grabbed and, with a low groan, she gets up and to her feet. "Hey, you dropped something," she asks casually once she's close to Pallas' couch, still not who occupies it as she angles her approach to bring her behind it.

Pallas doesn't even look up as Lucky approaches with his broken pencil. "No, I threw it," he corrects. Even facing away, the smell of alcohol is heavy on him. Whatever he's drinking, it's definitely heavy liquor. "Don't need it anymore. It's frakkin' useless." He waves her away, shaking his head. The pad on his lap is now visible, and it shows a bunch of circles of varying sizes, some random-seeming lines every which way across them, and equations at the bottom.

Being waved away has Allie bristling but she manages to keep herself calm, it not being worth getting pissy over. What it does succeed in doing is keeping her in place, a cool mask of resolve falling over her face. She looks at the pad and then grins, deciding to poke a small bit at Spiral while she joins him on the couch, uninvited. "Yeah, no frak you don't need it. You can't draw for shit." Sighing, she looks away now, her arms folding about her body as she thinks.

"Everyone's a critic," Pallas snorts as he waves the pad haphazardly at Alessandra. "If I want your opinion, I'll go ask Lasher what it is." That shot happily delivered, he takes another shot from the flask. "One glance and everyone takes a sudden interest in astrofizz… astral… astro… physics," he says, struggling with that word. He jabs at the biggest circle with his cigarette, managing a neat little burn with his cherry. "What the frak do you care about my drawing? I frakking don't." Another jab, another burnmark.

Alessandra sighs and looks over Pallas-wards, her expression exasperated. "I don't want to do this, dammit. It's bad enough I get a shit ton of attitude from the Ensign…" Which one is left unsaid. "…I really don't need this crap from you, too." It's not said confrontationally but rather matter-of-factly with a twinge of sadness mingled within it. "And I was teasing you, Pallas. Trying to, at least. But I guess the stick has been wedged even further up your frakking ass and has further removed you of any kind of sense of humor." Shrugging, she angles a look at his flask and asks quietly, "Mind if I get a pull off of you?"

"Apostolos? Kolettis?" Pallas asks curiously, taking a guess at which Ensign she's talking about. Considering how quickly he comes up with those two guesses, he appears to have a good reason for suggesting those two names. The rest of it gets no reaction from whatsoever as he tosses the pad aside and sits back comfortably. Lifting up the cigarette, he offers it to Alessandra with a shrug. "Brave enough to risk catching whatever I've got?" he asks, a wicked gleam in his alcohol-dulled eyes. "Go ahead and take a puff."

"The former," Lucky says while shrugging, being as indifferent as she can as far as that subject goes. It's not one she decides to linger on as there's nothing to be done about it and besides, there's drink to be had although her query was taken another way, that along with Pallas found amusing. Drunk people always are. "Nah, not that. The flask." Not waiting for Pallas to say yea or nay, she darts a hand out, fully on intending on taking it from him regardless of if he wants to share his booze or not.

Pallas hesitates for a moment, then reluctantly hands her the flask. It's just a plain metal flask, no designs or engravings or anything, and about two-thirds empty. Whatever's in there is enough to make most people's eyes water just from the smell alone. "Ah. Money Shot," he says with a tone of voice that sounds like he should be steepling his fingers with a sinister grin. "Isn't she just a lovely beam of sunshine?" He smiles brightly and falsely, bringing his hand up to his mouth - but the flask isn't there. Confusion. Where'd his - oh right, he gave it to Lucky.

The flask is lifted towards her mouth only to be held just an inch or so from it, the fume and a need to respond to Spiral stilling her hand. "Yeah, she's something like that." Lucky comments dryly before taking tha first drink, her eyes watering immediately. "What the frak is that…ugh, Spiral. Did you steal paint stripper from the deck hands?" Despite that she's taking a second and even a third gulp, her face red and her nose running slightly by the time the flask is returned to his possession.

It really does smell like paint stripper - and it tastes like fuel. "The Deck has strippers?" he asks, taking the flask back into his possession and immediately verifying that there's still drink left in it. Twice. "I knew those frakking knuckledraggers were holding out on me." His eyes narrow as he looks back out the glass into the depths of endless space. "Though the Air Wing probably has its fair share of strippers," he adds with an unconcealed leer at Alessandra. This time, the other hand comes up to his mouth bearing a dead cigarette smoked all the way down to the filter. He tries to take a drag but gets nothing. A grunt of disgust and the thing gets flicked away - it bounces off the glass and lands right back in his lap.

The leer and its meaning is caught and Allie finds herself rolling her eyes, obviously bemused. "Yeah, I'm one of them," she intones with no small amount of sarcasm. "I see that Lasher's been giving away my secrets. Dammit, now all the guys are going to want me to give them lapdances." The path of the butt is followed when it's sent to sail across the air and its return trip is also watched, the fact that it lands where it does getting her to laugh, hard.

"Oh, shut up," Pallas says when she laughs. He doesn't seem to find it all that funny at all. The cigarette butt is swatted away and he stands up off the couch, swaying on his feet. Another swig of the old flask, and he steadies himself on the arm of the chair. "Don't you worry, Lasher's said plenty interesting things about you." Again with the leer - this time more in the 'creepy old man' vein than before. He begins to lurch away with drunken, stumbling steps. "He's given me plenty of ammunition for those long lonely eight-hour CAP rotations."

Alessandra is not as easily baited as some so his reaction to her laughter as well as what he says about Laskaris really doesn't stick, it sliding off of her back with little in the way of a reaction from her. "Oh really? Just what the frak did he say, huh?" She too rises although she's a hell of a lot more steady on her feet, the only reason she has any difficulty in standing is becaus she's still a bit sore from her injury. Is she actually expecting him to tell her? Hell no but it'll surely be entertaining and perhaps even a bit on the educational side if he does.

No, no such luck. Besides, Pallas is concentrating too hard on walking to speak at the same time. As it is, he nearly walks into the wall next to the hatch before he manages to get through it. And on his way there, he nearly bowls over a Petty Officer. Hopefully, he's in his flightsuit because he just got off CAP - not because he's about to go on rotation.

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