SD241710.29 - Joint Duty Log - Everyone - "Party Time" - Part 2
Posted on Mon Oct 30th, 2017 @ 12:34am by 2nd Lieutenant Arthur Grey
Location: USS Lexington
OOC: And the party continues...
=^= Observation Deck =^=
The doors slid open as a brunette women walked into the conference room. Yet another women not in uniform this one was wearing a low-cut, black DedSec; a skull made up of zeros and ones, top and above, she wears a black, short-sleeve leather jacket. The cleavage area slightly reveals a black bra.
She wears a long necklace and a number of wrist bangles and accessories. This also includes a ring on her index and middle finger of her right hand and another ring on her ring finger of her left hand. Imogen's dark-themed appearance is continued by her use of black nail polish/varnish, with a white star and curve.
Imogen wears a large spider-web belt, which is only half visible, and a light brown belt that is matched to a neatly fitting pair of grey jeans. She also wears black knee-length boots with six squared-studded straps and a low wedge heel.
Noticing the two women in the back she headed over. "Care if I bum one?"
Entering quietly, Belatia quickly studied the small group already gathered within. Normally, she was not much one for engaging in these sorts of events; but it would not harm for her to appear approachable. That was something of the purpose of being a Doctor, after all. To help those who needed it. Not having bothered changing from her uniform, the Bolian stood out even more so than her strange colored skin would have caused on its own. But she had seen little point in delaying even further by making the trip all the way back to quarters.
Heading for the drinks, Trarr fetched one up that looked vaguely familiar. They all did the job, even if some were distinctly more palatable. Locating a currently uninhabited corner, the Doctor sipped at her drink delicately. It turned out, quite pleasantly, to be Springwine. Lucky selection, she mused, smirking ever so slightly to herself as she settled in to observe.
=^= Crew Quarters =^=
Quinn stared at the screen for a long time, fighting an internal battle with himself. He wanted to go to the party, meet some of the crew, make new friends. Yet, he knew full well what would happen in such a situation; there was bound to be alcohol, he would have 'just one', and sooner or later he'd pick a fight or be dragged out of there blind drunk.
With a regretful sigh, he sent back a reply in the negative to the invite, and tried to turn in early.
=^= Observation Deck =^=
The music had rotated through the entire pre-programmed playlist, and now Cascada was evacuating the dance floor again. Arthur rolled his eyes at the repetitive tunes, wolfing down the last chunk of the last good chicken leg. The rest were a little manky, and he was convinced the enlisted men were nibbling at them before dropping them back on the plate.
Over on the dance floor, only the truly committed were still strutting their stuff. A pair of cadets had arrived on the coattails of a senior enlisted woman and loaded themselves up on sugar, caffeine, and a couple of near-beers. They were now thoroughly wired, and Arthur had to take a cautionary step backwards to avoid their flailing limbs.
"Oh." Arthur grunted, as he felt himself backing into another person. "Sorry." he added, turning around and noting that it was the same Corporal he'd seen earlier. The growing crowd had separated them at the time, so he'd never actually caught her name.
Molly turned to find who was backing into her. "Oh, no problem Lieutenant. I don't think we've met yet, but i'm your new medic." Molly said, smiling timidly.
Arthur blinked, processing this new information.
"Am I sick?" he asked.
"Well, hopefully not Lieutenant. I meant your Platoons new medic." Molly said, chuckling.
"Good. Welcome aboard." Arthur announced, feeling wrongfooted, and falling back on cliches. "So, did they tell you what happened to the old medic?" he asked, making small talk. It was always a good idea to know what happened to your predecessor.
As the marines bantered into the small hours, the rest of the crew whiled away the evening, many with increasingly alcoholic beverages, despite the fact that it was billed as a dry-event. Some suspected the marines of sneaking the beer in, and the senior officers of sneaking the harder spirits in, but nothing could be proved.
That, and when a party includes *almost every member of the senior staff*, it's difficult to make charges stick.
In any case, the drunk and the tired wandered off into the night as the party went on, leaving only the sober (and the unconscious) behind to listen to the music, gaze at the stars, and to ponder life's deeper questions.
Like how many crewmen to rope into clean-up duty.
=^= End of Log =^=
Colonel Imagen Johnson
Commander Trinian Wells
Captain Rebecca Charleston
Major Quinn Rad
Lieutenant Belatia Trarr
2nd Lt Arthur Grey
Corporal K'nera Grilka
Corporal Molly Dawes