Log:Drinks, Heels and Age Before Beauty

Drinks, Heels and Age Before Beauty: Or, how Portia made her muddy grave with Warrant Officer Rake.

OOC Date: April 29, 2016
Location: D'Qar, Recreation Room, Resistance Base
Participants: Portia Vykos, Rake

Well, it seems Portia Vykos is back on base, not that she actually gets all that much time here, but the woman does try to come through every few weeks. Information to leave off, new missions to pick up, pilots to annoy. The usual. However, the way one can *tell* that Portia is here are the heels. Namely, the stilletto sharp pair of high heels sticking up in the air from the end of one of the longer couches.

The elegant woman has, with expert in-elegance, draped herself length-wise across the couch she's claimed as her own. A tall drink of something blue and intoxicating rests on the coffee table next to her, but she's got a datapad in her hands right now, scrolling through whatever report has been put in front of her as she sprawls like some cream-colored feline, completely ruining the lines of her bespoke suit which she's unbuttoned at the front to reveal silk camisole beneath. She looks comfortably, well...Ridiculous.

Rake had been busy, setting up grounds for training and getting equipment set aside. His first class was due to start in a week. Of course, the Shistavanen was not an elegant being. He was covered in salt-and-pepper colored fur, where there weren't scars disrupting the growth patterns. He was gruff in mannerism, basically an old and crotchety wolfman.

The Warrant Officer makes his way into the rec lounge, a horned flask in his clawed hand as Rake drops the heavy pack from his shoulders to lighten his load. He could have unloaded on his ship, but sometimes it was good to make the rounds amongst the troops.

Possibly it's the slightly different gait than most humans, or the heaviness of his tread, but the entrance of the Shistavanen is enough to lazily draw pale ice eyes away from her datapad and in the direction of the new arrival. A lazy smirk pulls across Portia's lips as she eyes him across the tops of her glasses. "Evenin', old man. They let you off of your ship?" Then her pale gaze narrows at that heavy pack and she smirks a bit more, "What did you do, pack for a long winter?" Oh, she's in fine, sardonic form tonight, even if the teasing words carry a note of fond respect behind them,

There's a grunt as Rake plops down onto a couch. "Watch it, kid," Rake says, taking a pull from the flask. "I ain't had fresh meat in a few days, and my belly's rumblin." He leans back in his seat, looking over the woman. "Those are likely the most impractical shoes I've ever seen. You here as entertainment or just like punishing yourself?"

The dark haired woman lazily rolls her head to the side, to follow watching him as he plops down into the other nearish couch. She's still smirking, half amused, "Oh, come on, I don't have enough meat on these bones to even make the fight worth it. Derrings is around here somewhere, go nibble on him." She huskily chuckles, killing the screen on her datapad and setting it aside on the coffee table. It's not near so tempting as actual socialization. She stretches a thin hand over, grabbing at her own drink to take a long pull.

His commentary about her shoes gets a good roll of her eyes. "I like a good pair of shoes, especially when they make certain Senators think with parts of their anatomy that aren't their heads. Besides, they're good calf toning."

"Still impractical in any terrain other than very flat and firm ground," the scout says. "You look familiar to me, but then again, I see a lot of people come and go, so I might be mistaken." He takes another pull from his flask, the heavy smell of strong whiskey permeates the room with each sip. "I'd love for a student wear something like that to my SERE course. I'd have a field day with that, and I guarantee that they'd have some serious calf toning."

"I think we met... once. Three years ago? Maybe two. I've lost track... I was in after the last set of elections, what a mucked up mess that was..." Portia mutters, even if they were just planetary elections for a small system, it was a mess. "Portia. Portia Vykos." The last name might be recognized, Senator Vykos of Coruscant was one of the better known in the galaxy. "...Or, well, here... Agent Vykos. And..." She gives a low groan at the thought of SERE training. She'd dodged it for years now, but if she cared for any promotion, she knew it'd be time. She knocks back a deeper gulp of her drink. "...I heard about the damn course. Probably should be there, unless something blows up in the senate again."

Rake chuckles. "Ahh, yeah..." he says as his mind goes to people of priviledge being some of his favorite students to run through survival training. They were a pain in the ass, but their failures were fantastic. Nothing better than pushing someone who's afraid of a bit of dirt through two weeks of absolute hell without a shower. "It's not mandatory, not yet at least, so all students are volunteers. Of course, for some people, I think their commanding officers are going to volunteer them before they have a chance to say no."

If nothing else, the sheer fact that the woman is in a blazing cream suit without a smudge on it probably spoke volumes about Portia's relationship with dirt. She half sighs at the commentary of it not being mandatory. "...Mandatory is a funny word. There are very few things in life that are actually *mandatory* other than breathing and eating. But highly recommended after a decade of service... *Sternly* recommended, you might say -- yes. I've been hearing such." She grumbles, finally pulling herself up into sitting straight, those heels resting smoothly on the floor. She does manage them without much thought.

Rake give a toothy grin. "Well, there is that," he says. "I recommend anyone who might find themselves behind enemy lines to take the course. At least phases one and two." There's a pause as he sips at his flask. "Phase 3 and 4 are usually reserved for flight crew, as they're the most prone to finding themselves in such a predicament that such training really comes in handy. Most of the grunts aren't exactly valuable assets to the enemy like the officers and pilots are."

A slight quirk of a grin comes as he mentions that information. "Warrant, I spend my life behind enemy lines. It's just generally far less muddy and far more... prone to back stabbing. And high heels." Then Portia's unfolding from the couch, long and lean, far too easy on those death sticks of heels (though, yes, they'd get her killed two minutes into his training.) She scoops up her datapad and glass, toasting the last dregs of blue in his direction, "I look forward to being tortured by people I might actually like for once. See you in the field." And with that offer, she knocks back the last gulp and saunters off to the bar to abandon her empty cup (apparently, she's not so spoiled as to not clean up after herself) then head for the door, the quiet clicking of heels following her the whole way.

"And I look forward to putting you through the course. Hopefully you'll learn something in it. If not, then maybe I'll learn something," Rake says. "Have a good evening, Agent Vykos. I do suggest that when you show up for the course, you wear something more sensible, but then again, if that's your standard attire, then maybe you should show up in heels."