Culture Shock, Chapter 4: Mating Rituals (Dee, Seelix, and Racetrack), 4/12
Chapter 4: Mating Rituals (Dee, Seelix, and Racetrack)
Back in Vancouver, Dee, Seelix, and Racetrack managed to avoid the same miscommunications and confusion that plagued the Tighs by relying on the old fallback of “I’ll have whatever your having” when men offered to buy them drinks. And being three attractive, successful young single women, the trio had very little difficulty getting as plastered as they pleased when they went out for a night on the town.
Dee, Seelix, and Racetrack had become drinking companions long before the discovery of Earth. Near the end of the Baltar trial, the three had realized that they shared a very strong common bond: they were all very used to dumping and being dumped by Galactica's finest. Racetrack finally despaired of her tragic, five-year crush on Helo; Seelix angrily gave up on catching Sam’s eye when she caught it roving over a semi-naked Tory Foster, then laughed her ass off when Tory threw Sam over for Gauis Baltar, of all people; and ironically, Dee’s separation from Lee gave her a newfound appreciation for drinking and sightseeing at Joe’s Bar. The trio were often joined at their regular table at Joe’s by a few brave, foolish potential suitors and, until Gaeta finally wised up, by a pining Louis Hoshi (which, incidentally, later on helped defrost some of the understandable chilliness in Gaeta and Seelix’s relationship-participating with Seelix in those more informal therapy sessions at Joe’s was excellent training to prepare Hoshi to help Gaeta through “Attempted Murder Mondays” in group therapy). Even with these visitors, though, those nights at Joe’s were really about the three of them having shoulders to cry on and, what was needed more often, a sane audience to bitch to about men’s stupidity in general and Galactica males’ insanity in particular.
On Earth, all three had been so busy with their new jobs since their release from quarantine that this was the first night they could schedule a reunion of the old gang. Racetrack had opted to join the Canadian Forces Air Command and was as thrilled to be learning how to pilot helicopters as she was to find that her squadron was letting her keep her old Colonial callsign. The controls for Earth helicopters were surprisingly similar to Raptors, except without the jump drive, which made training a bit trickier than she had remembered. Raptor instructors had used the jump drive as a sort of emergency brake, hopping nuggets out of harm’s way whenever they were about to crash into something. Helicopters were markedly less forgiving of, say, flying too close to trees or buildings, Racetrack had quickly discovered.
Dee, who took her oath to the Colonies more seriously than perhaps anyone but Adama, found a unique way to remain in the Fleet without having to literally remain on Galactica. She was currently serving as an exchange officer at Central Command, primarily helping the militaries of North America better understand and coordinate with what remained of the Colonial military in space and vice versa. All of her combat experience translated into a quick promotion all the way up to Major, and unlike the various promotions received by officers during the journey to earth, Major Dualla actually received a corresponding raise in pay. Though for the most part, Dee was happy for ex-husband’s successes and wished him well, when she received her first paycheck, she couldn’t help but smile a little smugly and whisper to herself, “Take that, Lee Adama.”
Seelix, who had decided that, as fun as social mobility was, there were ways to improve one’s lot in life that didn’t involve being locked in mortal combat on a semi-regular basis, was taking nursing classes during the day and working at a hospital for practical experience at night. Unlike Dee and Racetrack, who’d tested out the nightlife of the greater Vancouver area a few times before, this evening was the first opportunity Seelix had had to really go out. Hence, she was a bit farther behind on the learning curve of how to deal with an odd new Earth species, the Modern Canadian Male Barfly, than her drinking companions were.
“I still don’t understand why we turned those last guys down,” argued Seelix. “Maybe they weren’t great, but they weren’t bad, either, and they were offering to buy.”
Racetrack put a hand on Seelix’s shoulder, in part out of camaraderie and in part to steady herself. She really shouldn’t have had that blond-no, had that rum and coke thing the blond bought her, she mentally corrected herself. “You’re new to this, so you don’t know how the game works, sweetie.”
Dee, who, of the trio, was the most selective as to whom she led on and therefore by far the most sober, nodded in agreement. “We’ve had a little more practice at this than you have. I know it’s a big change, but you’re going to have to learn to be pickier when it comes to men.”
Seelix leaned back on her stool, unconvinced.
“Let me put it this way,” Racetrack said. “How many people were in the Fleet, at its biggest? About fifty thousand, right? And let’s say half of those are men. That’s twenty-five thousand guys to pick from, and that’s counting the guys that are too old or too young or too married.” Racetrack leaned in and continued in an excited half-whisper. “There are three billion men on this planet. Three billion. That means no more putting up with guys whose idea of sweet talk is praising your ability to fold his undies.”
“We’ve gone from a fished-out puddle to the big, wide ocean,” Dee added. She smiled wistfully. “Oh, and drink specials! Bars actually have to compete for business, since there’s more than one, so they have drink specials. Different ones in every bar.”
“We have entered the promised land, Diana, flowing with milk and honey and booze,” Racetrack said, tipping her glass to her lips and then drawing back in disappointment when she remembered in was already empty. “Though maybe we shouldn’t have caught and released those guys. Frakking shame, buying your own drink,” she grumbled. “Bartender-” Racetrack swiveled on her barstool and accidentally bumped her toe hard into the bar. “Frak!” she said at the pain. “Oh, frak, I meant to say fuck! Oh, wait-I-Gods, it’s hard to switch over to a new multi-purpose curse word. ‘Frak’ comes out almost like a reflex.”
Seelix nodded in sympathy. “And it’s so confusing, since there are some Earth people who use ‘frak,’ too, but not always in the way we mean it.”
“I know Felix was terribly disappointed when he discovered that a ‘frak party’ was just a group of people live blogging during a TV show,” said Dee.
Seelix took a sip of her drink and said, “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Gaeta or Hoshi around since we all got out of quarantine.”
Dee smirked. “Yeah, neither have I. That’s part of why I didn’t call them to come along tonight. I believe they’re too busy…christening their new apartment to be interested in going out.”
“Huh?” asked Seelix.
Racetrack leaned in, grinning evilly. “She means they’re too busy frakking on every flat surface in their new apartment.”
“Ew! Gods, Maggie, why do you always have to be such a pervert?” said Seelix. “Now I’m never going to be able to have dinner at their place without thinking about… You could at least say ‘fucking’ instead of ‘frakking.’”
Dee said, “You think ‘frak’ sounds dirtier than ‘fuck’? I thought ‘fuck’ sounded raunchier.”
“No, I think I’m with Diana on this one,” said Racetrack. “‘Fuck’ has some added shock value because it’s new to our ears, but ‘frak’ is definitely the better word. You can sit on the ‘r’ and stretch it out without the word losing any of its punch, you know? Frrrak! Holding out the ‘u’ in ‘fuuuck’ just makes it sound like you’re losing steam.”
Before they could debate the relative merits of Earth profanities in any greater depth, three men with Figurski’s physique and Aaron Doral’s fashion sense approached them at the bar.
The lead lounge lizard of the three slithered up beside Seelix. “Hey there, sweet thing. Would you like a gin and platonic, or do you prefer scotch and sofa?”
The man grinned and actually looked a little hopeful as Seelix sat speechless, trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about. The fact that he wasn’t recovering from the sting of a slap by that point in the conversation meant things were progressing vastly better for him than usual, it appeared.
When Seelix didn’t answer, he struck another cocky pose and tried again. “That dress looks great on you. As a matter of fact, so would I.”
That pick-up line, Seelix understood. She grimaced and looked at her nearly empty glass, then grimaced even more when she looked at her potential refill source again.
Dee tapped Seelix’s shoulder. The girls huddled together in conference.
Racetrack and Dee looked at each other, engaging in a brief, silent conversation. They turned to Seelix, and Dee asked her, “Okay then, let’s see what you’ve learned. What do you think, Diana? Reel them in, or throw them back and wait for something better to bite?”
“We can do better,” Seelix said confidently. She glanced over her shoulder. The creep who’d spoken licked his fingers and used them to smooth out his eyebrows, smirking all the while. “Much better. The night’s young.”
Racetrack nodded and patted Seelix’s shoulder. “Good girl, Diana. You’re a fast learner. Would you like to do the honors?”
Seelix hesitated for a moment, thinking.
Before she turned around, the man added, “Do you wash your panties with Windex? Because I can really see myself in them.”
Had he not made the fatal error of mentioning underwear, Seelix might have been tempted to be a bit nicer to him. Instead, she smiled evilly and bowed in her seat to Dee and Racetrack. All three turned to the men.
“Excuse me, sir, but which phrase do you think is more effective: ‘frak off’ or ‘fuck off’?” Seelix said sweetly.
Three jaws dropped. Before the befuddled men could form any response, Seelix slid off her barstool and said, “C’mon, ladies, this place is fished out.”
Racetrack and Dee barely suppressed their snickering as they breezed past the men, Seelix in the lead, chin held high. When they made it outside, though, all three burst into laughter, Racetrack even doubling over. She regretted that rum and coke thing again when she found herself struggling not to continue on that trajectory, nearly toppling over.
But she certainly wasn’t going to let a little thing like rum-or was it the coke that did that?-cut the evening short. She leaned against a building and righted herself.
“You know,” mused Racetrack as Seelix hailed a cab to take them to the next club, “I completely agree with our decision to toss that particular catch back, and scaring them off like that was fun, but we probably shouldn’t get too picky. Because I am not going to let it be said that frakking Louis Hoshi gets more action than I do.”
“Fucking Louis Hoshi,” Dee corrected.
On to Chapter 5: Government (Lee, Zarek, and Tory)...