When you were on a boat, basically drinking and trying to get yourself a tan, bikinis were always the best option. At least on Aimee's opinion. She surely was comfortable in little clothing: she had spent two days basically in her bikinis. When packing, the Texan had to fit a bow, arrows and her hat on her suitcase; that, along with make-up, had left almost no space for clothing. The conclusion was obvious: the smaller her clothes, the better. It was Mexico, right? Surely that wouldn't be a problem.
She had manage to stay blissfully drunk most of the time. Which was something, counting it was their second day. It was what she had gone there for: drink a lot, mess around a lot, and basically be trouble and get in trouble. Betty had moved out of London, and any perspectives of fun times with her had gotten automatically more difficult. And who knew, she might even disappear into the world as well. You just couldn't tell with her. Aimee smiled at her friend's drunkenness, and the comic attempt at shooting Dallas.
"Betty, no dead bodies in this trip, please." She said, laughing as she turned to face the girls.