Characters involved are: Brin (RED), Sigurd (ORANGE),
Logged by Brin

---

Yggdrasil, Gun Room
As you enter this room, you are taken aback for a moment at the sheer spendor of this area. Lined in floor tiles resembling marble, this entire area has a noticeable aura of beauty and class. From here, you see a beautiful silver <stairway> leading down, the <Dining> Room, and the Maison's own <Counter>. An elaborate <doorway> leads out.
Contents:
Sigurd
Dart Board


Tis the season for darts it seems, as Sigurd stood, leaning on the railing that keeps unsuspecting victims from falling into the level below, throwing a dart at the board some distance away. Is his left hand was a cup with steam rising from the hot amber liquid inside - ah, he has access to his favorite cider once again, all is good. Or at least mellow for right now, otherwise the First Mate surely wouldn't be wasting time like this, now would he. A pause to sip his drink, then a quick snap of his arm sent the next dart flying straight and true through the air toward it's target to land abruptly in the middle of the portrait's forehead. Not bad.
A gentle, almost timid whooshing sound indicates the opening of the door from the corridor. Not early enough to throw the first mate's concentration, but even if it had, neither the door, nor the tall figure padding through it would have caused much of a distraction. Brin quickly spots his intended quarry, yet calmly takes up a position out of the way of flying darts, yet within Sigurd's theoretical field of vision, as he speaks, gently now. "Greetings. I see the game has caught on..." He smiles, nodding at the dartboard.
"Let us just say the target deserves the abuse." In Sigurd's field of vision, yes, but not looked at, his gaze going from the board to closed as he takes another quiet sip of the cider. They say still waters run deep, and he was a vary still man conpared to his charge... Compared to most men spare the Etone in his company. Finally that too-blue gaze was lifted to the only other occupant of the room as he rolled the final dart between his fingers slowly, politely witholding his final throw to pay attention. "You wish to speak to me?" Gathered from both the direct aproach and the feelings so common to one finding what they'd been searching for that he'd felt - It's hard to hide much from an Empath, was it not?
The expression does not change, yet... o 0 ( ...oh well. Small talk appears not to work this time... ). "Well, actually yes. Um... " ... the expression changes now, as he thinks of a wording. "More of a statement, or clarification, of sorts. Since it was looking like there may be, um, conflict back there for a while, I feel I should...reiterate the fact of my impartiality in this manner...." That's it, Brin. Take the 'subtle' approach. He stares at hsi feet for a second. "That is, of there were any confusion on the matter, of course...".
That draws a faint chuckle from Sigurd as he stands up straight and offers only a light shake of his head. "Brin, I beg of you, don't dance around topics of importance with me. State what's on your mind and be done with it. Being so subtle is for a manipulator, not a friend, and I do hope you are the latter." He pauses a long moment, then shrugs and flips the dart in his hand as he sips his cider, then sets it on the railing, just wide enough to be a stable surface for it. "I am aware of your position. However, feel free to continue, I am listening. You need not feel you must be evasive with me on this topic."
Brin instantly appears to lighten up, slightly. The mouth speaks this time. "Well, I appreciate your directness. The crux of the issue is, I'm not a rebel. I will not fight for your cause. I will fight to defend the innocent, and defenceless. You, and your enemies are neither...." His hands hang to his side, and he leans against a corner of the railing gently. He thinks deeply for a time, staring at the portrait implaed on the board across from him. "And to tell you the truth...I don't want to be put in the position where I have to stand by and let yuo and your enemies kill each other..." he squints up at Sigurd, the nervous half-look serving only to reinforce his point. "I only...really came to Nisan for the simple reason that I wished to see it. I think i might best serve in the base, withthe civilian population. I have been..." o 0 ( ...neglecting...) "away from them for some time...". He looks up at Sigurd fully. "You understand?".
Sigurd has disconnected.
Sigurd has connected.
"Of course, I would not expect a Man of God to take sides." Sigurd's answer was gentle and true as a cooling breeze across the desert sands. And, for a moment, a sympathetic look crosses those bronzen features usually devoid of emotion. "I am dreadfully sorry. Nisan is usually a peaceful city, and if I had known trouble would arise, I would not have extended the invitation for you to come." Turning his gaze to the amber liquid in his glass, his chest heaved in a silent sigh. Nisan had been a peaceful city not too long ago. Why had Solaris taken the Fort, anyway? Why had the one place of peace on the continent of Ignas been drawn into this pointless war? Though Sigurd stood silent, his expression was one of worry, one of an old pain buried deep within. "I beg forgiveness. It was not my intent."
Brin raises his hands, in a half-hearted gesture of calm. "Please, you could not have known. If anything I'm glad to have been given the chance to see this place. No apology is necessary...". He looks again at Sigurd's apologetic manner toward him, and almost feels guilty himself. Lowering his hands, and shifting from one foot to the other, he breaks eye contact, and looks around. His worries about Sigurd's reaction had been...unfounded, at least. Sigurd is ... o 0 ( ...one of the most resonable men in this conflict...if I _were_ to have to pick a side... ). He quickly breaks off this dangerous line of thought, and indicates the portrair on the dartboard. "This, I presume, is one of your...adversaries...?".
A hateful glare, probably the most intense emotion seen from Sigurd to date, was lifted to the portrait and, in a moment of weakened self-control, the third dart flies through the air with enough force to shake the board when the tip buries itself in the left eye. "Krelian." The name was spoken like the most vile thing on earth. "He's behind all this. There are those higher than him, but he holds the true power of Solaris. Of Gebler. He also...." A hesitation, a catch of breath in his throat, and he looks away. "Forgive my behavior. I have personal... -grudges-" /Hatred/ "...against the man. Sometimes it's hard to remember my place when emotions flare. But yes, he is one of the men we stand against."
Brin nods, somewhat unnerved by the unusually...intense reaction of Sigurd to his question. "I...see. I'm now no longer mystefied as to the explanation behind..." he waves at the board, a crooked smile, that isn't sure if it should be there crossing his face. "Miss Khiea appeared to...like using this, also. I was under the impression that she was from Solaris...". He speaks this as if talking to himself, staring blankly at the face on the dartboard, committing it to memory. "Sorry. I'm just not familiar with many of the gebler forces, except perhaps Joseph. And...wha was it, Kale? Yes.". Still talking half to himself, he fills the silence by clearing his throat.
Sigurd takes a deep breath and sighs to calm his nerves, finally offering a genle smile. "Yes. Khiea is from Solaris. But she, too, has been hurt beyond repair by this man. I can similarly relate. Though while I was torn from my family and... endured things no person should be subjected to, Khiea was rejected because she is 'imperfect'." A hand lifted in a vague gesture and he shakes his head once. "I do not know the details, all I know is Krelian's actions were harsh and all but broke the poor child. Please don't speak to her of it directly, just know she is hurting because she feels she has lost everything. Or so I can gather, at any rate." Set the cup down again and walk to the dart board to pull the projectiles loose, look them over, Sigurd, and contemplate the anguish you knew so well. "Right now, she needs friends, not councelors. Just as you don't try to build a house upon a weak foundation, you do not try to rebuild a mind without giving it a firm foundation first." Looking up, he turned that calm, bordering on sad, gaze to the Etone. "You understand, na...?"
Brin stares, understanding perfectly. "I...yes, I understand. I fear I may have been a bit...forward with her before..." he scratchs his head, and squints o 0 ( ..._damn_... ). "If I had known. That is, even though I love children, I've never met one so..." and the word is not there. Exploitable? Disturbed? Sad? ... "...hurt. Usually, children are more resilient to something like that, but...", he looks at his feet. "...someone has broken her spirit...". He looks up at Sigurd. "Oh, I apologise. How...tactless of me...".
Sigurd chuckles faintly and shrugs. "Don't feel bad. You still have a lifetime to learn thru experiance how, and how not to, deal with certain situations. Besides, I doubt you were propperly informed of what happened to her." Silently, he turned to head to the bar to put the darts away, calling over his shoulder. "Would you like a drink?" He didn't want to corner the poor man - he'd informed him of how to go about talking with Khiea, now the topic would change to set him at ease. "We restocked here in Nisan, so there should be quite a selection for you to choose from." Gone were the flitting ghosts of pain that echoed in his gaze when he spoke of the past, leaving once more only the calm, collected First Mate of the Yggdrasil, so willing to serve, as one accustomed to doing so for the majority of their life.
Brin starts a little, at Sigurd's rapidly changing composures. Perhaps. o 0 ( ...perhaps it is a..painful subject). The subject drops, and Brin steps quietly closer. "Well, I don't want to impose. Any sort of ale should do fine. Nothing fancy...". Imposing is not one of Brin's strong points, and he says this more so because he doesn't want to trouble sigurd, rather then any penchant for ale he has been hiding. "Yes, it was getting...rather crowded and ill-tempered in the base at times, with the shortages. Let us hope new supplies will bring some relief...". He smiles reassuringly at Sigurd, and means exactly what he says this time.
Sigurd nods. "The tension has been extremely high, recently, with the families wondering when their next meal will be. If at all." Suddenly Sigurd does something.... very un-Sigurd-like. He sits on the counter and swings his legs over the other side and slides off to go rummaging around in the bottles rather than take the proper entry to the area behind the bar. Perhaps Sigurd wasn't quite as completely mature and restrained as he appeared to be. Just perhaps. "Ale you said?" A moment later, he stood and turned around with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other, setting the glass on the bar and filling it. "Usually our supply of ale gets guzzled by a visiting friend of mine, you're lucky he's not around." Gentle laughter was an undertone to his voice as he spoke, capping the bottle once Brin's cup was filled and tucking it away under the bar.
Brin warms to the almost jovial mood that now emanates from Sigurd, and seems to fill the room. He walks over to the bar, and takes a sip, tasting... He plonks the glass back down on the counter, breathing a sigh of satisfaction. "I could get used to this.", he smirks, a wide smile now filling his face. He leans against the bar. "Although, far be it from me to deprive your friend of his favourite drink. Anyone I know...". Given Brin's stature, it would probably not take much to make him drunk. But, he is speaking freely now because of the relaxedness he feels. Being among friends, and with the relief of his previous worry gone, he can relax.
Sigurd seems to consider a moment, blinking once, then chuckling. "Come to think of it, you may know him. I heard his son is an Etone as well. Billy Lee Black's father, Jessie. Perhaps you know him?" Now it was just blatant curiosity, like an eager child who was so rarely spoken to. Indeed, very few people talked to him just to -talk- anymore. It was always business, always a problem he had to sort out, or cover for one of Bart's less intelligent actions. Even he seemed to be a bit more relaxed than Brin had previously seen him, usually tensely squared shoulders were relaxed enough for him to lean on the bar as well, his arms folded on the counter, one arm lifted to rest his chin on his fist, his expression more open, read like a book, just like his charge.
The name...seems familiar. "I've heard the name. Of Billy, that is. Don't think I've ever met even him, though. Least of all his father." He takes a long, almost swill, from his glass, and peers at Sigurd through one eye. "He runs, um, an orpahange or something, out one one of the islands...." he looks off to a far corner of the room. "Must try visiting him, sometime..." he muses, before looking back to Sigurd. "Yesh. And Jessie, is an ally of ours...I mean yours?..." he asks, carefully putting down the glass on the counter, as quietly as he can. Steady on.
Sigurd quirks a brow at him, but stifles his laughter. The boy looked like he handled alcohol about as well as he himself did. "I served in the Elements with Jesiah for about 4 years in Solaris. He's an old friend of mine, but yes I suppose you could call him an ally." Tempted to take the glass away, but he leaves it where it sat. The Etone knew his own limits. Sigurd did not.
Brin drains the last of what remained in the glass. Shame to waste it really, and he didn't want to offend his gracious host. As he places the glass back on the counter, he begins to think a game of darts might be fun. And that he'd like something salty to eat. If there were anyone female here, they would suddenly look more alluring. And now Sigurd is saying he's from Solaris. Solarians fighting Solarians, and rebels joining gebler. His forehead bunches, and he thinks... "I...shee...." he doesn't right now. But will think about it later. Maybe. Hm. He turns back to Sigurd. "My thanks...", he indicates the drink, "it was...magnifishent...". Okay, the lucky avenue barman was _definitely_ watering the drinks down. Must have a word with...oh yes. He sits down, and tries to remain quiet, hoping the one person in the room will not notice his...decidedly sorrier state.
Sigurd does, finally, chuckle at him, taking the glass and turning to wash it in the hidden sink. "You're welcome. However, I believe I should have given you a smaller glass. Will you be alright or do you need help back to your room? You really should sleep this off or you'll end up with a pounding headache." Oh -that- he knew all too well. One too many April Fools jokes on the too-trusting First Mate had sent him away with a throbbing headache for days after.
Brin stands upright, "I..." too quickly, forcing him to flop back down onto the stool, surprised. After getting his bearings, he carefully stands, and gingerly walks clear of the stool, making sure the invisible restraint that held him there a minute ago was gone. "I...think you're right. A smaller glass, and ale that doesnt have that certain..." he peers, squinting at Sigurd "...quality. And I believe I may take your advice...I shalute you, Mr. Sigurd, and take my leave, sah!" he gives a mock salute, grinning maniacally, before turning, and mock marching toward the already-opening door.
Sigurd sweatdrops at him and shakes his head, putting the glass away and hopping out from behind the bar, retrieving his forgotten cider and finishing it off as he watches the less-than-sober Etone leave.