nysalogs | (mini-event) THE COALITION OF REFUGEES

(mini-event) THE COALITION OF REFUGEES

THE COALITION

On the day of the council, there are markers tied with ribbons in the colors of both Olympia and Wyver that line the paths from the cities to the South Outpost, meant to guide anyone with an invitation to the first meeting of the Coalition of Refugees.

While during the previous festivities of the gala the Great Hall was sharply divided between Olympians and Wyverns, the differences between the factions are not so apparent now. Inside, the hall is decorated with a more subdued mix of the white and gold of Olympia and the red and black of Wyver. Banners, pennants, and bunting drape from the ceiling and wind around wooden pillars. To one side of the hall, there are tables set up with drinks and finger foods — refreshments for the guests, for after the opening speech. A raised platform has been set up at one end of the room, flanked by contingents of both the Royal Guards and the Knightryders standing at attention side by side, differentiated only by the make of their armor and the colors they wear.

Ashti, Shenya, and Heryn stand waiting for the arrival of their monarchs, pointedly ignoring each other; notably, Raysc, Shanrian's son and the leader of Mythi's Fangs, is conspicuously absent.

Staff members cluster to the side of the stage, waiting for the speech to begin. A whisper drifts over from a woman in one of the Olympian groups: Do you really think the Empress will try to negotiate for Nithor's skull?

The man she's speaking to shakes his head and scoffs, answering: Ha! Not a chance. She thinks it's too soon, who knows if this peace will last. Besides, there's no way she's willing to give up Ysevrai's heart.

A horn sounds, and the staff members subside, glancing around to see if anyone's overheard. A moment later, and Simwe and Shanrian make their appearance, walking together to the stage for their speech.

Aha… we have quite the gathering here, do we not? All of our heroes in one place… This may be an unprecedented meeting, but it seems as though it will be a productive one. Let us begin by thanking all of you for your contributions to our cities in recent times.

Since your arrival, you have weathered the plague that swept through our cities and aided us in finding its cure; you have withstood the scorn of those who were meant to shelter you turning against you, and helped us quell riots in the very hearts of our homes; you have been taken right off the streets and endured hardships too terrible to tell, and have proven heroes in bringing our people safely home. You have done much for us, and shown yourselves loyal beyond many who were born within our walls. We will allow your voices to go unheard no longer! Today—

Today, we will hear you. You have demonstrated both strength and valor in equal measures — it follows that you will be wise as well, and it is that wisdom that we wish to hear brought in council to our cities. You are gathered here to look beyond our history of violence and hostility, to see beyond the prejudices we hold. We hope that with your clearer sight, you'll keep in your hearts the betterment of both of our fair cities, rather than allow pettiness to hold sway and lift one over the other.

Those gathered here are deemed worthy by action and by the trust of your brethren: a council. Amongst yourselves, decide what matters most to you about your lives within the cities. Discuss what changes you wish to see, and how those changes should come about. Reach an agreement, put your motions to us, and should they be feasible, we will see what sort of effect your ideas will have. The two proposals with the most support among your fellows will be those we implement, so argue your reasoning most convincingly!

And remember, this is your chance to impress us. If your advice is sound, we will look to you again.

At this, both rulers fall silent, and withdraw to a balcony to oversee the proceedings. This is not their meeting, after all — this is something that only the refugees can determine the outcome of.

FINAL OOC NOTES

Welcome to your first chance to have a voice in the NPC governments, Players! Your task is, as a group, to decide the two most important IC issues you would like to see Olympia and Wyver address, and then put forward a plan of action for how to improve whatever those problems are, which will then be implemented in May.

Since these are strictly Olympian and Wyvern issues, topics should still adhere to the Natha's policies of not revealing anything about the Storm or the Natha's existence, but beyond that, you're free to propose any topics you think should be addressed about your characters' way of life in the cities — after all, haven't the Orbiters sent you here to make a difference and improve life on El Nysa in their stead?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ianto holds his hand out to study the ring itself. Supposedly it's supposed to defend him from trouble, or so Jim had said at least. He's not quite sure how but he is also hoping not to have to test it out and see if he can help it. He slides the ring off and slips it in his pocket, glancing around to make certain no one else has seen it. He made the mistake of forgetting what Jim had warned him about it earlier and created quite an awkward scene in the process, which he'd rather avoid again if possible.

"He lives in Wyver," he replies, moving to take another sip of his drink. "I'm sure it would be more of a jungle bungalow than anything else. He told me Olympia was 'the comfortable city', which begs the question how much worse could it get." Now he's just grousing -- he knows their room is fine, it's just not what he's used to.

"I heard that too, and that Wyver has warmer weather year round."

His face scrunches up, and John hesitates before adding --

"Which doesn't make much sense, considering how close they are. I dunno. Olympia has better beaches, apparently, for surfing. Flona Cove? Sounds nice."

John's lived so long in Atlantis that he misses the constant sound of the ocean, it's strange. It had been a little disconcerting at first, but now it's a reassurance he misses. The low hum of the city, the crash of waves against metal and glass.

Ianto shakes his head at the idea of it, not knowing quite how it's possible himself either. They really aren't that far apart, so unless it's something to do with the jungle...?

"I can't say that I've ever been," Ianto replies. "Surfing. You may be surprised to hear as much, but outdoor sports are not exactly my specialty." Which he doubts. Anyone who looks at him will hardly be shocked to hear as much.

"I'm guessing Wales isn't normally warm enough for beach visits. Not even hiking, though? I thought it was full of hills."

Or that might just be his mental image. He frowns in thought.

"I can teach you to surf. Well -- if I can find some some surfboards. And beach clothes."

You know, given those two previous things.

He raises an eyebrow at the other man. "Well, it's certainly no California," Ianto replies. Because yes, he does remember you told him that's where you're from. He remembers everything, so long as he's seen or heard it the once. "We enjoy the beaches well enough, but more as part of the scenery than for swimming in. It's never quite warm enough to want to take that sort of a plunge."

As for the rest of it -- well there are hills alright, but. "Look, I've always just been more of a city boy, yeah?" he replies. "But I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try. You'd better hope this planet has some equivalent to sun lotion as well, though. Otherwise the deal is off." Do you see the color of his skin, John? He will literally light on fire if you make him face the sun without any protection.

Lotion? He studies Ianto sideways, trying to gauge how quickly he'd burn based on experience with Rodney. Probably not as quickly as he imagines, but still quicker than you'd want. He'd definitely need something on his face and probably his shoulders to keep from going red.

"We could get you a wetsuit," he offers, "if they have those. Or one of those full body swimsuits. With the stripes."

A Victorian bathing costume, Ianto. You'd look charming.

Ianto makes something of a face but then he supposes it wouldn't be that impractical of an idea, all things considered. It's why the Victorians did wear bathing costumes, after all. Even if he'd feel a little ridiculous in the moment. Better to look ridiculous than suffer the burns that might come out of it otherwise.

"With the stripes," Ianto repeats, shooting the other man a look, before he moves to take another sip of his drink. Just what sort of an image are you conjuring here anyway, John.

"Are you any good?" he asks. Finding it easier to focus on a conversational topic other than himself. "You must be, to offer lessons so freely." He tilts his head at the other man, trying to picture it. "I wouldn't imagine there are that many others with such a passion running off to join the military," he hazards.

"You think surfing and the military don't mix?" John prompts. "Why not?"

Sure, you can't regularly surf while on active duty but one of the draws is the adrenaline kick. There's plenty of adrenaline kicks in flying or entering a warzone, it doesn't seem so big a divide for him.

"Anyway, if you just want to paddle in the shallows you go ahead. Make sure you roll up your skirts a little so you don't get them wet."

He takes another casual sip of his drink, darts his attention back out into the crowd.

Ianto shrugs slightly at the question, and is about to explain to the other man that the whole image of American surfer dude, long hair and a tan, just really doesn't fit with the straight lines he knows a person has to walk to be in the military. But then John makes his comment about skirts and any polite conversational train of thought Ianto might have had goes flying out the window.

Eyes narrowing he turns to frown -- or perhaps glare might be a better word -- at the other man. The comment was hardly warranted, as far as Ianto is concerned. Just because he can't surf? Because he isn't outdoorsy? He had thought better of John, but the truth will out, as they say.

"It's good to know you think so highly of me," Ianto comments, and with a final swallow of his drink, turns to set it back on the bar and leave.

Whoa there. John blinks as Ianto turns away sharply, trying to work out exactly what happened. He's used to Rodney snapping back at him, and Ianto making to walk away is so abruptly unexpected he's lost for a second.

"Hey --" he prompts, and sets aside his drink. "It was a joke! Ianto, c'mon --"

He tries to think of something helpful to say. He doesn't care if he can't surf? He doesn't care if he just wants to paddle? It all sounds weirdly disingenuous all of a sudden.

Just a joke.

"Comparing me to women and children in the same breath? Hilarious," Ianto mutters to himself. John has started after him and Ianto's not upset enough to have the other man chase him through the room. But the comment still stung, and so does the fact that John has obviously no clue as to why it did. Just a joke.

He turns back to the other man. "You can make what you want of me and of my thoughts and opinions but I won't be your punchline. Colonel." He knows that he's an emotional wreck at times. He's already cried on John once, but after everything, he hadn't been able to hold himself back. He had thought John understood. He thought John to be a friend, even if he'd only just met him. Had John been playing him the whole time? Ianto supposes he's been a poor judge of character before, but.

"I wasn't--"

Only okay, he was. A little. He cuts himself off, takes a breath and winces slightly.

"Listen, I get it, I'm an idiot. Okay? I have a bad sense of humour, and a bad filter. I thought --" What did he think? That it was funny? Clearly it wasn't funny, though John isn't exactly sure why it's gone quite so spectacularly badly. Must have hit a weak point. "Never mind," he says instead. Then, after an awkward pause. "I like paddling. And, skimming stones."

Paddling isn't bad. Maybe the... skirts comment was just too much?

Ianto glances aside, away from the other man once more. Wishing he hadn't put his drink down, because he would really love some more alcohol right about now.

"I like the cinema," Ianto replies, after a long moment. "I like fast cars, and eating fried food, and wearing nice things." He looks back to John. "I like a good lager, and the color red, and I really like coffee, so long as it's been brewed properly." He lets out a long breath at the other man.

"I told you I'm a city boy, and I made no allusions otherwise. But I fought aliens for a living. If you take me to an honest to god beach, I'm sure as hell not going to sit there skimming stones."

Okay, well, this is progress. Probably? Ianto is talking to him, that's progress.

"You don't have to," he offers. Awkwardly. "You can watch me skim stones instead."

... He really does like that. There's nothing wrong with skimming stones, he thinks? Unless it's secretly some kind of coded insult he's been oblivious to all along.

Ianto simultaneously sighs and rolls his eyes at the other man, before stepping back towards the bar area again. Assuming that John will follow him. The idea had been for them to get drinks together, after all.

"You offered to teach me surfing," Ianto says, though his tone of voice suggests there may be an affectionate, 'you idiot' added silently on the end of the sentence. "Don't tell me that you're rescinding it now."

He reaches for another pseudo-ale, taking a long drink of the amber liquid before turning back to the other man with an assessing glance. As if to say, 'well?' John deciding Ianto might be better off paddling had been what set them off the path in the first place here after all.

Well. Yes he did. But...

John reaches for his own drink and takes a hesitant sip, giving Ianto his best kicked-puppy expression.

"I mean, if you want to. You didn't exactly sound like you wanted to..."

So, you know. He trails his eyes down self-consciously and shrugs.

Ianto scoffs into his drink, but he supposes he hadn't given John much evidence to the contrary. Complaining about the sun and his distaste for the outdoors in general.

Sighing he lowers his glass again. "Listen," he says. "I'm Welsh. You should be worried if I stop complaining. And if I've agreed to something, that means I want to do it. No matter how much griping I might add to the contrary. Alright?"

So please stop giving him the kicked-puppy expression. He really does want John to give him a chance. He wants to feel like he's worth giving a chance.

His eyes lift again and fix on Ianto, a touch uneasy before he clamps down on that and nods.

"Sure," but there's something a little reflexive about it. It's the sure of someone who is agreeing as much to make peace as because they actually agree. "Though... if you want to just... hang out, I mean, we can just. Hang out."

Ianto doesn't seem angry anymore, but the sting of him getting up and nearly leaving is still there.

Edited (repetition ) 2018-05-06 22:24 (UTC)

Ianto feels a bit as though he has done something wrong, with the way that John is suddenly responding to him. Which is ridiculous, because as far as he's concerned he was entirely justified. But it makes him feel guilty nonetheless. He doesn't want John walking on eggshells around him. He just doesn't want -- that. To be implied that he is any less of a man because of who he is or what he likes. Or what he doesn't. It's a touchy subject, alright.

"I'd like that too. Maybe with some drinks again?" he adds, raising his glass at the other man, hoping to placate whatever it is that has set the other man on edge.

"Yeah," John manages, and there's a little more life in the reply this time. "Maybe we can figure out what they call this stuff and buy more of it."

He gestures with his drink, takes another sip. Drinking solves most problems, right? Maybe it will even solve his terrible social skills.

It's either that or it makes them worse.

John sounds a little more natural than he had before, and Ianto feels a little bit less like he's kicked him or taken his favorite toy away or -- well, as though he's scolded him for being bad which he supposes is something of exactly what he's done, in a way.

"Assuming we find some way of earning money," Ianto notes, which has been on his mind for a while now, they're going to make them start paying for everything sooner or later, including their housing for that matter, "the market district is sure to have something of the sort." If not exactly this than perhaps some other pseudo-ale for them to try, maybe?

"Yeah, I've been thinking about that."

John leans to set aside his drink, reaches for a bowl of tiny bar snacks and begins to feed himself the quasi-chip-like-things thoughtfully.

"So, it looks like my best option my be singing up for local guard duty. I'm..." He hesitates, holds out the bowl to Ianto as he frowns. "... Not sure I know these guys well enough for state work yet," he admits quietly, "but there's also a red light district. Which means there's bouncer work. I might take a look, feel out a few places."

He's not wildly into the idea of constantly ending up a smear on the ground if it's rough, but it also might net him free drinks and better local knowledge. Among other perks. You know.

Ianto glances aside at the other man, listening closely while he talks. He reaches out to take one of the chip-like snacks, nibbling on it thoughtfully as he contemplates the other man's words. No, he supposes he doesn't trust them so much to sign a confidentiality waiver either, or whatever it might take to do work directly for the Natha themselves. But a bouncer?

He tries to envision it and finds it isn't that hard to imagine, in a way. And in another way he isn't certain that John is hard enough for that line of work. Then again, he is military, so.

"You're a step ahead of me then," he says, leaning sideways against the bar beside him and taking another 'chip'. "I haven't got a clue." What do you do after Torchwood? What can you? To imagine himself serving up drinks in some shop...

Swirling his drink in his glass, he muses aloud, "I don't know that I'm all that skilled at anything they might want from me here, truth be told."

"Sure you do. You could be a... personal stylist. Help people match up their suits!"

Do they have those in Olympia? John has no idea. He sets down the snacks to switch for his drink again.

"Or work in whatever the local equivalent of a coffee shop is. You said you like coffee, right?"

So maybe he'd like whatever popular hot drink they have here. Maybe he'd be good at making it! You never really know until you try.

Ianto raises his drink and takes another long sip of it to keep himself from saying something bitter or mean. It's not John's fault all of those options sound dreadful to him. Nor is it John's fault that he might have to settle for one, in the end.

"Maybe," he replies at last. Playing with his glass in his hands as the next words spill out of their own accord. "My father was a master tailor." Shit.

(mini-event) THE COALITION OF REFUGEES

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