2022-03-13: A Long Faded Rainbow

• Log: 2022-03-13: A Long Faded Rainbow
• Cast: Ana Kambinda, Arriety Hearn, Alma Stirner, Lilith Aiden, Hathaway Noa, Eight York, Riddhe Marcenas, Alteur Steinbeck, Anser Vulpecula, Shelby Korts, Sayla Mass
• Where: Actias Luna
• OOC - IC Date: 12 March, 0096
• Summary: Three years after the Axis Shock, a disparate few gather to try to mourn together. It doesn't work.

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<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.

The atmosphere in Actias Luna is subdued. But that's to be expected, given the evening and the reason. It's a medium sized bar, upmarket and on the modern end. The music is low, and the lighting is none too harsh. But the evening is early and the tab is barely touched.

The taps have a mix of craft beer, cider and army favorites, The bottles behind the bar are a strong range, but light on aged drinks. The wine list is mostly Australian, with a few local Spanish wines and French wines. Vineyards take a while to recover. The cocktail list is kind of standard- colorful fruity drinks with high alcohol content and lots of sugar, the carbonated glowing drinks popularized by Side 6 influencers, the old classics that came back into style with the return of the Macross Colony Fleets- but the martinis are the real draw there. Nowhere else has the best vermouth.

For food, there's an array of tapas classics, some with fusion twists. It is the right sort of food to keep you drinking longer, but not necessarily stop the hangover the next morning. For the non-drinkers… Well, there's juice, soda and water. Even in 0096, bars still don't cater well to non-drinkers.

The feelers went out through some old Karaba contacts, new allies, a jerk of an action reporter. Trying to reach people for whom it would be better not to be alone, and a few of these events popped up. But this one, in Madrid, was organized by Sayla Mass. Hence the tab.

Sayla was also, it had been decided, someone for whom it would be better not to be alone. There was a plan in place. Leina had a hotel booked not far away, and if Sayla needed to bail, she could just text and get picked up. (And because Leina Ashta is a smart woman and knows Sayla wouldn't do that on her own, plans to check in.) But it was, hopefully, better than locking herself in the study and drinking all night.

So, for the moment, Sayla is finishing making small talk with a few AEUG acquaintances, who had gotten out after the 2nd Neo-Zeon war, mourning a friend who hadn't. The conversation wraps, and Sayla steps away, and finds a table to lean on. She looks at the cider in her hands, half full, and pauses to drain it. She puts the glass on the table. People have barely arrived and she's already one down. This might have been a bad idea.

She contemplates getting another drink, but instead she chooses to watch the door and the crowd. Behind her, the TV shows last night's Primera Mixed League game- human football, not wanzer. Easy, uncontroversial background TV- provided no soccer diehards are in.

<Pose Tracker> Ana Kambinda has posed.

"You look like you have a lot on your mind," a voice to one side of Sayla muses.

Actias Luna's a bit out of the way for Ana Kambinda, but she's nevertheless stepping quietly up to one side of Sayla. She left her work uniform at home and chose something classy but not overly formal. Open blazer, fetchingly-cut red top, crisp slacks. She's got a glass of red wine in one hand and a faint, sad smile at her lips.

Of course she'd have a lot on her mind. They're not here to just watch Spaceflix and chill. Or at least, it's not the plan.

She fusses with one of her sleeves before shrugging. "Sorry if I'm butting in on you. I came in a couple minutes ago and saw you were here already." She remembered Sayla from the fundraiser in Johannesburg. A short meeting, to be sure, but one that left an impression on her. Not only telling off a Britannian princess, but doing it for a good cause, put Sayla squarely on Ana's nice list.

"...You want another?" she asks, raising her glass.

Asking for a Maghrebi wine had occurred to Ana. She didn't. Now's not the time or the day to grumble about beverage choices.

<Pose Tracker> Arriety Hearn has posed.

        Arriety is at a... bar... whoa...!! She's never been to a bar before! Auntie Seo-yun would probably kill her if she found out she's at a bar! ... Auntie Seo-yun is also an intelligence agent, so chances are pretty high at that, but still!!

        She looks incredibly out of place, the way she's kind of gawking at anything and everything and absorbing the look and feel of it. Should she really be here? No, no, it's fine... she's still got that enormous, oversized Londo Bell jacket draped over her shoulders, and otherwise doesn't look equipped to go bar crawling, with her turtleneck shirt and thick gloves, and skirt, leggings and sneakers.

        She remembers Sayla from the charity event in Africa, the one she went to with Eight, Anita and Minae... the tone is kind of somber, though, and Arriety doesn't have to be a psychic to understand that there's a lot of lamentation about people who aren't here anymore.

        She can't help but think:

        Is this going to be me in ten years?

        She doesn't voice this vocally, because the last thing these sad adults need is to take psychic damage from a teen reminding them they're Old now.

        So instead, she walks up to the counter, kinda tiptoes up and bravely requests:

        "... can I have some milk?"
Riddhe Marcenas has arrived.

<Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed.

This type of thing might not normally be Alma's vibe... her sense of community with other veterans is a little bit mixed. She's learned to read the room exactly enough to know that there are veterans' events that she's a little bit priced out of as a *Zeon* veteran. This particular invitation doesn't have that vibe, though...

Which means she's here. The Axis anniversary isn't actually that hard for her; it stings a little -- she knew Captain Quattro, *as Quattro* -- but she gets that it's better to do something with it than not.

"Hmmm... what are you thinking for food?" Alma asks the person entering with her -- and then her gaze locks on Arriety. There's a moment of confusion, followed by a slightly longer moment of recognition. It's gonna feel weird to her if she's the only one not getting a *drink* drink, even if she's a teenager, so --

"Aah, milk here too, actually, for now!" she calls, as she gets settled in.

<Pose Tracker> Lilith Aiden has posed.

"Fingerling potatoes to start. I think it's...patatas bravas?" Lilith responds to Alma, entering in with her. Unlike Alma, Lilith's never been priced out of veterans' events. There's been ones she's gone to alone, but in general, she also isn't a fan. It's too much suffering.

But this is a big one. Axis was something that, while not the hardest thing in the world, still burns. So many lives lost, because of one man's delusional wish for the future...

Moving to settle in next to Alma, Lilith calls for her own drink. "Vodka. Thank you."

For now, she's focusing with her eyes and not her mind as much as she can. Being empathic in a veterans' event is going to be really hard, so instead, she's just trying to an eye of everyone here.

<Pose Tracker> Hathaway Noa has posed.

Thankfully, as today was a Saturday, Ashford Academy hadn't had classes for him to attend. Even so, Hathaway dutifully did the bare minimum amount of homework that was required of him to scrape out a passing grade from participation and then dressed himself in a very reserved pair of beige slacks and black dress shoes, paired with a white button-up and a red dress coat, topped with a reserved black tie and suspenders.

It was the sort of outfit you'd see him wearing just about anywhere that didn't require something more specific - almost salaryman-eque, in a way.

Leaving behind his one person apartment to acquire transport to the 'party', Hathaway Noa is left to stew in increasingly unpleasant thoughts. He, too, was someone who it was decided should not be alone this day. His mother had been the one to reach out to him and prompt him to it after he'd intended to ignore Sayla's invitation.

And yet, she's not going to attend herself, is she? .. No, that's unfair of me. Mother and Father are comforting themselves today. I should be happy that their relatioship is good enough that they can confide in eachother like that.

He felt like a disgusting little cretin for being displeased by that. He understood why, of course - seeing others able to conquer their demons, to be happy even if just a little bit instead of giving in to their misery, it only reminded him of things he was incapable of.

        It reminded him of how miserable he was.

And indeed, misery did love company, and that's how he finds himself staring Sayla in the eye once he enters the room, a twinging on the edge of his mind - carefully closed off and shuttered to avoid unwanted prods at his feelings and thoughts.

I don't recognize most of the people here .. though - if I'm not mistaken, some are former AEUG. Axis Shock was after all, something that affected most people in the earth sphere ..

He couldn't help but wonder, for a split second, how things would be if what happened that day were just a little bit different. Not for anyone else, but just for him. It was selfish, yet, he couldn't care.

If her life meant the misery of everyone else in this room, that was a proposition the current him would probably take.

But that was not the world that Hathaway Noa lives in, and continuing to think about it would do him no good - nor would acknowledging the phantom sensation of two sets of fingers gently brushing his shoulders.

"Hello, Miss Mass. It looks like you can't stop being the life of the party." he says, cordial and casual. "Though things seem much quieter at this one than the last."

As was natural, given the difference in guests and purpose of the gathering itself. Hathaway had, before coming over to her, obtained a soda, a can of Dr. P.

        " . . ."

There's an almost awward tension there - he really had nothing he had to say. No. It's just that what I'd like to say is pointless and mean. ... it's strange, even though I'm only doing this out of a sense of obligation, I still feel like I owe her more than that - as if I owe her anything at all. But she did spend her time and money on my sister and I in years past, so maybe that's too uncharitable.

<Pose Tracker> Eight York has posed.

Eight York is also here! She is here with Arriety in particular, amused a little by how she gawps at things. It's nice, especially given the very gloomy atmosphere, to have a little levity. ...She was still in high school when Axis happened. This isn't exactly 'for' her... but it's important to support the older officers, to be part of that chain, and understand what came before. So Eight is here.

She smiles at Arriety who asks for milk, and says, "Ah, an orange soda for me." It's a little chagrined, but she isn't actually embarrassed about the fact that she doesn't and can't drink.

She smiles at Lilith, and then Alma. "Hey."

But she looks over at Sayla, too...

<Pose Tracker> Riddhe Marcenas has posed.

Of all the places in the world that Riddhe could be, right here and now was either by accident, fate, or newtype bullshit. It's possible any or all of these could be the reason. This occasion never sat well with him, the world was saved by a miracle, but...well it was a reminder and reinforcement of his believes that Zeon's aggression was never acceptable, and lets him file those in space who continue to wage war as awful.

So it's to nobody's surprise that he was already here, having a drink and staring at the TV. He wants to be a bit antisocial, but also he doesn't. That time when you tell yourself you want to be alone, and not interact, but also need interaction. Riddhe was probably more of a mess than his often infectious smile and seemingly carefree attitude put others off.

The One Year War started when he was six, the horrific tragedies that followed in its wake happened as he grew up. How many times had things threatened the safety of his home or his way of life, or how many times has he watched his father come home after being gone for so long only to leave again. He knew things were wrong just by looking at him. Worse, the peace that followed had changed him.

Inwardly he blamed it all on those in the colonies that hated earth for no reason, why shouldn't he hate them? It wasn't every member of the colonies, he told himself. Zeon did more to them than even the earth, but he did also remember it was those people who keep rising up and keep trying to hurt the Federation. This day, it just reminds him how close his home came to death.

He was twenty, barely out of training. He remembers the fighting, he remembers the few of his class who made it into actual careers in Londo Bell. He went to their memorial services, he went to a lot of memorial services.

His head looks up to see at least one familiar face, and despite that desire to want to be alone, he gives a wave towards Eight. He's drinking a local microbrew, but despite a smile he usually greets people with, it's noticeably strained today. He also notices Sayla, and knows her by both fame and reputation.

He noticeably tries to stay out of her orbit.
From afar, Shelby Korts was going to have Shelby arrive "a little late" because cold feet, social situations, etc.

<Pose Tracker> Alteur Steinbeck has posed.

         The music's low, the lighting's kind, and the world goes on and on. Beyond these walls are memorials, televised specials, reminders with NEVER FORGET plastered gaudily across the world. Beyond these walls are equal parts celebrations for the world's survival and memorials to those who lost their lives, either by action or consequence, either sacrificed or sacrificing. Beyond these walls it's after Axis Shock.

         Within these walls, though...

         Within these walls, for a brief instant, it could perhaps be said that the cycle stood still. That here in this kindly-lit place with low music and spirits held down by both stomach and gravity, the world stands, unmoving, waiting to see if tomorrow the cycle will continue, and hoping against hope that it won't. That those in this mausoleum for the living might emerge tomorrow reborn with the chance to smile again.

         It's impossible not to know when Alteur Steinbeck is in the building. His psychic presence is enormous, overwhelming. A singular point in the world that swirls around him, smothering the air in what can only be described as a great and powerful warmth. Being around him is like being in a big hug, a hug that says to the room 'I want you to walk away feeling the best you possibly can'. It's a soul that says 'you can trust me - you can rely on me - I'm here to help you' from the innermost depths.

         And it is by God stupidly, disgustingly powerful.

         He shakes hands with a lot of people he hasn't seen in years. Though his presence is warm it's tinged with regret, brilliant warm oranges streaked with little jagged lines of cold and sad metal. He remembers names perfectly. He mentions losses. People clap him on the back and regret the loss of his wife, and he in turn claps them on the back and regrets the loss of friends gone by. The cold, sad metal doesn't deepen as he goes through the room, just...remain. A reminder that even this man, this warm, open, charismatic man, this man who served through the wars that shaped the world, went through these same things. That the scars are there, too.

         He laughs, and it's a warm, ringing laugh full of hope for the future. "Orange is my favorite color," he says to Eight on the way past with a pat on her shoulder, "It's auspicious, you know?"

         Even with such a stern face, his smile is just...strong. He sits down at the bar and holds up a hand. "I'm sure you don't hear this often, but I'd love a chocolate milkshake. Plenty of time to drink later. I'd like to be sober for now."

         The unspoken ripple in the psychic world is 'I'd like to remember this, the beginning, while we're all thinking together.'

         He reaches out and puts a hand on Sayla's shoulder quietly. Just a pat. His smile fades, and his laugh is gone, and the silver scars gleam in the orange warmth, and he's there again, opening that letter, that letter from Melissa, that last letter he'd ever see from her. That letter stained with tears. That letter that knew she would never leave Dakar. The silver scars run bright through his orange warmth and bring a chill to that kindness, a miserable, shared chill, the shared chill for every person in this room who got one of those letters, who still kept those letters on their mantlepieces, on their bedside tables, folded in a little box somewhere secret and safe.

         "Mr. Noa," he says after a few moments, "Mr. Marcenas. It's nice to see you tonight." His smile returns, though it's tinged by that silver. "And I don't recognize a lot of you, but that's alright. Tonight's a night for sharing and remembrance. A reminder that none of us need to bear it alone."

         "I'm Alteur Steinbeck. It's nice to meet all of you." Another massive wave of orange warmth just comes *crashing* through the room at his smile. "Thank you for being here with Sayla. With me. With each other."

<Pose Tracker> Anser Vulpecula has posed.

Anser Vulpecula looks, for all intents and purposes, as though she does not belong in this bar. For that matter, any bar. The only tip-off that she's probably not as young as her diminutive height suggests is that she's looking positively jaded, and confidently walks to the bar. Unfortunately, that effect is diminished slightly by the fact that she rises up to her tip-toes to temporarily forestall any commentary about her age. Mercifully, for once, she's not given a skeptical look when she orders a tall draft beer, which she wields defensively in front of her as though confident in its ability to defend her against any potential small-talk that might come her way.

No, she is objective oriented. Now that she has a drink in hand, she works toward the noble objective of putting a dent in the tapas population.

This event being held somewhere where there's not the constant threat of losing oxygen means that she's actually wearing casual clothing for a change. She's wearing her favorite on-the-nose hoodie - black, with a printed silhouette of a fox with a goose in its jaws. It's not quite a nametag, but it may as well be.

The burden of having been born with an astronomy-based last name, and with two dorky parents determined to make it even dorkier. She posts up at a table and seats herself without any of the troublesome mingling that such events tend to invite. Free food. Free drink. The ability to keep an eye on people. The perfect recipe for any self-respecting hobbyist people-watcher.

The absence of one face in particular does cause her to pause and scan the bar a few times, but it's ultimately shrugged away, and she works towards draining that craft beer and packing away tapas like they're going out of style. Look, she's food-motivated. Very, very food-motivated.

It's a thing.

<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.

        There's something outside. It's a palpable presence of a psychic nature; the strength of a mind and heart that feels like a storm on the ocean. A force that, at it's calmest, is still very much There. A feeling that Sayla Mass has felt before, and hopefully become somewhat accustomed to, and ...

        She's hesitating about going inside.

        Standing outside and looking up at the building, Shelby Korts looks a little out of place here: She looks too young to be wandering into a bar, let alone one being used to host a somber gathering of people following the anniversary of events that she was there for. That she was...

        Well, there's history.

        Sucking in a deep breath and adjusting her glasses, the pink-haired young woman pushes her hand out of her sleeve and pushes the door open to head inside. She's dressed in a large hooded jacket that keeps the worst of Spain's mild winters in check; a turtleneck, and a short black skort with patterned tights. On her feet, well-worn bright red running sneakers that have been used for a lot, and a lot more running. Her glasses are pretty big, and -- that presence? That feeling-- it moves *with* her.

        Military, she is definitely not.

        She blinks a couple of times in an active, conscious way as her head cants to one side and starts to tilt before her eyes close. Nnf. Loud. Not too loud? Loud. Once she gets herself centered, she briefly scans for a familiar face-- oh, there's Sayla-- and over there, Anser. There, she walks with her arms close to her sides, like she's trying to shrink down a little to not be seen until she makes it to the table. "I'm sorry, I'm late," she says, pulling a chair out to sit down with the mechanic.%

<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.

        Milk is, thankfully, available. (There's coffee, if strictly okay coffee.) The bartender raises an eyebrow, but, well... Given the tone of the event, young people being here wouldn't be that out of place. A few glasses of milk, some post-mix orange soda and a straight vodka are dashed out quickly. The Patatas Bravas take a bit.

        Sayla is a little surprised to hear Ana's voice from behind. She's nowhere near as 'on' as she was at the gala. "Oh, Captain Kambinda." Sayla is very good at remembering people, as she scans the room. Several from the party, Londo Bell members. Some she doesn't know. "That's not a surprise, is it?" She responds, with a very weak smile. "It's a day for sad memories of those no longer with us." And she can only talk about some of them. And one memory of loss leads to another. Still... When Ana offers. "...Yeah. Brandy. Or failing that, a double gin. It's all paid for, don't worry. Thank you." She may as well take the captain up on her offer.r
        Sayla is dressed conservatively for her. A simple black sleevless dress, that goes down to the mid thigh, with a dash of slinkiness, and black heels. And she's closed off too, as per usual. Which means she and Hathaway are even matches. She looks over to the teenager, as he opens conversation. Miss Mass, now. It's not much better. "Hathaway." That same weak smile, of someone trying to hold her act together and not doing well at it. She didn't know the full details of what happened at Axis- and she had never dared to look- but she knew Hathaway was there. She looks away at the comment of being life of the party. "I suppose." She's so damn tired, it's obvious. "Are you..." No. Okay is definitely not the word. "...managing alright?" She chides herself. Damnit, normally you're good at this. So why does Hathaway make you put your foot in your mouth?

        "...We don't do milkshakes sir. I could do a chocolate liquer and milk, shaken maybe?" The bartender is kind but... Very definitely has a feeling of 'my dude'. But Alteur is a presence, tryng to be cheer in a room of despair. And sometimes that's needed. Sayla feels a hand on her shoulder, and turns to look up at himn. The pain is there, too. "Alteur," she says, looking up at the older man. The two ran in similar circles, before and after. They knew each other well enough. She's happy to let him do the speech. She's made enough in recent memories.

        Unfortunately, for all the joy the man may have, he's one man. And the depths of despair and loss can be limitless. Sayla's own is more than enough to drown so deep that your body would never reach the surface.

        She sees Shelby walk in, as much as feels her. The fact that she was trying... A part of her wants to check on her immediately, but Anser is there too and that's something. The young man over there, drinking alone- avoiding her. There's a lot of hurt her, not least her own. And Sayla's instinct is to focus on everyone else's. Which isn't the point.

        There's a cheer from a small table. "Mira eso! Un gol milagroso!" say the closed captions on the TV.

<Pose Tracker> Ana Kambinda has posed.

It's striking to Ana just how many people came who weren't old enough to serve - under normal circumstances. The existence of child soldiers is one of those truths about the Federation she absolutely hates. One more question as to what she's fighting for.

Sayla, at least, feels the struggle. The smile Ana shares with her is one without a lot of feeling behind it. "I... yeah. I have a lot of memories like that too. Better not to live with 'em alone."

She manages to wave a hand to the server - "Brandy for my friend here." When she's looking back, it's to nod to Hathaway - a face she recognizes mainly because Sayla mentioned his name. A lad with a famous father. Should stand to reason he'd be here. Dr. Mass was part of a very famous bunch.

Swirling her wine, Ana sighs and moves to lean against the nearest piece of furniture. While she takes brief stock of Sayla's dress, it's the wrong time to comment on it. Instead she nods at Hathaway quietly. "No Britannian nobility shitting up the occasion," she says with a shrug. "Better that way, to be honest."

To the psychic, Ana's mood is... predictably low. Things weigh on her. They weigh heavily on her. Like possibilities fluttering away from grasping hands. Outwardly she's composed, taking a measured sip of her wine before looking to Sayla again. "...Lot of memories, yeah," she concedes. "I was up there when everything happened."

<Pose Tracker> Arriety Hearn has posed.

        Arriety looks a bit surprised to hear someone else ordering milk, but her eyes lock in on Alma and she smiles quietly. "O-oh," she stammers at first, but smiles quietly towards the older woman as Lilith moves up next to her. They do have the look of veterans of some kind... they must've seen a lot of battle, Arriety reasons to herself. "Hello. I'm Arriety..."

        A pause, as she looks over Sayla's way again. There's Ana from the party too... and that man speaking to her, didn't she see him at that party too? Something about him...

        She gets distracted by Eight coming up next to her, and smiles as she moves a bit closer to the Captain. "I wonder if I should sneak a drink..." she pauses, before shaking her head. "It might get you in trouble, though."

        She pauses, and then gestures to Alma and Lilith. "Eight, do you know them?"

        Shelby enters, and for a moment, Arriety can't help but recognise her psychic presence; it's there, it's powerful... who was she? Arriety pauses, shaking her head as she checks in with herself internally. Riddhe is someone she's met before, but Alteur is new...

        Arriety's own psychic stench of death still lingers about her, as it always does, whether she wants to or not. Someone who doesn't quite register like a living being on that wavelength...

        "There's... a lot of... pressure in this bar," Arriety admits to Eight, though not keeping her voice particularly low. She shouldn't be surprised... this is a gathering of veterans, and that tends to attract... 'Newtypes', does it not?

<Pose Tracker> Hathaway Noa has posed.

A sharp pain stabs into the side of Hathaway's head, eliciting a wince as his dark eyes trail to the left. He felt Alteur's approach to the building before the man himself even entered - how could he not? The presence of his mind felt as large as a skyscraper. A similarly sized, if not as forwardly potent presence was trailing not far behind him, too.

Presences like that were either purposefully bloated or laxly restrained, at least from Hathaway's way of seeing things - he kept his mind squished and restrained by comparison rather than allowing it to expand freely both for the sake of covering himself, and for minimizing the discomfort that presence could bring to others. He'd only allow it to expand in situations he felt it would benefit him.

Or, in this case - a situation where he felt it was necessary for his own comfort. So that he would not be swallowed in the flow of Alteur's feelings as vast and wide as they were, nor be pushed under by the passing of Shelby Korts.

His mind unfurls just a little bit as he unwraps his thoughts from one another, allowing his 'self' on the mental spectrum to grow enough to stand like a rock against the tide. Just enough - and no farther.

Compared to Alteur's 'hug', Hathaway was like a death grip. Rather than enveloping others in warmness, it would crush them into nothingness if allowed to do so, dragging it inside and erasing it under the weight of his emotional mass - like a hole in space.

Using his own mind as an equalizer, the pressure put on his brain is brought to a tolerable level.

"Mr. Steinbeck," he acknowledges. " - there's nohing to thank, but I appreciate your kindness. We're all here for our own reasons, after all."

"Even the idea of doing this for the dead is just a gesture for our own comfort." he says before pausing, realizing that his words could be more hurtful than not.

I wasn't expecting such a powerful psychic to be here, much less two - even if I knew there'd be more than a handful of people sensitive on that spectrum. It's .. bothersome. I may be leaving earlier than intended, for my own sake.

Taking a small sip of his soda to measure his response to Sayla, Hathaway breathes in, " .. yes, I'm - managing. I'm not wearing my uniform, but I'm attending an academy right now, for botany and related subjects."

She seems so .. fragile, this way. Is talking to me really that terrible? Well, I don't blame her. It must be hard trying to reconnect with someone when you know nothing about them. This should be a decent bone to throw, I think .. yeah. If I keep the distance at something like this, even I should be able to have a nice conversation.

To Ana's acknowledgement, he returns it with a small, well-practiced smile and a nod. "Britannian nobility can be difficult to manage - particularly those related to the Emperor."

<Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed.

"Oooh, you've got great taste," Alma says to Lilith, with an easy grin. "Not that I didn't know it~" A quick peck on the cheek, and then... things start to get heavy again. Alma can feel it; she struggles to turn that feeling-it... *off*, in fact. She glances toward Hathaway.

Oh, she thinks, a little distantly... it's the Captain's son. She wonders for a minute why Bright himself isn't here, but... Bright's always been a little distant, she thinks to herself. He didn't stick around for the full run of the Second Neo Zeon War, even; it makes sense that he's, in all likelihood, spending the day with his wife.

Alma's milk arrives. She pulls herself out of that vortex of someone else's emotion in favor of giving Eight an enthused wave. "Captain York! Aah, glad you could make it! Do you want some fingerling potatoes, too?" A beat, before she adds, "Oh right -- uh, that's our order!"

She then turns to Arriety, noticing that comment about the pressure. She notices *Arriety's* pressure, too... she's lost someone, probably. Not uncommon, but -- that just means Alma needs to be a little bit more purposefully sunny. "You get used to these a bit," she says, with a smile. "I think people really wanna connect when they're hurting, and people like us, uh... we hurt kinda loud." She lets out a slightly hapless-sounding laugh.

<Pose Tracker> Eight York has posed.

Eight feels the pressure, but gives off a warm, soothing presence herself. She smiles at Arriety. "if I thought you could hold your alcohol, I'd say go for it, but..." She only teases her a little bit, though. Then she looks back to Alma and Lilith. "Thank you!" she says. "And I'd love some!"

She lets Alma talk about the pressure this time. She does feel it, though.

<Pose Tracker> Lilith Aiden has posed.

Lilith smiles lightly at the peck, but as things get heavy, her face goes even. Her eyes linger on Hathaway Noa briefly - they've never spoken, but of course she knows who she is. Dr. Mass, who she has spoken with a few times but isn't close with by any means gets them next. And then...

Eight and Arriety. "Captain York. It's a pleasure to see you again. Your birthday was recently, wasn't it? Happy birthday." It's a somewhat bad time to say it, but maybe it'll distract with good vibes.

As Lilith drinks her vodka, she turns to Arriety and nods to Alma, before tossing a wave to Riddhe in return, a bit delayed. There's a gesture, asking if he wants to come over.

"Yeah, we do. But we also love loud, too, and that helps as well." The 'orange hug' hasn't disappeared from her mind, even if she's not letting it completely stifle her sadness. It's good to be sad, sometimes.

<Pose Tracker> Riddhe Marcenas has posed.

Riddhe wasn't sure if this place was getting too crowded, he felt...something. Pressure? There was a lot of something in this room, on the edge of his awareness. He shakes his head, trying to shake off the feeling, and taking a drink. He caught Lilith's wave and gesture...and he nods after a minute.

The conflict settled out on reaching out to others, despite his feelings on things. If worse comes to worst, he could always leave and call himself a ride back. He moves to Lilith and company, "Hey," he says, a bit strained. "Sorry, I should be more friendly..." he says, with a wane smile, "But a lot of memories today," he admits. "I think I spent too much time alone already."

It was about this time when Alteur's orange hug moved by him and he was addressed by the man. He admits it's been a minute since he's last met him, and before he left for Londo Bell. Did...he change, or did Alteur? Though he does put up a bigger smile, "Mr. Steinbeck, it's been a while," he says, with an offer of a handshake.

<Pose Tracker> Anser Vulpecula has posed.

Anser tips her glass rather immediately even with a mouth full of tapas in accordance with Ana's comments about Brittanian nobility. Seemingly, there's little love lost there, from this table. Or, well, half of this table. When Shelby takes a seat, Anser bobs her head, the corners of her lips quirking upward in a bittersweet smile.

"Korts."

She address the woman by her last name, per usual. She cranes her head to gesture towards the spread of food and drink, murmuring low, "They've got one hell of a spread going. If we're going to sit around and be somber, it would be better to do so on a full stomach and with some alcohol slidin' around in there. As for the chain of command... I won't tell if you have a few. Just keep it too a few, yeah?" She's draining her own craft beer at a staggering pace. This is hardly a celebratory event, but everyone has their own ways of showing it.

"Might be your best shot to kick a few back without having to answer to you-know-who." It's mostly a joke.

Mostly.

<Pose Tracker> Alteur Steinbeck has posed.

         Alteur laughs at the bartender. That warm, comforting laugh. Not a hint of offense. Not a hint of frustration. Not a hint of annoyance. Not a hint of mockery. Just a shared laugh. "That's alright, then. Just some water in a glass. Don't worry, I'm sure I'll be drunk by the end of the night, but for now, I'd rather not."

         Even with all that joy the somberness hasn't disappeared. He's not a man of unrestrained gleefulness but a spiritual bastion. A powerful floor on which to rest. A powerful pillar on which to lean. A man with the same traumas, the same sorrows, as everyone else in this bar, but someone who came away from it all with a determination to better the world for everyone's sakes, someone who turned those losses into strength and wants to see everyone else feel the same. Comfortable to be around.

         "Ha, ha." He raises the glass at Hathaway. Not a hint of hurt in his eyes or his soul. "You're right, you know. It's for the living that we remember. For each other, and ourselves. It's so we can bear the unbearable into tomorrow."

         Then he laughs again and adjusts his collar with one hand, loosening the button. "God, listen to me. I can't turn off the politician right now. It's a disease, I swear. Seeps into your brain. Seems like these days I'm either talking like a politician or talking like a Tarabaman fanboy." He grins. "Unfortunately, I'm much more the latter. The former's just a consequence of necessity."

         He swirls his finger around the glass. Ana mentions she was up there. His grin fades to a sad smile. He doesn't apologize, or say anything like that. Instead, he just says, "Bearing witness has meaning, too."

         That psychic pillar, there to help hold an impossible weight for each and every person around it.

         He turns to look at Shelby. There's not a hint of curiosity on his face. Just awareness. Understanding. He doesn't say anything, but he does give her a smile. From someone powerful enough to smother a room in a hug to a roiling storm.

         Riddhe moves over to the group of younger people, and Alteur goes to join him when he's waved over. His presence is more important for Sayla than his words, he knows - that she knows he's there if she needs him, and that he knows she's surrounded by closer friends than he - so he can go over without worry.

         He takes Riddhe's hand and shakes it with the firm grip characteristic of the older veteran. "It's been much too long. You're looking well!" And he means it. It's not a pleasantry. Out of his mouth it just seems...earnest. Almost supernaturally earnest.

         "Mind introducing me to your friends? I understand people want to connect, and, well..."

         "You know me. I hate leaving people alone in thier own heads when I can offer a helping hand."

<Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed.

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<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.

        Sliding out of her jacket, folding it carefully, and laying it across her lap, Shelby still seems a little nervous. She tries her best to smile at Anser, even if it's just the slight bend ov her lips. "Oh, I-- I actually checked. I was actually told I was allowed to have one. Or two? J-Just that I shouldn't overdo it." She leans forward and adds in hushed tone, "I've actually never tried it before. Is it good?"

        Somber moods, low spirits-- vibrant warmth? Death, and senses blending and flowing and bleeding together. Voices, thoughts -- there's a lot happening all at once, of things that people say inside their heads and not spoken aloud. For her part, she is not puffing up her empathic, psychic clout -- really, she's trying her best to keep it held in check. "I..."

        The newtype's head tilts again, wrinkling her smile but she does her best to look around and, when gazes meet, such as Alteur's, give a polite nod of acknowledgement. Arriety, too...

        Once more, her blue eyes press closed. There's a lot to take in. "I. ... Sorry. There's a lot of ... I-it's very loud in here."

        "... And I-I think I don't know anyone here, o-other than Doctor Mass. Is that weird? Oh, gosh."

<Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed.

Giving an easy smile to Riddhe, Alma says, "It's fine! Sometimes you need alone time... but it's good to see you here, too!" She snags some appetizers. It's a good feeling -- to see so many of the people here getting out of their shells, a bit.

Chewing on a potato absently, Alma glances back to Alteur. There's something about him that's... it's hard to say what it is Alma's feeling. It's compelling, she thinks -- that's the word. He's asking for introductions, so... "Alma Stirner! I'm part of Londo Bell, assigned to the Gwennangorn. Good to meet you!" She lets everyone else introduce themselves.

<Pose Tracker> Arriety Hearn has posed.

        Arriety can't help but flush when Alma goes to peck Lilith on the cheek. I-is this what being an adult is about too? Being comfortable enough to just smooch in front of company... hmm... she can't help but look Eight's way. ... but she's already got a boyfriend. A really smart and attractive and nice boyfriend too. Troublesome...

        She accepts her milk too, and starts drinking. She ends up sitting with Alma, Eight and Lilith, the way their arrangements are sorted. "Um... hmm, that kinda makes... sense," she nods. "I notice it. When people are hurt, their presence... it gets very noticeable."

        She knows she's not an exception either. She nods at Lilith's own explanation. It's not bad to be 'loud'... she has to be grateful to know people who feel that way.

        There's a pout from the teen, though, as Eight teases her about her drinking capacity. "W-well, I don't know until I try." Riddhe comes along, and she gives him a wave, remembering him from the fish n chips night. Alteur, however, is a new sight to her. "Oh, hello, Mister Riddhe, Sir," she kind of just blurts out. "I'm Arriety Hearn, a... civilian-something with Londo Bell."

        She doesn't think she has that story correct, but she forgets what kind of civilian thing she was... attachment? Was that the word? Ah, they'll figure it out...

        Her eyes glance to Shelby again; she seems like she's struggling much like how she is. At the very least, she seems to have friends -- just like her. It's awful to have to deal with it alone. Alone...

        That's what this night is about, isn't it?

<Pose Tracker> Alteur Steinbeck has posed.

         "Alteur Steinbeck," the older man says to Arriety and Alma. "I'm happy to meet you both. Thank you so much for being here tonight."

         "It's rough, isn't it?" He looks up at the ceiling of the bar, like he's looking off into the night sky beyond it. "To be caught up in a cycle of disaster like this. That we need something like Londo Bell to keep people safe...the world may change, but it keeps repeating, too."

         He sighs. That big orange warmth has another little crack of silver in it. But his smile returns, and he laughs and waves his hand in front of his face. "Sorry, sorry. I sound like an old man, don't I? Like I'm seconds from saying something like 'back in my day'." Another warm laugh.

         "So tell me about yourselves. I want to know about the people following Londo Bell these days. I want to know about the people helping the world survive."

<Pose Tracker> Lilith Aiden has posed.

Lilith nods to Riddhe. "I understand. We can't make the pain go away, but we can try to ease it, right?"

As she grabs her own app, sticking close to Alma, she finally greets Alteur. "Captain Lilith Aiden, Londo Bell. The Gwennangorn is my ship. It's nice to meet you - you sure have a dashing aura." She hopes he knows what she means.

"Have we met before?" She's trying to place him. They've probably *seen each other*, but she's not sure they've met.

When asked about the people these days, she pauses. "My goal is to avoid the past reoccuring, without forgetting it. Help people who hurt...hurt less, by stopping as much future pain as possible and teaching them how to heal. It sounds like platitudes, but I'm not going to use the more rough words tonight. You understand, right?" It's meant kindly.

<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.

        Sayla, bougie lady that she is, knows how to drink brandy. She skips all the interim steps and drinks. That's probably not helping with Hathaway either. "Thank you." She nods deeply. Living with them alone had been what she'd be doing for years. She gives a nod. "I'm glad you were, and that you're here now." Judging, Ana was not one of the ones helping her brother's insane scheme. Which mean she took part in the push. Where...

        She shakes her head and takes another drink. The balloon glass is now a third full. Indeed, Sayla does look at Hathaway's words. "...You're not wrong. It's for us, and the ghosts that haunt us." She may mean that... a little more literally, but not directed at Hathaway. Still he throws her a bone, and she grabs on to it. "Oh, I'm glad." Her smile is a bit warmer this time. "It's a different path than being a florist, but I hope you enjoy it." There's no mocking there, no cruelty. Just a memory of a young man and his interests, so long ago. "I hope that you can thrive in the field." He deserves it. Something calm, and quiet and easy. Everyone deserves a life like that, but Hathaway most of all.

        Sayla shakes her head at Alteur talking about not turning off the politician. She gets that too, but he did better than she did. But he's wandering off again, and Sayla sighs. That man can be like a steamroller, even with the best intentions. The brandy is now empty, and Sayla sets in on the table. "Would either of you like something?" She asks Ana and Hathaway. "I'm going to get another drink." She's going fast on those. She's also going to mingle a touch more, but seems to have no qualms about about people following.

         As it is, after getting double vodka with a splash of lime, she makes her way slowly and calmly to Anser and Shelby's table. Things are bubbling away in her brain. The presence of others is changing the situation, but for better or worse who can say. "Are you two managing alright?" They may have been on the other side, but... They were trying to do the right thing now. They were good people. At least right now.

        The commentary continues in spanish: "<This goal could win the match and put an end to a championship run! He kicks, the goal is wide but- They do it! The goalie catches it, and kicks it forward! With less than a minute remaining, the locals push back!>"

<Pose Tracker> Ana Kambinda has posed.

Ana has very little by way of quantum brainwave activity. Even she, however, can't miss the heavy feelings floating around the room. No small wonder: She's the source of quite a few of them.

With a tilt of her head towards Alteur, Ana offers up a forced smile. She shrugs, at a loss for words for a couple seconds. What can she really say about everything that happened that doesn't seem oddly trite?

"I guess there's some value to that," she concedes. And here I am doing nothing with it. Fuck me.

The guesses Sayla makes are pretty spot-on. Ana sets her drink down, crosses her arms and exhales, looking away a moment and then back to the blonde. "...Another wine would be great. The red's good tonight."

Shifting her weight to lean on the back of a chair, she looks up towards the ceiling a moment, mind wandering. "...I don't know if I made much of a difference. I know I didn't, honestly. I was just a Jegan pilot at the time. Three years later and I still think about that. And, y'know."

And the ones who didn't make it back.

Her gaze wanders, watching Alteur mingle with the others before she clears her throat softly. "Ana Kambinda. I think I met some of you at the fundraiser." Arriety, at least.

<Pose Tracker> Riddhe Marcenas has posed.

Riddhe smiles at Alteur, and before he can say anything others start introducing themselves first. "Well, I would, but they are pretty good at that themselves!" he says, with a more genuine laugh. Sitting down he continues on his drink.

He does snag some apps, but only because he should eat more before he goes drinking more. By the end of the night, he imagines he'll be very drunk. He does give Arriety a warm smile, feeling...guilty for her having to be in the situation she is in, but doesn't voice anything.

"So I guess you heard from my father that I joined? You seem unsurprised to see me in Londo Bell," he says towards Alteur. The last time they talked he was still shadowing his father. Though given that he was increasingly being unhappy with the seem corruption and 'compromises' with that corruption.

"Ah yeah, I am on the Gwennangorn too, just got my transfer done," he asides. Though when Lilith addresses him, he nods. "Right. It's hard to think I was six when the war started...and just a rookie when Axis Shock happened. Lost...a lot of friends that day."

A white bit of anger wells up in him, white-hot...burning...simmering. Ready to be released. "Madmen wanting to change the world on their own. Killing who knows how many people...and for what?" There is more but he doesn't expand.

<Pose Tracker> Hathaway Noa has posed.

With everyone in near proximity introducing themselves, Hathaway does so as well - for those who didn't know him, of which there were many, even if they may have passingly recognized him from speaking with Sayla. "My name is Hathaway Noa. It's good to meet all of you."

Curt and to the point - he shakes his head slightly, declining another drink. "Oh, no. Thank you, but I'm still nursing this Dr. P." he cracks a small, half-smile. It's a real one, too.

Alteur had moved on already, but Hathaway watches him with his expression shifting slightly into an even frown. I'm glad he's moving elsewhere. That guy .. irritates me severely. I don't want to be in his space at all. I guess that's what you'd call 'opposing charisma' .. - its tiring having to push against his personality, certainly, but that he can be so sincere about everything .. I suppose I'm a small man after all. he muses.

Yes, you're sur~prisingly sensitive for a boy.

His head was hurting again. Hathaway's eyes find themselves to the fizzling carbonation dwindling in his drink. A quiet, easy life ..

He could imagine it - the mirage, the fantasy egged on by both Sayla and the voice that sometimes tickled the very edges of his ear, whispered by the wind. A quiet life toiling away at an even pace, partaking in his hobbies for a modest living, sharing those days with a certain person. Or maybe not - maybe it would have been harder than that, maybe he would have had to work himself to the bone. Or maybe they would've decided to take a different path altogether. The possibilities were endless - however.

        That is not the world Hathaway Noa Lives in.

His reflection in the soda warps and distorts under the intensity of his narrowing gaze, the dark liquid swirling in a mild pool and turning his face into a blur of unrecognizable colors.

"Excuse me," he says. He was suddenly nauseaous, and more than that - he felt an irrational fury slowly billowing in his chest like hot, broiling water, ready to burst. Anger at himself, or maybe everyone in this room, or - maybe the world itself. He wasn't sure.

He decided that for his own sanity, he was going to point it at the memory of Char Aznable and leave it at that, as he excuses himself from the rest to nurse his aching skull at the other end of the bar.

<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.

        Before her thoughts can get too far from her-- or she hears too much -- her, and other thoughts, are interrupted by Sayla arriving at the table. Standing up quickly, she folds her jacket over her arm. "Oh, Doctor Mass! Hi. Yes, I'm doing well tonight. And ..." A glance to the mechanic, her beer, and her food.

        "Well, you know Anser." She says this with a faint smile.

        She moves to fall in step with the blonde. "I was just about to order something. Thank you for inviting us here. I'm sorry I was late. I had a few--" Wince. "-- I-It's just weird being back on Earth after so long."

        Her gaze follows those feelings-- watches Hathaway suddenly move from one end of the bar to the other, before she turns her attention back with a soft blink. "A-Anyway, um. So! This is ... cozy. ... I um."

        One hand shifts to the back of her neck, head briefly tilting once again. "Sorry, I'm not used to going out. Like out-out? Out."

<Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed.

There's a long pause as Alma feels that frustration rolling off of Hathaway. The pull of something happier, something easier. Something not gripped by the talons of... something else? Loss? Frustration at the way the world is?

... It's a familiar feeling. It's the type of feeling that has so often called Alma to fight. ... but it's not her battle, she thinks. Circumstances placed Lilith's pain right in her sights. Hathaway... needs someone closer to his age. Someone figuring it out the way he's figuring it out, not someone just telling him to try a little harder to find a place where he can bloom.

It's weird being the experienced one thinking about how she relates to other people, so instead, Alma takes another long drink of milk and reorients on Riddhe and Alteur, a bit. "I'm not sure it's repeating! Like..." She scratches her cheek. Tries to find the words, a bit. "I think it's wrong to just... compare tragedies, but... nothing in the last decade has turned out as bad as the One Year War or the Zentradi War. Stuff's kinda... similar? But we can do better each time, too, and usually we do!"

There's a pause, and then: "... aaaahhh, not this again..." It's a playful sort of whine, though -- someone melodramatizing about being in her 30s, not genuine despair at the ravages of time. "Anyway, um... I'm not sure how much there is to tell! I guess for me, it's... the AEUG won the Gryps Conflict, so I've kinda stuck with the idea that if you win like that, you have to take care of what you won." It's the best answer she's got to 'knowing about the people helping the world survive.' "It's still kinda weird being with the Federation, even this far out... I started my career in a Zaku, too." She couldn't have been older than 16, then, from the look of her. (Honestly, on looks alone, you'd be forgiven for guessing even younger.)

<Pose Tracker> Arriety Hearn has posed.

        "Ah... no, it's okay. To be honest, I was in high school when the Axis Shock happened, but it's kind of a... learning thing for me, I guess," Arriety sounds a little lame saying it, but... well, that's the truth. But something both Lilth and Alteur mention catches her attention -- being caught in a cycle of disaster, to avoid the past reocurring...

        "... yeah. When I explained that I fell into the cockpit of the Gundam, some of the older pilots mentioned... it was like an awful cycle repeating itself," Arriety admits. The way people exhaustedly feel like the same tragedy is happening again... she pauses, as she picks up on the sense of guilt Riddhe exudes more than anything, and tries to give him a reassuring smile in turn.

        Still, having some of the cheer that someone like Alma is bringing is comforting, as she speaks up -- that the wars haven't been as bad, but they're doing better... her heart lifts a little bit at that thought. "Oh... sorry, um-- yeah, I think you're right too. Miss Alma. I don't really have anything to compare it to, is all..."

        Ana approaches, and she waves and says, "Hi Ana, nice to see you again."

        Hathaway -- that man she saw at the charity party in Africa -- approaches and introduces himself. Hathaway Noa...? "Oh... hello, mister Hathaway. Arriety Hearn, citizen attachment from Londo Bell..."

        Shelby's presence is still in her mind, as Hathaway moves from her... should she come say hi? She looks nervous... would she make it worse...? But... she wants to.

<Pose Tracker> Alteur Steinbeck has posed.

         Sayla's not wrong. Alteur really is a steamroller. An overwhelmingly kind one, but a steamroller nonetheless.

         "Well, we've met as of a minute ago," he says cheerfully to Lilith, "So I suppose we've met before *now*, when you get right down to it. But, no, I don't think we have. I tend to remember people. It's important to me."

         "The people are what change when the cycle keeps going."

         He takes a sip of his water. "I do. I do understand."

         Another moment of him looking off to the side. "I remember Heero Yuy used to say something like that, too."

         "It's..."

         He purses his lips. "...it's always that, isn't it? The well-meaning people who want to teach the world to heal are cut down just as people begin to believe it's possible. And then the cycle begins again..."

         He pats Lilith on the shoulder. "I sincerely hope that you'll be successful."

         Riddhe starts getting mad. Alteur looks over at him and smiles. "That's why I'm not surprised to see you with Londo Bell. You don't have your father's...exhaustion, let's say. Weariness. You've got bright eyes and a bright spirit. A lot of anger, too."

         "You should cherish it, you know." He takes a sip of water. "A lot of people wll try and tell you that anger isn't the way to solve your problems. They're right, to a point, but they're wrong, too. Anger is something that drives you forward. You can't let yourself be swallowed up by it - but you can't let righteous anger dwindle."

         There's a long pause as he frowns and thinks about that for a moment.

         "...ah, hell."

         He scratches the back of his head and grins. "I wasn't even thinking about it, but that's a Tarabaman quote."

         Oh God, when he turns off the politician he's such a *dork*.

         But he's definitely owning it, at least.

         "Hah, no, I didn't mean it was comparing tragedies. There's just...patterns. Patterns you can trace throughout history. Patterns that keep showing up. You start to see them when you look at that sort of thing long enough."

<Pose Tracker> Ana Kambinda has posed.

Fell into the cockpit of the Gundam. Ana winces a little.

"Hello again, Arriety." She moves in that direction, letting the wince pass to a muted smile as she internally copes with the distressing fact that too many people got sucked into the war machine that is human civilization. The meat grinder spares no one, not even someone like Arriety, who seems to be something of a muffin compared to most people Ana knows.

She pushes a hand through her hair with a sigh and a glance to the side. "I remember being a kid during the first Zeon war. I remember my dad coming home injured. He didn't last long after that. I joined up to help stop more kids from going through that. More moms and dads from coming home ground into mush by the war machine, or not coming home at all."

Ana Kambinda, picture of cheer.

When she looks back, she conceals part of her expression behind a long sip of wine. Her eyes, briefly, move between Riddhe, Hathaway and Alteur, then back to Arriety and Sayla. "...If nothing else," she adds, "I'm back on active duty again. Apparently they couldn't bury me forever."

<Pose Tracker> Riddhe Marcenas has posed.

Hearing Alteur describes his father's exhaustion, it deflated him a bit. It was a source of pain too, though anger flowed from it, right now he went from wanting to rant on about Char, to remember how the war affected his father over the years. Though his words of encouragement coming about holding the righteous anger caused him to grin a little bit.

"I was about to say, Mr. Steinbeck, that line seemed familiar," He laughs. Though the levity quickly passes. "The years after the conflicts started took their toll on him. Even to the point of...I can't say conforming, but accepting that corruption of some form had to be there, even with it staring him in the face..."

"I guess it changed him, the conflicts and each one worse than the last," he drank some more, but his free hand clenched a little. "Sorry, don't mean to air all of my stuff out. I know I'd seem privileged compared to some."

<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.

        Sayla gives a nod, easily content to walk back up to the bar with Shelby. "Honestly, I'd say she has the right approach. There are worse ways to handle these nights." The way Sayla is drinking is probably one of them. Hathaway makes space and... Sayla is going let him have it. It's for the best, right?

        "...It's a change, isn't it?" Shelby's issues would make it worse. Sayla smiles again, but now it's weary and a touch drunk. She leans on the bar a little too heavily. "I hope it's something you get used to. If you want to." She's not pushing. "So, what do you want?" She says, as they arrive at the bar- but the question went unanswered the last time they spoke.

%Sayla's eyes track to Riddhe's, as he talks about people accepting corruption. Ana talking about the meat grinder that is war, the loss of her father to Zeon. Arrietty falling into a cockpit- like he did...

        The TV switches channels, suddenly. It looks like a documentary. It sounds like Federation propaganda. And the volume is higher than it should be. Did someone lean on the remote really hard? "-while the anti-Zeon task force, Londo Bell, were the heroes who stopped Axis, one ranks above all. Amuro Ray, the hero from Side 7 who time and time against stood against spacenoid threats to Earth, and saved it from the madness of Char Aznable and his-" The TV is suddenly turned off, but it's too little too late.

        Sayla's shaking hand is clenched around the glass, knuckles white. Whatever is behind those walls has become a raging storm, destructive and chaotic. Her lips are drawn tight.

<Pose Tracker> Alteur Steinbeck has posed.

         "You're allowed your suffering, too, you know. It's not like we don't all carry our demons around."

         The older man pats Riddhe on the shoulder. "Tonight's a night for sharing that suffering. I said that already, didn't I? We're all here for each other. And Mr. Noa said it, too. This is for the living, not the dead."

         Speaking of the living, the words come on over the television, and the storm starts. Alteur rubs his brow quietly.

         "Excuse me, won't you?" He says with a bright smile, and then steps away from the group and into the crowd.

         The only hint of anything amiss with him is the stroke of sudden silver that cuts straight through the orange hug. The glass of water is set down on a passing table. The water trembles, unbidden, as he moves past it, and past a pair of Karaba men who just watch him with a knowing look on their face. They knew his wife, probably. So they knew him by proxy.

         His smile is gone, now, as he passes through another group of veterans. The orange hug has been retracted. The silver scars have been retracted. There is no presence, now, of Alteur Steinbeck. The man has erased himself as easily as he announced himself. A terrifying ability for someone with such an enormous presence. Were it in anyone else's hands...

         He's looking for something.

         He's looking for the remote control.

         He's looking for who *had* the remote control.

         Too precise to be a mistake. On today of all days, at this place of all places, with these people. Too precise. Too planned. Coincidences? He didn't believe in them. "Not after Ryusei," he says to no one in particular as he passes.

         Who?

         It didn't matter. Maybe he doesn't even know.

         What he does know is that he's going to find someone and see if his gut feeling is correct.

<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.

        "Ha, I... yeah." She hopes it's something she'll get used to? Shelby presses her eyes closed briefly, like she's trying to change channels in her own mind, or to push stray thoughts out of her head. "It's. Maybe?" Her mouth opens; her expression becomes hesitant before she clarifies: "It's very loud in here. But I can manage it."

        What will she have? The pink-haired young woman holds up one finger to Sayla, and then turns it toward the bartender when his attention is snagged. "I will have one beer, please." Leaning to the good doctor, she notes in aside, "I was told I could try it."

        Her attention also turns toward Riddhe as Sayla's is, and Shelby's immediate reaction is to allow her brow to crease with a mildly worried look. Then, the television switches channels and starts up right on cue: The hero of Londo Bell, Axis, the madness of Char Aznable, and--

        Shelby's arms fold under the coat draped over her arm, and her gaze turns downward. A chaotic storm, she feels like. Churning seas. Water lashing out and around, but ... it changes now. It's the guilt.

        There's so much guilt.

<Pose Tracker> Hathaway Noa has posed.

"-while the anti-Zeon task force, Londo Bell, were the heroes who stopped Axis, one ranks above all. Amuro Ray, the hero from Side 7 who time and time against stood against spacenoid threats to Earth, and saved it from the madness of Char Aznable and his-"

Hathaway had been stewing in his own thoughts, the phantom weight of two arms that didn't exist wrapping themselves over his shoulders and neck like a loosely tied noose weighing on him more than any deadline or gossip ever could. The loudness of the T.V. scrapes him out of his quiet frustration long enough for him to witness Sayla seethingly silencing the broadcast. The reflections of everyone in the room staring at the now blank screen warp along the surface and leave a distorted view of them all.

Hathaway touches his fingertips together, hunching over onto the counter. His drink had gone untouched, and the carbonation was already gone.

"Even after their death, Amuro and Char are still just being used as tools of the government, hm? This is pathetic. The Federation .. Zeon .. they're just strangling all of us with the false idols they've made of dead men in the history books."

Though - Char himself readily accepted this. Maybe Amuro had, too ..

"Even ZAFT drags the names of the victims of Bloody Valentine through the dirt and throws them in everyone's faces to excuse their actions."

As if the Chairmen calling the shot actually cared. Some, perhaps - but it's all just to get the opinion of the public on their side. It's no different than the Federation or Zeon stoking patriotism by invoking the names of the Red Comet and White Meteor ..

The bitterness heavied his voice. It heavies his mind, and drags his spirit deep into the recess of the void of his own presence.

He knew he was speaking out of turn and saying things that were hurtful, on some level. He even knew that spewing it was disadvantageous for him.

But on this day, more than any other, he couldn't bear to hear it. It was everything he hated about the world staring him in the face.

"But I suppose for all of the shrewd ministers of the diet, or even just the newsmen on the networks, it's unthinkable to acknowledge the truth of everyone's tragedies that day."

<Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed.

"Right, but..." It'd take Alma a long time to lay out the feeling she has, as someone who's been in the unenviable position of being on the sides that did both Operation British and Junius 7 in their respective conflicts -- patterns, sure, but also attenuation, a sense that...

She doesn't have the words for it, and Alteur's thoughtfulness coupled with his loud psychic presence makes Alma want to try. So by the time she's almost ready to say something...

... Alteur's slipped off, and made himself small, if not outright *nonexistent*. "Jeez... I guess he's hurting more than he lets on." The pain she imagines in Alteur's psychic silence is something that she *does* feel she could reach out to --

-- but then Sayla's becomes all too obvious, and she turns, instead.

Hathaway's cynical answer to it -- that's the thing Alma wants to fight most, and that particular point, she feels like she can. "I think maybe they just want to be heard, too," she says, gently.

<Pose Tracker> Arriety Hearn has posed.

        Ana's wince is a very familiar one to Arriety -- the wince she sees on those pilots who've gone through it; still, it's not necessarily a bad reaction, just... perhaps, something that everyone involved knows happens on far too frequent a basis.

        "Yeah. I was a kid then too. She never said it out loud, but I know my aunt was... keeping men from the Titans from looking for me," Arriety explains, glancing towards Eight momentarily. "But... hm..." She nods to Ana, as she says she joined to help stop more kids from going through it. "Rena and Eight said similar things too... you're all really strong, I think. ... I know I'd be too scared to do the same."

        Still, Alteur's words are pretty inspirational... even if-- eh? A Tarabaman quote? "Oh... hmm, I've only watched the one from my auntie's videos."

        Arriety can't really say she understands the kind of position Riddhe's in, but... she shakes her head, saying, "Um-- I dunno, if you start thinking of it that way, then no one's allowed to deal with their issues... so it's okay."

        But the television suddenly turns channels, and a report comes on screen that... visibly, noticeably changes the mood. She pauses for a moment, and... looks to Sayla for a moment longer. She listens to Hathaway speak, a little more heatedly. She bites her lip.

        ... will they speak like this of her someday? Will they even remember? Are they going to just refer to her in the past tense?

        She breathes in quietly, though, and gets up gently and walks towards where Sayla and Shelby are. A pause, as she wonders what she's doing for a moment, being forward like this, but...

        "Um..."

        Oh no, what should she say? She hesitates, then says, "I understand... um-- I get a little how hard it is... to have the feelings overwhelm you like that," before feeling like she just slid down a slippery slope. She hesitates and redoubles herself. "Sorry. I'm... Arriety," she introduces herself as she sits down. "I'm... I just felt you across the bar, and I thought... you could use someone who's used to dealing with getting piled under all the feelings right now."

<Pose Tracker> Ana Kambinda has posed.

For a moment, Ana loses herself in the colour of her drink and the reflections of light in its ripples. It keeps her from thinking about things she'd rather not dwell on.

The sudden kicking up of the volume is met with a surprised glance upward. Ana's eyebrows arch sharply as she listens to the news report.

She looks down at her drink again and presses her lips together intently. Her shoulders rise slightly, then fall with a slow rush of breath.

"I don't think I'm that much stronger than anyone else." Her tone's more subdued as she glances back at Arriety, unable to muster a smile at this point. "I think most people just do what they can. Sometimes it works out...."

Trailing off, she watches Sayla and Arriety for a moment, just taking in the way the blonde reacts.

<Pose Tracker> Riddhe Marcenas has posed.

 There was a sigh from Riddhe\, "Yeah...you're right on that\," he says to Alteur. He was frustrated and angry and really had no way to channel that effectively. He wanted to scream and let much more out\, but he contained himself. The drink was a bit of a steam release\, and talking seemed to do some good.

Then that regrettable change of the channel. Bringing up all of those feelings at once. It was like a storm\, triggering everything he had talked about tonight without any way to release. Trauma that hadn't had time to heal\, stuff he hid behind a kind smile. To a degree\, because he wanted to protect\, not hurt.

Alteur goes\, Alma makes a comment about his pain and Riddhe could only nod. Words were stuck in his throat\, unable to give them form. That was even if words were enough to get the feeling out of him. Words cut through the air\, first talking about Amuro and Char being used as things to talk about.

That's true...

But then he compares the Federation and Zeon\, saying they use them as false Idols\, but Riddhe doesn't hear that. What he hears is 'they are the same'. That what Zeon does is equivalent to what the Federation has done. Throwing in ZAFT...and then saying that people did not feel that pain\, that...

He remembers his father's face again\, over the tears\, losing that light. Just becoming more and more tired\, and more and more willing to let stuff through.

Riddhe was up\, it doesn't take him long to cross the distance\, and before he knew it he was already on Hathaway. He stared down at the man for a few moments\, before he just swung. Aiming to hit the man across the face. Riddhe needed a release\, and it seemed that this was it.

"Don't you talk about them like you know what it's like. Don't compare the Federation and Zeon...don't you fucking dare. They're nothing alike!"

<Pose Tracker> Lilith Aiden has posed.

Whatever Lilith might have been saying, might have been discussing, disappears when the speech comes on the news. She's not personally too bothered, even if it stings, but understands it'll hurt everyone else. Hathaway's words make her lip curl down, as she moves to down her drink.

The time she's downing her drink is long enough for Riddhe to be moving to smash his fist into Hathaway. It's too late to stop that.

What Lilith can do is stop a follow-up swing, as she stands up, sprints across the bar, and moves to grab Riddhe with both arms, a military grab. "Riddhe Marcenas! Get a hold of yourself!" A cry out to Alma. "Grab the tab! We're leaving." An apologetic tip of the head to Sayla as she tries to get Riddhe to come with her, whether she has to try and drag him out or convince him otherwise to just calm down and leave.

<Pose Tracker> Hathaway Noa has posed.

Hathaway's cynicism is sourced in his hurt bitterness - but he is someone who practices his appearance to ensure his every day life went smoothly, among other things. That's why, even when he could be felt by those with the gift to be a yawning chasm of oily black feelings lashing out, it did not reflect on his calm face or his even voice.

    "Is that so."

He replies to Alma, phrasing it as a statement rather than a question. His disregard for the notion is apparent, "But the people who have died, are dead. Such a voice being heard is only yelled with self-serving intentions .. this world has no place for anything kinder than that."

Yes. That was the world that Hathaway Noa lived in.

There was a dim, childish, cruel satisfaction in throwing her gentleness back in her face that he immediately regrets.

As he opens his mouth to apologize - his ears ring, just a bit, and his eyes trail off to the sight of Riddhe Marcenas' fist approaching his face.

His body tremors with a recoil, bumping his side against the counter, which he steadies himself on. Blood was drawn with Riddhe's knuckles giving him a busted lip, a bruise already forming around the left edges of the lower fold.

A perverse thrill beats in his chest like a drum, and his face quietly twists into a mean spirited grimace, a copper tinge in his mouth. " - that was a mean hook, but my own father has hit me much harder than that before, you know."

More than just his face, he was sneering at Riddhe with his very essence. "Those were very big words for such a frail fink. As if you know? Because you've got in a scuffle or two with the spacenoids? Because you got to see all about it from your father - a cushy politician?"

Hathaway doesn't move to strike him back, and is postured to seemingly invite another blow. "I see, I see - you'll have to forgive me if I don't give the opinion of a neophyte any mind. But by all means, if it makes you feel bigger, hit me again."

 .. what the hell am I doing? I'm just being a hypocrite, dressing him down like this to satisfy myself. It's all so .. pointless .. being cruel for the sake of it. Being mean to him, or to Miss Sterner ... - with no substance, it has no meaning. Just like him hitting me.

He watched Riddhe, Lilith and Alma go, a shameful pull overtaking the awful and rancid feelings blossoming in his chest. Hathaway snorts and casts his gaze elsewhere, before thoughtlessly smearing the blood on his face all over the back of his hand with a wiping motion that left his mouth stinging. " ... I've probably made enough of a problem of myself, too. So I'll be taking my leave - if you'll excuse me."

He doesn't immediately file out, giving the other three time to make their arrangements, and for Sayla to give him permission to do so. He was sure she was severely disappointed in his behavior, and he'd rather that not come back to him because he avoided it now.

<Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed.

... It's not that Alma regrets, so much, saying what she said -- it takes a long time for a heart like that to be ready to hear about a suffering that doesn't feel like it matches theirs. But there's a genuine flinch, and a moment of... 'was that appropriate? Could I have done better?' that stings a bit.

"Riddhe -- he's just a kid --" A Federation officer and a sixteen year old trading blows as their anxieties, their pains, their doubts about the world bleed into each other.

Lilith takes the decisive action of physical intervention; Alma folows her lead. There's no time to argue over whether this is the right way to break things up -- Lilith has made a call, and that call is now Happening. Alma plunks down a 50-gilla note, probably a little outsize for what she's eaten, and offers: "Don't worry about it," before moving toward Lilith. If Riddhe *really* wants to fight, she'll help usher him out physically.

She offers a slightly hapless, "... Sorry about this," to Ana, Arriety, and Sayla.

<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.

        The pink-haired girl does her best to offer a polite smile. "I'm Shelby."

        "Oh. Um. Thanks. I'm ... I... I deal with it a lot. It's ... I'll be okay. I mean thank you, it's like... it's all a long story. B-But, um. I-- erm. Yeah, I guess I know what it's like, I deal with a lot of--"

        Hathaway's anger. Riddhe's outburst. The emotions from both hit her hard, and she physically winces even moments before he's punching the young man and screaming at him, the intensity of the emotion enough to thunder inside her head. It's hard for her to focus on Sayla, or the bar, or Arriety for a moment.

        Lilith steps up to take charge and collect her people, and Alma's on her way out not long after. Shelby's gaze drifts back to Arriety, pausing briefly to adjust her glasses. "Um. Sorry. Please, stay, it's. I mean it's okay?" She asks the question of Sayla, really, as though she isn't quite sure what post-barfight social etiquette is.

<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.

        A lot happens in a few seconds. Shelby starts to shut down with guilt. Arrietty comes to help. Alteur stalks off like a nightmare, but she doesn't. Ana gets bleaker. Alma tries to soften Hathaway, only to be harshly rebuked. Riddhe arcs up, and swings. Hathaway takes the hit and goads him. Lilith hauls Riddhe out.

        And ruing it all, Sayla Mass does nothing. She just stares off into the distance. Normally she'd be dashing in and intervening, or trying calm things down. But right now, she's doing nothing.

        It takes a few moments before Sayla zones back in, and Hathaway is waiting for approval to leave. "Wait a second." She says, very quietly, before turning around. She whispers something to the bartender, before turning to the Shelby and Arrietty, nodding. She's so damn quiet, in this moment. The bartender hands a tied bag of ice. She moves over to Hathaway- applying it to his face if he'll let her, handing it to him if he won't. She seems on autopilot, a little.

        There's so much that Hathaway says that... aren't wrong, from such a hopeless place. But she's in no place to show in a kinder world.

        Let alone the warmer world Nanai says they left to.

        But she can't have that conversation now. Even if things weren't so bad. "...Alright." No berating, no dericision. Indeed Sayla is unaturally flat and sad. "I'm sorry that happened."

        She steps away to let him leave, before returning to the bar. She downs her glass, and pushes it back, indicating another. The Zeon that was and the Federation that is. The carelessness in the world she's been fighting all this time. She slumps forward, leaning on the bar.

        "Is this what you died for, Amuro? Or were you hoping for something brighter?"

        In some ways, Sayla is cynical. She doesn't believe in anything so nice as that 'warmer world'. That's just a memory. And there might be a brighter world they can make but...

        Even Sayla Mass can be crushed by the weight of everything. The loss. The exhaustion. The despair. She takes the drink, and not really caring what it is, downs it in one.

        Was this really better than being alone?

<Pose Tracker> Ana Kambinda has posed.

Before Ana knows what's happening, a sombre night of drowning old memories has devolved into the saddest bar brawl.

She starts forward a foot or two as Riddhe outright decks Hathaway Noa. The urge to grab them and separate them hits her - and she buries it. The last thing she needs is to get dragged into someone else's issues. Pressing her lips together, she withdraws a little from things before shooting a tight smile to Alma. "It's understandable. See you around."

Only after things have begun to settle does she migrate back to the bar. She pulls up a stool and settles in next to Sayla, just a little too late to hear her speaking to a ghost. The Angolan pilot doesn't say anything beyond, "...Refill, please."

She's not very talkative from this point onward, but she's present, at least. It's the best she can do given that she has no idea how Sayla would react to a pat on the shoulder that she'd like to give.

<Pose Tracker> Arriety Hearn has posed.

        Things get... really intense in a hurry. Arriety's just processing Ana's words that people just do what they can when-- Riddhe suddenly blows up, and that nice guy she knows is suddenly gone and a temper that she parses as a vicious ebb of black and red overwhelms her. Like Shelby, it kind of hits her like a brick.

        Fortunately, Lilith is there to restrain him before something worse can happen, and... no, opposite him, Hathaway's deep, cutting cynicism feels like ice. There's something so viscous there... something personal.

        She's left shuddering and exhausted as well, shaking her head as Alma apologises to them. "N-no, it's... okay, it's not your fault at all. Thanks for looking out for me."

        She looks back at Sayla, and the older woman doesn't need to say anything for Arriety to understand the intensity of what she's going through, even if she doesn't have firsthand knowledge of... what, exactly.

        Then to Shelby too. "Y-yeah. I guess you and I kinda felt all that face first... didn't we?" she twiddles her thumbs gently. "Y-yeah, I can stay." She kinda draws her legs up and starts hugging her knees out of instinct, as she watches Sayla down that drink in one go.

        She feels bad for thinking that she doesn't want to become that kind of adult. Not Sayla in particular, just... the bar, as a whole. ... is she doomed to, if she stays on this course? She doesn't know. She just doesn't know...

<Pose Tracker> Riddhe Marcenas has posed.

Hathaway goads Riddhe, even as Lilith grabs him she can feel the strength in his arms, it was nearly enough to break the grip. He almost seems to want to hurt something to do it. Thankfully, that intensity lessons the farther he's dragged away. The hold is good, straight out of military and Riddhe would have to be either significantly stronger or angrier to break it. He'd probably also hurt himself doing it.

He seethes at the kid's glibness, especially after he said that shit. Though it probably takes him a little longer to calm down the moment they're out the door. Significantly longer.

It got under his skin...or rather, it got into the core of his problems, hit a button he wasn't prepared for on this day of all days. That biting cynicism hits Riddhe harder than anything...it hits that angry part of him even more. That part of him that made him leave home all those years ago.

<Pose Tracker> Hathaway Noa has posed.

Hathaway allows her to press the ice to his wound before ultimately taking it from her, " ... right." is the only thing he can muster to say, unwilling to meet her eyes.

Feeling the ambient floats floating through the air, brushing past his head, and more than anything the disappointed yet amused stare boring through the back of his skull from someone who was not there.

Without a single word more out of his mouth, Hathaway takes his leave, using his free hand to fish for gilla to pay for his fare home.

I never should have bothered leaving the apartment today. he thinks to himself, glumly.

You know, you don't have to spend this day every year being totally miserable.

Just a little miserable, then? - but there's no response back for his petulance.

Nothing good ever came from acknowledging that voice. His shoulders sag as he sits on a bench to wait.